Wang Hao scanned the contents of his Storage Bag, his hand hovering over another stack of talismans. Suddenly, his gaze landed on two dormant figures in the corner of the spatial pocket.

The Second-Grade Ape Puppets.

He had looted these from Huang Youcheng back in the day. Since he lacked the skills to refine or modify them, they had been gathering dust. But puppets didn’t need complex refinement to function—they just needed Spirit Stones and a command.

They might lack finesse without my direct mental control, but they’re better than nothing, Wang Hao thought, a bitter smile touching his lips. He had nearly forgotten about these mechanical brutes.

With a clatter of heavy gears, two massive figures materialized before him. Standing over ten feet tall, the ape puppets were imposing constructs of metal and wood. One gripped a heavy iron bow; the other wielded a long spear.

“Kill him,” Wang Hao commanded.

The Archer Puppet immediately drew its bowstring taut. The mechanism groaned under the tension before releasing a spirit arrow that screamed toward Si Zhiheng.

Simultaneously, the Lancer Puppet charged, its heavy footsteps shaking the ground as it closed the distance with terrifying speed.

Si Zhiheng’s face went pale.

“Mid-Rank Second Grade Puppets?!”

He couldn’t understand it. How was this Foundation Establishment cultivator so… filthy rich?

Throughout his life, Si Zhiheng had been the one crushing opponents with superior resources and hidden cards. Today, the tables had turned completely. He was the pauper fighting a king.

Bitterness filled his chest. He gritted his teeth and summoned a small yellow flag—a Low-Grade Spirit Weapon.

He waved the banner frantically. A torrent of yellow sand surged forth, creating a localized sandstorm that enveloped the two puppets. The grit ground against their joints, slowing them down, but the flag was too weak to destroy them. It could only stall.

Wang Hao didn’t give him a second to breathe.

He unleashed a blizzard of talismans. Fireballs, ice blades, spectral swords, wooden thorns, and earth spikes rained down in a chaotic, colorful deluge.

Si Zhiheng had no other defensive artifacts left. He was forced to wrap the yellow sand around his own body to form a cocoon.

But diverting the sand meant releasing the puppets.

Boom! Rumble!

The Lancer Puppet burst free and slammed its spear into the sand barrier. The bombardment of spells followed instantly.

The yellow flag whined in protest. The fabric scorched and tore, holes appearing across its surface until the spiritual light faded completely. The artifact was ruined.

“Now!”

Wang Hao signaled the Phantom Moon Butterflies to coordinate with the puppets.

Si Zhiheng, eyes wild with panic, threw out his last two Second-Grade talismans.

An Ice Seal Talisman froze the charging Lancer Puppet in a block of blue ice. A Golden Sword Talisman collided mid-air with the Archer Puppet’s arrow, detonating in a shockwave of metal and light.

He had blocked the heavy hitters.

But he missed the subtle flicker of wings.

A beam of hallucinogenic light from a Phantom Moon Butterfly brushed the hem of his robe. It wasn’t a direct hit, but it was enough. Si Zhiheng’s eyes glazed over for a split second.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

Wang Hao activated another Hundred Blades Talisman. A swarm of spiritual blades materialized from thin air, slashing at the dazed cultivator from every angle.

Si Zhiheng snapped out of his trance and raised a High-Grade First Rank shield.

Crack! Snap!

The shield held for a breath before shattering under the relentless assault.

Before he could recover, vines erupted from the earth, wrapping around his ankles. Si Zhiheng, ever cautious, had kept a personal barrier active, so the thorns didn’t pierce his skin. He slashed downward with his sword, severing the vines.

But Wang Hao was relentless.

The Child-Mother Green Light Sword streaked through the air like a cyan viper. It slammed into Si Zhiheng’s remaining barrier.

Shatter!

The protective light dissolved like wet paper.

Si Zhiheng tried to dodge, but his movements were sluggish. His spiritual power was running on fumes. He twisted his body at the last second, avoiding decapitation, but the sword carved a gruesome gash into his left arm, exposing white bone.

