Chapter 780 - A Favoured Sword Sovereign
~~ The Immortal Dynasty — Arrival
The ships hovered.
The immortal dynasty, the vast, sprawling, incomprehensible realm of the upper world, was below. The land, the mountains, the cities, the palaces — all of it, visible from the deck of the flagship. The spiritual energy, the qi density, the ambient power radiating from the very ground, was immense. This was the upper realm. The world above the mortal world. The world of cultivators, of immortals, of beings whose power dwarfed everything below.
The Long Dynasty. The immortal dynasty. The realm of his brother. The realm of the fated son. The realm of the plots, the schemes, the betrayals, the alliances — all of it, visible. Known.
Tianlong stood. On the deck, his gold-crimson eyes on the land below, his dark hair flowing in the spiritual wind. His dark robe, his imperial attire, was perfect. His expression, the composed, knowing, predatory expression of a being who had seen the future and was about to make it happen, was there.
Behind him, the women.
Three queens. Five princesses. The twin princesses of the Verdant Valley. The queen and three princesses of the Jade Falls. The headmistress. The twins — Jin Yuhan and the junior sister. Fengwan. Bai. Lady Han and her blind mother. The Purple Astral Ancestor, Liu Mei. The queen of the Purple Astral Province.
Women. Collected. Claimed. Remade. Advanced. Broken. Devoted. His.
They stood. In a row. Behind him. Their robes, their bodies, their cultivations — all enhanced, all advanced, all transformed. Their faces, the vacant, devoted, well-fucked, content faces of women who had seen their future and embraced it, were there.
Some clung to him. Their hands, on his arms, his back, his shoulders. Their bodies, pressing against his. Their lips, kissing his skin. Their voices, the whispered, devoted, continuous whispers of "Master" and "My Lord" and "Emperor," were there.
He stood. Looking down. At the immortal dynasty. At the realm that was his by right. At the world that would soon be beneath his palm.
Within his room, the collected women — the three queens, the five princesses, the twins, the mothers, the daughters — were there. Naked. Their bodies, the various frames, the various shapes, the various sizes, were there. Their pussies, dripping, leaking his seed, were there. Their faces, the devoted, broken, content faces, were there.
He had fucked them. Through the journey, through the nations, through the conquest. One after another. Two at a time. Three at a time. All of them at once, his divine power creating multiple cocks, filling multiple holes, advancing multiple cultivations. The seed, the divine cum, was everywhere. On the floor. On the walls. On their bodies. In their wombs. In their anals. In their mouths.
He stood. Women clinging to him. Their hands, on his body. Their lips, on his skin. Their voices, the continuous, whispered, devoted chorus of submission, was there.
He looked down. At the immortal dynasty. At the world below.
"Let’s see what fun is waiting here for me," he said.
His voice, the calm, amused, predatory voice of a being who had conquered the mortal world and was now turning his eyes to the immortal, was there.
|| [ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ]||
|| Triggering Event: Soul Sovereign Arrival.||
|| The Emperor has been recognized by the Heavenly Dao.||
|| A Soul Sovereign has been dispatched to investigate the anomaly.||
|| Warning: Soul Sovereign cultivation exceeds Divine Transcendent.||
|| Prepare accordingly.||
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"YOU BETRAYED ME!"
The scream tore through the rainfall. The storm, the dark clouds, the lightning that split the sky above the cliff edge, was there. The rain, the cold, heavy, vertical sheets of rain, poured. The cliff, the jagged stone, the edge that dropped into the abyss below, was the stage.
The man, the young cultivator, his white robes soaked crimson with blood, his sword — the spirit sword, the Heavenly Sword — in his hand, stood. His eyes, wide, burning, the betrayal and the rage and the heartbreak all merged into one feral, broken expression, were on the woman before him.
She was crying. Her own robes, the light blue of the Frozen Moon Sect, were torn. Her face, beautiful, pale, the rain running down her cheeks mixing with her tears, was twisted in anguish. Her hands, raised, palms out, were there.
"No! I never did it!" she screamed. Her voice, the raw, desperate, cracking voice of a woman defending herself against the worst accusation, was there. "You are just trying to save our kingdom! You already know how strong Emperor Tianlong is! We cannot fight him! We cannot—"
"SHUT UP!"
The voice, not from the man. Not from the woman. From behind.
He stood. On the edge of the cliff, his crimson robe, the dark red that was almost black in the rain, billowing. His hands, behind his back, clasped. His hair, dark, long, plastered to his face by the rain. His eyes, gold-crimson, glowing faintly in the storm, were there. The smirk, the small, knowing, amused smirk of a being who found this entire scene entertaining, was on his lips.
Tianlong. The Emperor. The villain of this story.
The young man, the sword cultivator, turned. His eyes, the burning, hatred-filled eyes, found the crimson-robed figure.
"Tianlong, you old man!" he screamed. His voice, the raw, furious, impotent scream of a man facing the source of all his suffering, echoed. "You should have been buried long ago! Why have you returned, you bastard? I know you are after my Heavenly Sword Spirit!"
Tianlong’s smirk, the small, amused expression, did not waver. The rain, on his face, on his robe, on his golden skin, ran. His gold-crimson eyes, on the young man, held the patience. The absolute, divine, transcendent patience of a being who had lived long enough to find rage amusing.
"Your sword spirit?" Tianlong said. His voice was low. Calm. The tone of a man discussing a minor transaction. "I am after many things. Your sword is merely one of them."
Before the young man could respond, a guard, one of Tianlong’s Divine Integration soldiers, landed. The impact, the arrival, the qi burst, sent rain flying. The guard, his masked face, his dark armor, his drawn blade, was there.
"How dare you talk to our Emperor like that!" the guard yelled. His sword, the spiritual blade, was raised. He attacked.
The young man, the sword cultivator, met the strike. His spirit sword, the Heavenly Sword, parried. The clash, the steel on steel, the spiritual qi collision, sent sparks. The rain, the droplets caught in the qi burst, vaporized.
But the guard was Divine Integration. The young man was Soul Formation. The gap, the impossible, insurmountable gap between realms, was there.
The second strike, the guard’s follow-up, got through. The blade, the spiritual weapon, cut. The young man’s shoulder, the deep gash, opened. The blood, the red, sprayed. The rain, the cold water, hit the wound.
He fell. His knees, the impact on the wet stone, were there. His sword, the Heavenly Sword, was still gripped. His body, the bleeding, weakening body, was there.
The guard raised his blade. The killing strike, the execution, was there.
"No!"
She came between them. The woman, the crying, desperate woman, threw herself. Her body, between the guard’s blade and the fallen young man, was there. Her arms, spread, her face, the tears, the rain, were there.
"Xiaoling!" the young man gasped. Her name, the name he loved, the name he had screamed into the storm, was there.