The Disk of Resentment Fire and Resentment Ice spins—slow, deliberate, absolute.

The thirty-first lightning bolt strikes it.

Instead of shattering, the disk *unmakes* the thunder.

Fire and ice collide in perfect opposition, breaking the lightning into raw law-particles.

That energy sinks beneath the disk—into a gathering point.

Into a *seed.*

A tiny speck at first… but with each heavenly strike, more lightning deconstructs, more law is fed into it, and the seed begins to swell—slowly taking form.

Merin watches, silent and razor-focused.

Cracks spread across the disk—spiderweb fractures threatening collapse—yet it endures just long enough to dismantle each bolt.

Then—

A pulse.

A *crimson light* erupts from the seed and surges upward, fusing into the breaking disk.

The once black construct now glows crimson-veined—stronger, fiercer, hungrier.

It withstands more lightning than before.

But everything has a limit.

At the forty-sixth strike, the crimson-black disk finally explodes into a cloud of energy.

The sky pauses—almost curious.

Then the remnants *twitch.*

A low sound vibrates through the void—not thunder—

—but a *dragon’s roar.*

The energy condenses.

A creature emerges—large enough to blot out the sun.

A *Crimson-Black Dragon*, scales burning with resentful flame, claws coated in freezing black ice, horns jagged and regal, tail edged like a scythe of winter.

A Dao made manifest.

Silan’s final Dao—

*The Blood-Resentment Dragon.*

Its very presence bends the space around it.

Merin breathes in, slow, calculating.

“She’s crossed the threshold… nearly blooming…” he murmurs.

Not today—maybe not.

But soon.

The remaining tribulation bolts fall.

None matters.

The dragon devours them—fire and ice crushing law itself—and the sky eventually stills.

Thunder fades.

Judgment ends.

The dragon folds back into the seed…

The seed fractures like an egg.

And Silan steps forward.

Changed.

Her hair is now snow-white.

Crystal horns curve elegantly above pointed ears.

Her form is flawless—ethereal—terrifying.

Her black garments ripple like a living shadow.

Then her eyes open—

Deep violet.

Enchanting.

Deadly.

She turns toward Dina.

“Sorry for the wait,” she says softly, voice edged with steel.

“Now—shall we continue?”

Dina no longer smiles.

She rises into the void, releasing her true power.

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A Saint’s aura floods the sky. Behind her, her Dao manifests—

A four-element mantis insect, burning with wind, fire, water, and earth.

The two saints face each other.

The mantis screeches.

The dragon roars.

And without another word—

—they collide.

Dao against Dao.

Saint against Saint.

Will clashes against will.

Dao crashes into Dao.

Power ripples through the sky, tearing open space and sending storms spiralling across the desert below.

The Crimson-Black Dragon surges forward first—fangs bared, claws burning with resentful flame and freezing ice.

Dina’s Four-Element Mantis meets it head-on, blades of wind and stone striking like lightning.

They collide.

The void shatters with the impact.

Shockwaves ripple for hundreds of miles—sand turns to glass under the force. Even distant mountains tremble.

For the first exchanges, they fight *evenly*.

Ice-flame claws scrape against earth-fire blades.

Black lightning lashes against elemental wings.

Dao techniques detonate like miniature suns.

Neither gains ground.

But eventually—

The difference appears.

Not in strength

—not in dao

—but in *skill.*

Dina’s voice cuts through the chaos:

“Saint Art—*Mantis Execution Slash!*”

Her Dao insect slashes the air. A blade of compressed elemental law manifests—not qi, not technique—true Saint power.

It cleaves through Silan’s dragon claws and sends the Resentment Dragon crashing backwards.

Silan grits her teeth—blood runs from her mouth.

She responds, but her strikes lack refinement—her Saint realm is too new.

Every time she clashes, Dina’s Saint Arts tear through her techniques.

Slash.

Impact.

Roar.

Pain.

Cracks appear along the dragon’s crimson-black scales.

Mengui below grips her chest, trembling.

Merin watches with predator-stillness, but does not interfere.

Dina floats above, cold and assured.

“You’re strong,” she says, calm as a winter moon.

“But *raw talent* is not enough to defeat a Saint with mastery.”

She raises her hand—her Dao surges, the mantis growing sharper, deadlier.

“Yield.”

Silan wipes the blood from her lips.

“No.”

She forces her trembling Dao forward again.

They clash.

And again—she’s thrown back.

Her dragon shatters into fading mist.

For a heartbeat—

It seems over.

Dina exhales, lowering her aura.

Mengui’s breath breaks into a panicked cry.

“Silan—”

Then—

The world *changes.*

The resentment in Silan’s body—suppressed, buried, controlled—erupts.