“Haa… Haa…”

Si Zhiheng stumbled back, frantically shoving a Spirit Pill into his mouth. He just needed a moment—a single breath to recover some Qi.

But the air in front of him rippled.

Silent. Invisible. Deadly.

It was Wang Hao’s true final ace—the White Tip Divine Needle.

By the time Si Zhiheng sensed the lethal fluctuation, it was already inside him.

A sharp pain pierced his chest. He looked down, his eyes widening in confusion. There was a hole in his chest. His heart was simply… gone.

“Guh…”

He coughed, a wet, rattling sound, and spat a mouthful of dark blood. The light faded from his eyes, and he collapsed backward into the dust.

Dead.

Wang Hao didn’t relax. He ordered the Lancer Puppet to stab the corpse through the head, ensuring the enemy was truly extinguished. Only then did he exhale, his legs giving out as he slumped to the ground.

“That… was too close.”

The battle had been grueling. If Si Zhiheng hadn’t possessed a Heaven and Earth Spirit Fire, Wang Hao would have crushed him easily with his wealth. That fire had nearly turned the tide.

Wang Hao looked up.

In the distance, the True Sun Flame floated quietly in the air. Without Si Zhiheng’s Divine Consciousness to guide it, the golden eagle form had collapsed back into a ball of primal flame. It wasn’t struggling; it was just… existing.

Its sentience is still in the budding stage, Wang Hao analyzed, his eyes gleaming with greed. It’s not truly intelligent yet. If it were, Si Zhiheng never could have controlled it.

This was a massive windfall. Wang Hao’s Red Lotus True Fire had the ability to devour other flames to evolve. He couldn’t leave this prize behind.

He commanded the puppets to stand guard and walked over to the corpse. He stripped Si Zhiheng of his storage bag and valuables before incinerating the body to ash.

Checking the horizon, he saw that Li Derong and the others were still fighting in the distance, but the battle was drifting away from him. He decided not to intervene. He sat down in a lotus position, popping a healing pill while rummaging through Si Zhiheng’s loot.

He needed a way to transport the fire. He couldn’t devour it right now—he was too weak, and the backlash would kill him. He had to capture it first.

Moments later, he found a jade slip.

Score.

The slip detailed various Heaven and Earth Spirit Fires and their habitats. It also contained methods for subduing them. This must have been how Si Zhiheng found and captured the True Sun Flame in the first place.

The methods were standard: Suppression, Temptation, Communication, Encirclement.

Given Wang Hao’s current state, “Temptation” was the only viable option.

He pulled out a Flame Stone. It was a Second-Grade ore, brimming with fire energy—perfect for crafting weapons, or in this case, feeding a hungry spirit.

He placed the stone near the floating flame.

The True Sun Flame, though lacking true intelligence, possessed a primal instinct. It sensed the pure energy. Like a starving dog spotting a steak, it drifted toward the stone and latched onto it.

Sizzle.

The fist-sized ore was consumed in seconds. The flame didn’t look different; the energy was too small to fuel a visible evolution, but the reaction confirmed Wang Hao’s theory.

It was hungry.

Wang Hao pulled out another stone, then another, laying a trail that led closer and closer to him.

When the deadly golden flame was within arm’s reach, Wang Hao suppressed the trembling of his heart. One wrong move, and he would be ash.

He slowly extended a tendril of Divine Consciousness, offering a gentle mental nudge. In his other hand, he held a high-quality Fire-attribute Spirit Weapon—a temporary vessel.

The True Sun Flame hesitated. It sensed the trap.

But Wang Hao revealed a handful of high-grade Flame Stones, waving them tantalizingly.

The flame’s instinct overrode its caution. It accepted the mental link and flowed into the Spirit Weapon, curling up inside like a satisfied cat.

“Hah,” Wang Hao chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow. “Even Heaven and Earth Spirit Fires are gluttons at heart.”

He knew he was lucky. The flame was immature and desperate for energy. If Si Zhiheng had been richer, if he had fed it properly, the flame never would have betrayed him for a few rocks.