Heavenly Wheel Ascension

The double doors slammed shut with a soft metallic click, leaving a haunting silence within the meditation room. Zhi Xuan remained motionless before the crystal window, watching the streams of void-light rush past like millions of radiant swords.

Within his sea of consciousness, Ruo Xianxue reappeared, leaning against the roots of the Devil Tree of Life. "You truly will never be skilled in the ways of women, Zhi Xuan. Pressing your finger against the lips of a woman who possesses the Dao of Charm? That is the same as lighting a fire atop a pile of dry hay."

"Be silent," Zhi Xuan replied curtly within his mind. "I only ensured that she knows her boundaries. Did you not hear her? One wrong step from me, and I would truly fall under her control. A Holy Maiden is not some mortal woman falling in love, Great Saint. They possess depths that will never be fully known."

Zhi Xuan dropped onto the silk cushion again, crossing his legs. "The rats the Han Clan sent are likely not Divine Transformation experts; perhaps low-level Weavers. It will be easier for me if they are Weavers."

*"However, they must have brought something," Zhi Xuan continued, his voice wary. "They might have been given a trace, a mark, or something similar. If I kill them, that mark might attach itself to me, making me like a beacon that can be tracked continuously."

"If that is the case, perhaps... it will become fertilizer for His Majesty," Zhi Xuan murmured. "His Majesty swallows the stars, the moon, and the sun. But let us not forget the forged Heavenly-Blood Body. My hands will not be stained with blood; instead, I will provide His Majesty the breakthrough to form the second pillar of the Ancient Devil."

Zhi Xuan knew that His Majesty’s form was likely residing within the second Great Constellation. If he placed His Majesty to appear in the Forest Spirit Land later, the battle would be resolved swiftly, ensuring no lingering traces were left behind.

"The Forest Spirit Land will become an altar of sacrifice," Zhi Xuan whispered, his voice cold.

Several hours passed in cold meditation. The giant Shen Clan ship finally emerged from the void corridor with a subtle jolt that triggered ripples of energy along its hull. Behind the crystal window, the darkness was replaced by a vast expanse of green, but the lushness of the forest below offered no tranquility.

Suddenly, the room door opened silently. Shen Ruolan stood there, her face appearing more serious than before. "Senior, we have arrived at the northern border. The Forest Spirit Land is directly beneath us."

Zhi Xuan rose, his black-and-white robes rustling like the wings of a night raven. Without glancing back at Ruolan, he stepped toward the ship’s outer balcony. The winds of Chi Di, carrying the scent of ancient sap and damp air, greeted him.

"I will descend here," Zhi Xuan stated flatly.

"Remember our promise, Senior," Ruolan’s voice came from behind, a hint of suppressed anxiety present. "Three days. If you do not appear at the main city gates within three days, I will consider you to be playing with the Ancient Shen Clan."

Zhi Xuan did not answer. He gave only a faint, almost imperceptible nod before diving from the balcony of the giant ship. His body shot down like a dark meteor cutting through the curtain of clouds, leaving a thin trail of energy that was quickly swallowed by the wind.

Shen Ruolan gripped the balcony railing, her amethyst eyes watching the figure until he disappeared behind the canopy of towering ancient trees. "Truly a lonely man, not even uttering a farewell to me."

Mo Chen appeared three paces behind Shen Ruolan, his eyes sensing the vanishing aura of Zhi Xuan. "Senior Sister Shen, where did Senior go?"

Shen Ruolan did not answer immediately. She touched the Black Bamboo tassel at her waist, feeling the lingering warmth of the sword intent left there. "He is going to wash his hands, Mo Chen. And he does not want the dirty water to splash onto my dress."

"Wash his hands?" Mo Chen frowned.

"Leave it be," Ruolan snapped as she turned, her velvet cloak snapping sharply. "We will just wait three more days in the main territory of the Shen Clan. Hmph... such a difficult man to ensnare."

Zhi Xuan landed amidst the suffocating silence of the Forest Spirit Land. His feet on the pile of rotting leaves made no sound, yet his presence immediately caused the surrounding vegetation to hiss softly. The ancient trees here had trunks that twisted like the bodies of suffering dragons, with roots crawling over the ground like blackened veins of the earth.

Zhi Xuan stood still, letting his senses creep like a fine spiderweb to every corner of the forest. In this place, sunlight only pierced through the canopy gaps as dim, dusty pillars. He saw how some trees were gaping mouths capable of swallowing Soul Transformation practitioners.

"The Forest Spirit Land," Zhi Xuan murmured. "Even a Weaver Transformation expert would not survive a disaster if surrounded by these plants."

He turned toward the east. "The rats of the Ancient Han Clan... whether they come or not. But as long as they don't appear now, I will not stand here waiting to be devoured by trees."

Zhi Xuan stepped forward slowly, each step containing a ripple of energy that suppressed the bloodthirsty instincts of the surrounding vegetation. He did not head toward the heart of the forest; instead, he sought a quieter place away from the outer regions of the Forest Spirit Land. He stopped at a circular clearing surrounded by trees.

He raised his hand, moving his fingers to call upon the interconnected soul bond. "Your Majesty, come forth."