Not wild.

Not chaotic.

*Awakened.*

Her eyes shift—purple deepens into an abyss.

Her blood surges.

Her Dao reforms—not as a recreation…

…but as an evolution.

The Blood-Resentment Dragon emerges again—but this time, its scales carry shimmering patterns—like blooming petals of blood and frost.

Its aura shifts.

Nascent → Budding → *Blooming.*

Dina’s expression finally cracks.

“…Impossible.”

Silan whispers, voice soft—but filled with unshakable dominance:

“Thank you.”

“For pushing me.”

The dragon roars—no longer resisting lightning, but wielding it.

Resentment. Blood. Fire. Ice.

All laws merge.

Her *first true Saint Art* forms spontaneously—born from instinct and dao:

*“Dragon of Broken Fate.”*

The attack is silent at first—

Then the sky tears.

The Blood-Resentment Dragon lunges and clamps its jaws onto the Four-Element Mantis.

Fire melts its armour.

Ice freezes its joints.

Blood law corrodes its essence.

Resentment law crushes its will.

With a final twist—

The mantis Dao *breaks.*

Dina coughs up blood and plummets, barely stopping herself midair.

She stares at Silan—shaken, breath uneven, pride shattered.

Silan descends slowly, dragon dissolving behind her.

She stops only a few paces from Dina.

Her tone holds neither cruelty nor pity—

Only truth.

“You may challenge me again one day.”

“But today—”

She raises her hand, not to strike, but as an acknowledgement.

“—I win.”

The words have barely left Silan’s lips when reality ruptures.

A *crystalline hand

*, massive and ancient, tears through the barrier of the world—like a god reaching into a toy box.

It slams into Silan.

The impact shakes the heavens.

Silan’s body is flung like a broken comet—crashing downward, smashing through clouds and air until she vanishes toward the world below.

“Mother!!”

Mengui’s scream tears through the sky as she dives after her.

Merin does not move.

He watches.

Silent.

Expression unreadable.

From the still-trembling tear in the world’s barrier, an old man steps through—hair silver, eyes cold, skin glowing with crystalline lines. The air bends under the weight of his cultivation.

*A true Spirit Dragon Great Saint at the brink of supremacy.*

Dina freezes, disbelief and betrayal tightening her voice.

“Elder… why?”

He does not look at her.

His gaze remains fixed on where Silan fell—expression filled not with hatred, but with arrogance.

“Dina,” he says calmly, “you cannot lose to a nameless outsider. Allowing such disgrace would damage our clan’s legacy.”

“She’s not an outsider!” Dina snaps back, voice trembling now with suppressed fury. “Her bloodline traces directly to the Spirit Dragon Supreme!”

Before he can respond—

The world *shakes.*

A pulse of Supreme Dao blooms from deep within the land—cold and burning at once.

*The Icefire Sword has awakened.*

Even the void trembles in recognition.

The elder finally turns to the young man beside him.

“Axel,” he orders, voice like freezing steel, “go. Retrieve her. Kill or cripple—do not let her rise again.”

Axel smirks, arrogant and eager.

“As you command.”

He vanishes downward in a streak of flame and frost.

The elder then looks at Merin.

“Now… the other flaw.”

Without waiting for a reply, he flicks his wrist.

“Crystal Destruction.”

Thousands of crystalline lotuses manifest—sharp, perfect, deadly. They spin, drawing in void force, and launch toward Merin with speed surpassing thought.

Merin’s expression remains calm.

His eyes open—cold.

“*Thousand Eyes.*”

Behind him, countless spectral eyes awaken—each a fusion of ice and fire. Beams erupt forth, meeting the crystalline flowers in midair. The collision creates a storm of exploding light.

Shards scatter.

For a heartbeat, silence returns.

Then—

The fragments begin to move.

“Crystal Grinder.”

The shards whirl, forming a tornado of razors—dragging Merin into its centre. The storm compresses, attempting to grind flesh, bone, soul.

For anyone else—even a Saint—death would be certain.

Merin exhales.

His Dao manifests.

A titanic *Devouring Maw* opens behind him—teeth forged of blood, space, resentment, and law.

It roars.

The sound is not mere vibration—

—It is annihilation.

The sonic ripple shatters the tornado from the inside out. Crystal dust scatters like snow.

The elder’s eyes finally sharpen.

Merin steps forward.

Space folds.

He appears before the elder.

His fist—simple, clean, absolute—crashes into the elder’s jaw.

The old man reels backwards, surprise flashing across his face for the first time in centuries.

He wipes a trail of divine blood from his lip.

“…Very well.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep