As the cultivators draw nearer to the source of the disturbance, the sky darkens fully. The Saint Tribulation cloud has already formed—vast, oppressive, pulsing with deadly celestial power.

Then, beneath that swirling storm, they see it:

Demonic aura.

Thick, oppressive, unmistakably evil—rising from the very being they came to hunt.

A murmur spreads through the approaching cultivators.

Eyes redden.

Teeth grit.

Hearts burn.

The demon is breaking through.

If he survives—if he steps into the Saint realm—then none of them will have any hope of revenge until they too reach the Saint stage.

Some whisper prayers.

Some curse.

Some tremble.

But all share the same hope:

Let the tribulation kill him.

They stop their advance; no one dares to move further. Crossing into the range of the Saint Tribulation would mean inviting heavenly thunder upon themselves. Even the strongest among them understands the boundary is absolute.

So they hover at the edge, watching.

Waiting.

The clouds churn.

The fabric of the heavens vibrates, and the first bolt of tribulation thunder forms—heavy, violent, crackling with power capable of erasing mountains.

It falls.

And beneath it, Demon Merin lifts his gaze.

A massive devouring maw, formed from his Dao, opens above him—silent and terrifying—as if intending to swallow the heavens themselves.

—

The first thunder crashes down.

Demon Merin uses his Dao to devour it, drawing the rule contained within. But the tribulation lightning riots inside the maw, resisting domination.

Before he can fully suppress and consume it, the second thunder falls.

He doesn’t block.

He endures.

Agony lances through him; cracks splinter across his Destruction Wolf Spiritual Body, spreading like lightning scars.

He clenches his jaw.

He does not repair it.

Instead, he changes direction.

He begins cultivating the Holy Demon Spiritual Body Technique.

Demons are born with hierarchy. All are meant to bow to the Ancient Demon Ancestor—the first demon. He vanished millions of years ago, yet no one knows if he truly died.

And Demon Merin, being born from Merin’s soul yet influenced by the world’s Laws, understands something clearly:

The Dao that created demonhood traces back to the Demon Ancestor.

If he continues walking the demon path, he will eventually fall under that being’s will.

And Demon Merin refuses servitude.

He will evolve.

From Demon to Saint.

The Holy Demon Spiritual Body technique consumes the Destruction Wolf’s body as more thunder falls.

The third thunder shatters more of his flesh.

The fourth rends muscle.

The fifth tears deep into marrow.

Blood pours over him, evaporating into steam.

By the tenth thunder, there is no flesh left—only bone.

But the bones glow—golden, radiant, sacred.

The first stage of the Holy Demon Spiritual Body is complete—Dao level—but useless unless evolved further.

The eleventh thunder falls.

The golden light warps—darkens—twists.

Holy becomes demonic.

The twelfth thunder strikes.

Demonic becomes holy again—stronger, purer.

The thirteenth thunder crashes.

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His Dao finishes devouring the essence of the first thunder.

The maw swallows the fourteenth lightning bolt whole—instantly.

The cycle continues:

Holy → Demon

Demon → Holy

Holy → Demon

Demon → Holy

Each transition tempers bone, soul, and Dao.

Each thunder refines him further.

The maw drinks thunder after thunder, growing sharper, hungrier, more complete.

Tribulation follows its ancient number—eighty-one strikes.

The storm’s fury grows with each wave.

Lightning splits the sky and the earth.

Sand turns to glass.

The cultivators watching tremble—some in awe, some in fear, some with regret.

Finally—

The eighty-first thunder falls.

The heavens roar.

Light explodes.

Silence follows.

When the thunderclouds finally disperse—

Nothing remains where Demon Merin once stood.

No figure.

No aura.

No trace.

Only scorched stone and smoking sand.

The cultivators stare.

Then realisation spreads.

A shout breaks the silence:

“THE DEMON IS DEAD!”

Cheers erupt.

Some cry in relief.

Some laugh madly.

Some collapse, exhausted from months of pursuit and hatred.

The desert seems lighter.

Hope returns.

Their vengeance—fulfilled.

Or so they believe.

Because while most celebrate, a few sharp-eyed cultivators look up—and freeze.

The tribulation cloud still hangs in the sky.

Unbroken.

Unfaded.

Unfinished.

Their expressions shift from relief to dread.

“He’s… not dead.”

Whispers spread like wildfire.

Another voice follows—cold and eager:

“Even if he survived the lightning, he must be grievously wounded. A Saint breakthrough under demonisation isn’t perfect. This is our chance—we can finish him.”

Someone else steps forward, eyes gleaming with bloodlust as he reveals a long, ancient blade wrapped in talisman seals.

A holy weapon.

And then another cultivator produces a spear radiating faint divine runes.

More holy weapons appear from storage rings—blades, staffs, talismans, arrows.

Confidence surges.

Voices harden.

“He can’t possibly recover instantly.”

“With enough holy power, we can slay him before he stabilises!”

“Wait until the clouds disperse. Once the tribulation ends, we strike together.”

One by one, cultivators take position around the ridge, forming an unspoken siege.

Waiting.

Watching.

Ready.

The storm remains above them, brewing its final judgment.

—

Far away—thousands of miles across the Battlefield Realm—another moment unfolds.

Lou Yuan stands deep within the ancient ruins, before an altar carved with runes older than kingdoms. His staff—embedded with eight glowing spirit stones—rests in his hand.

A pulse of energy radiates from the altar.

A ninth stone rises, suspended in shimmering light.

Slowly—deliberately—it drifts toward the staff.

When it settles into the final socket, all nine stones ignite at once.

A powerful hum echoes through the ruin.

A burst of divine aura erupts—so vast, so ancient—that even the walls tremble under its memory.

Then—silence.

The aura vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

Lou Yuan stands still, his eyes widening as knowledge floods into his mind.

Images.

History.

War.

Stars.

The truth unfolds:

Millions of years ago, this staff belonged to a Human Race Supreme—the tenth in an unbroken lineage.

His name: Ziyou Supreme.

A sovereign among sovereigns.

Wise.

Detached.

Unbound.

Until war consumed the world.

The other races—fearing humanity’s dominance—united against them. The humans had already produced ten Supremes, and signs suggested the next rising talent would also become one.

To prevent another apex human from emerging, all races declared war, dragging the world into carnage.

Ziyou Supreme fought with this very staff.

And he fell with it.

His body perished, but his Dao did not.

What remained was sealed—waiting for someone worthy.

Lou Yuan trembles slightly as the last message settles:

*Inheritance confirmed.

Star Dao Technique unlocked.*

This technique does not merely teach power.

It reveals the complete structure of the Law of Stars in this world—the same law once wielded by Ziyou Supreme.

Lou Yuan opens his eyes slowly.

His breathing steadies.

His expression, once filled with excitement, now turns complicated—reverent, confused, cautious.

Finally, he asks in a low voice:

“Demon… who are you?”

The presence residing in his spirit space—silent for years unless spoken to—stirs faintly.

Lou Yuan remembers.

He first encountered it as a teenager and assumed it was merely a Tao Realm remnant soul.

Later, in the Battlefield Realm, his casual knowledge of higher realms and deep insight made him believe it was a Saint.

But now—

Now he holds a supreme weapon.

He has inherited a Supreme’s legacy.

And the demon was never surprised.

Not once.

The realisation chills him.

He has never understood this existence.

The voice finally answers—calm, ancient, distant:

“I am nothing but a remnant in time.”

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

The tone suggests the conversation ends there.

Lou Yuan senses it and changes the question.

“…Then tell me this—why are we still alive?”

What he truly means is:

*Why does humanity still exist?

Why weren’t we erased from the world?*

Because the inheritance he just received makes one thing painfully clear:

Humanity lost.

The Demon answers, voice deep and neutral:

“We did lose. Completely.”

“But three of our strongest survived—Thunder Supreme, Dao Supreme, and War Supreme. They stepped into the Heavenly Supreme realm and touched the edge of a higher door.”

“They were… difficult to kill.”

The demon pauses, then continues:

“And the coalition that fought us was never united. Many of those races were enemies even before the war.”

“They did not want to share power. They only wished to break human dominance.”

“And they succeeded.”

“So the war ended—not because peace was found, but because the purpose was achieved.”

Lou Yuan grows quiet.

The joy of obtaining a supreme inheritance fades, replaced by a heavy, aching sense of loss.

Once, humanity stood at the pinnacle.

Now, they are a small race—barely tolerated, easily suppressed.

He swallows.

“…After Ziyou Supreme, did any humans reach that realm again?”

A long silence.

Then:

“Yes.”

“Three.”

“Sun and Moon Supreme. Demon Ancestor. Spirit Supreme.”

Lou Yuan stiffens.

His heart pounds.

The Demon continues:

“Sun and Moon Supreme has fallen. Spirit Supreme has become the enemy of the human race—and of all races.”

Lou Yuan’s mind reels.

“…Why? Why would Spirit Supreme turn against humanity?”

The answer comes cold and simple:

“He did not want to die.”

Lou Yuan’s voice trembles.

“He used a forbidden technique to extend his life?”

“No.”

The voice grows heavier.

“He cut his Dao foundation—abandoning his path to become a Forbidden Supreme. He now sleeps within the Yin and Yang Mine, surviving only through devouring the laws of balance and souls trapped within.”

Lou Yuan’s breath catches.

Forbidden Supremes.

He learned of them while travelling through ruins—creatures who chose survival over dignity, devouring life to prolong their existence. The Gate of Immortality will open in ten thousand years, and forbidden beings will awaken fully.

When they do—

The world will burn.

Lou Yuan sinks to the ground, back leaning against the shattered altar.

The weight of ancient history presses on him.

He once dreamed of becoming a Supreme, believing it was a path of glory.

Now he understands:

Supremacy is not a throne.

It is a battlefield.

A burden.

A curse.

But after a long silence, Lou Yuan exhales and closes his eyes.

Then he begins reviewing the inheritance.

Even with fear, grief, or doubt—

He still chooses to walk forward.

Because in a world this vast…

where races hunt humanity…

where forbidden immortals sleep…

where demons awaken…

where Saints rise…

There is no safety in weakness.

Only one path remains.

*Become a Supreme—

or be erased.*

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep