Eight massive banner flags, planted at the cardinal points of the Bagua formation, snapped violently in the wind. At a signal, the Foundation Establishment disciples of the Qingyuan Sect flew to their designated positions. They poured their spiritual power into the staffs, igniting the fabric with blinding radiance.

Under the surge of energy, the runes inscribed upon the banners detached from the cloth. shimmering like living starlight, they drifted toward the center of the altar.

Daoist Master Baili stepped forward. He produced a shattered, blood-stained magical artifact and placed it reverently upon the dais. With a thunderous shout, he pressed his hands down, channeling his vast True Essence into the array.

A pillar of crimson light erupted, piercing the heavens and scattering the clouds. The sky darkened instantly, roiling with unnatural thunder.

The gathered cultivators from the vassal families trembled. To manipulate the weather and shake the heavens—this was the terrifying power of a Golden Core Daoist Master.

“The Blood Light Tracking Art,” a knowledgeable cultivator whispered, his voice trembling. “A Tier 3 spell. It uses fresh blood as a medium to track a target over ten thousand miles. No wonder Master Baili gathered us here instead of sending scouts.”

A Tier 3 spell… Wang Hao watched with narrowed eyes, feeling the gap in their power. My own accumulation is still far too shallow.

He understood the subtext of this display. The Qingyuan Sect was flexing its muscles. After their passive defense during the last Beast Tide—which had left many vassal families feeling abandoned—and the recent humiliation of the trade route ambush, the Sect’s authority was waning. This show of force was political theater, designed to remind the subordinate families who held the power before they could harbor thoughts of rebellion.

On the altar, the ritual reached its zenith. The blood from the broken artifact disintegrated, merging with the floating runes. The mixture coalesced into a massive, crimson arrow of light, hovering in the air and pointing unerringly toward the southeast.

“Good. This Seat has located the vermin,” Daoist Master Baili announced, his voice booming like thunder. “Follow me!”

He flicked his wrist, tossing a small wooden carving into the air. It expanded rapidly against the wind, growing from the size of a toy into a leviathan of war. Within moments, a hundred-zhang-long battleship hovered above the plaza, its hull inscribed with menacing array formations.

A Void-Treading Battleship.

It was a symbol of a major sect’s might, equipped with defensive barriers and offensive arrays capable of unleashing attacks rivaling a Golden Core cultivator. Though this was likely a smaller class—some legends spoke of ships thousands of zhang long capable of carrying armies—it was enough to awe the crowd.

“Board!”

Wang Hao stepped onto the vessel, his gaze critical. The interior structure reminded him of a naval galleon, though powered by spirit stones. The vassal families were relegated to the lower hold, a cavernous, windowless deck without so much as a chair. The upper decks were reserved for the Qingyuan Sect elites and Daoist Master Baili.

While the other clansmen pressed their faces against the portholes, marveling at the novelty of flight, Wang Hao sat cross-legged in a corner. To a transmigrator, this was just a noisy, turbulence-prone cargo plane.

The hold buzzed with nervous energy. Even established figures like Li Yaozu and Lei Liheng couldn’t help but gossip to alleviate the tension.

“They say this ship was purchased from the Qian Yuan Continent,” Lei Liheng murmured, running a hand over the hull. “Our Southern Sea has been settled for less than ten thousand years. It is hard to imagine the prosperity of the Central Continent, with its hundreds of thousands of years of history.”

“Indeed,” Li Yaozu replied, a longing look in his eyes. “The Southern Sea has scarcely a few dozen True Monarchs at the Nascent Soul stage. But in Qian Yuan? They have produced Ascended Immortals. Legends say Soul Formation cultivators still walk the earth there.”

“Even without Soul Formation experts,” Zhao Gaofang interjected, leaning in, “a single sect there might have multiple Late-Nascent Soul Grand Cultivators sitting in command. And Wan Xian City? They say Golden Core masters are everywhere, and Foundation Establishment cultivators are as numerous as stray dogs!”

A bitter laugh rippled through the circle. “As common as dogs… Here, we would break each other’s heads open for a single Foundation Establishment Pill. There, even a Three Spiritual Root talent can ascend with ease.”

“It cannot be compared,” a cultivator sighed deeply. “If I could just visit the Qian Yuan Continent once, see the glory of Wan Xian City… I could die with my eyes closed.”

“Then you will die with them open,” another scoffed. “Just the Severed Origin Mountains alone would swallow you whole. Without a Golden Core escort, entering that range is suicide.”

“Fellow Daoist Zhu,” someone called out to a Qingyuan Sect disciple stationed in the hold to monitor them. “You have traveled the trade route. Is it truly a paradise?”

The disciple, Zhu, smiled with a touch of arrogance. “I had the fortune to go once. It is not quite the utopia you imagine. They face beast tides and wars between Righteous and Demonic paths just as we do. However…”

He paused, enjoying the rapt attention of the room. “Pills are indeed plentiful. Any large apothecary sells Foundation Establishment Pills openly. In auctions, they are sold in lots of twenty or thirty at a time.”

The listeners gasped.

“Why is there such a disparity?” someone asked. “Do they have a different formula?”

Zhu sneered gently. “What do you think ‘inheritance’ means? Their sects have stood for eons. They possess groves of Essence Condensing Fruit trees that stretch for miles. With the raw materials industrialized, the pills are naturally abundant.”

“Furthermore,” Zhu lowered his voice conspiratorially, “the pill is not the only path. I have heard of methods using Earthly Sha Energy to force a breakthrough. The process is agonizing, and it taints the foundation for future cultivation, but the success rate is higher than using a pill.”

Wang Hao listened intently. The cultivation world was vast, and the Southern Sea was merely a shallow pond.

However, he noticed that while Zhu was happy to share dazzling trivia, he remained tight-lipped about the specifics: the trade route map, the safe passages, and the contacts. These were the trade secrets that filled the Qingyuan Sect’s coffers. They would never share the location of the gold mine.

The conversation eventually circled back to the mission. The mood in the hold was dangerously optimistic.

“With a Golden Core Patriarch leading us, this will be a simple purge,” one man said confidently. “Demon Cultivators have been hiding like rats for decades. It’s probably just a couple of strays.”

Wang Hao remained silent, his expression grim. He didn’t share their confidence.

The enemy had successfully ambushed a convoy guarded by a Golden Core expert and killed six Foundation Establishment disciples. That didn’t suggest “strays.” It suggested a disciplined force, possibly with their own Golden Core backing.

If two Golden Core masters clashed, the shockwaves alone would liquefy a Qi Refining cultivator. Even he, with his Mid-Foundation Establishment strength, would be little more than a leaf in a hurricane.

And if we don’t wipe them out completely? Wang Hao worried. Demon Cultivators are vindictive. If a few escape, they won’t dare attack the Qingyuan Sect directly. They’ll come for the soft targets—us.

Suddenly, the massive ship shuddered.

The hum of the levitation arrays deepened, and the sensation of forward momentum vanished.

The battleship had stopped.