The air around the circular clearing suddenly froze, not from ice, but from a pressure of authority that transcended the order of life. The space in front of Zhi Xuan tore slowly, revealing a dark rift that emitted a thick, ancient aura. From within the rift, a figure stepped out with silent majesty.

His Majesty, the embodiment of the main body, the Ancient Devil forged by the Great Constellations, now stood tall. His dark purple hair flowed down below his waist, his eyes were one sapphire blue and one pomegranate red. Every breath he took caused the bloodthirsty vegetation in the Forest Spirit Land to instantly wither, as if the plants knew that before them stood a predator that fed on destiny.

"You are causing trouble again," His Majesty’s voice echoed, not through the air, but directly within Zhi Xuan’s mind. "However, I can perceive your intent. I can feel themthose Weavers."

Zhi Xuan nodded. "If you devour those Weavers, the second pillar will be right before our eyes."

His Majesty did not reply. The figure, a manifestation of Ancient Devil majesty, only closed his eyes for a moment, letting a dark aura creep from beneath his bare feet. The vegetation around him did not just wither; the roots that were once thirsty for blood now trembled in fear, as if the ground they occupied had turned into the tongue of hell ready to swallow them.

Zhi Xuan immediately surged backward, disappearing behind the gloom of the towering ancient trees. He hid his presence completely, becoming one with the forest shadows, leaving the stage to his primary self. Silence once again enveloped the Forest Spirit Land, but this time it was the silence before a storm destroys everything.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Suddenly, the air above the forest canopy hissed sharply. Five flashes of silver light like sword lines cutting through a rain curtain shot down and landed at the edge of the circular clearing. They wore grey robes without emblems, but the fluctuations and aura they emitted were unmistakably those of the Ancient Han Clan messengers.

All five were Weaver Transformation experts. Their steps were stiff, but the energy radiating from their bodies was extremely stable. One of them, who had a diagonal scar across his eyes, immediately halted his steps upon seeing the figure with dark purple hair standing calmly in the center of the clearing.

"Who is that?" hissed the first Weaver. "Gu Fengyan might be foolish enough to go off alone when he should be cowering at the feet of the Ancient Shen Clan. But his trail is indeed smelled here."

The man with the scar narrowed his eyes, trying to pierce through the purple mist enveloping His Majesty’s form. He felt an extraordinary anomaly; the figure before him had a face identical to Gu Fengyan, but his aura... that aura was like a bottomless abyss swallowing all surrounding light.

"It’s not him," whispered the second Weaver, his hand already glowing with a chilling light. "This presence... it is too ancient. Is this a protector prepared by the Shen Clan?"

His Majesty did not move an inch. His bicolored eyes, sapphire and pomegranate stared flatly at the five messengers, as if he were not looking at humans, but merely five clumps of energy waiting to be harvested. The corners of his lips did not lift, yet the silence he radiated was far more insulting than any curse.

"Speak!" roared the leader of the Weavers, stomping his foot. The Forest Spirit Land shook, triggering hundreds of spiritual silver needles to launch from beneath his robes toward His Majesty. "Where is Gu Fengyan?! If you block the path of the Han Clan, we will grind your soul into eternal dust!"

Thousands of silver needles sliced through the air with a deafening whistle, carrying Weaver-level laws of destruction. However, exactly one pace in front of His Majesty, the needles stopped. Not because of an energy collision, but because the space around His Majesty seemed to have frozen into impenetrable black crystal.

The Weaver leader was stunned, his eyes bulging in disbelief. He felt his spiritual needles not only stop, but their essence began to drain, as if there were a small, invisible black hole in front of the purple-haired figure. A flash of fear crossed his face.

His Majesty did not move. The only sign he was alive was his slow breathing, but each breath was like the suction of an ocean swallowing light. His pale skin began to emit a faint purple glow, and along his arms and part of his chest, dark cracks began to appear, radiating a cruelty that transcended the limits of the Lower Realm. It was the Slaughter Seal slowly manifesting.

The second Weaver, who had been standing guard, suddenly felt his Divine Wheel vibrate violently. He looked at the silver needles hovering in the air, and then at His Majesty. Without warning, the five Weavers felt something cold and heavy strike their souls—not an attack, but a declaration of presence that made them doubt their own existence.

"What is this aura?!" hissed the third Weaver, his body beginning to tremble uncontrollably. He felt every cell in his body scream in terror, as if a primitive instinct was warning him of an unimaginable danger.

His Majesty raised his right hand with a slow, majestic motion. He did not launch an attack; he merely grasped the air. Instantly, the space around the silver needles shattered into pieces—not because of an explosion, but because the void itself swallowed the existence of the needles. Thousands of silver needles vanished into dust without leaving a trace, as if they had never existed.

The Weavers recoiled, their faces now deathly pale. The power they had just witnessed surpassed their understanding of the laws of Weaver Transformation. This was not magic, not a technique; this was pure destruction—an authority that ignored all orders of the Dao.

The Weaver leader swallowed hard, his brain racing for an explanation. "Who... who are you?! A protector of the Shen Clan?!"

His Majesty did not answer. He merely stepped forward, one step. The Forest Spirit Land shook. The dark cracks on his body grew clearer, and his bi-colored eyes now radiated intense blue and red light. An aura of hunger emanated from him, making the air feel thick, as if he could taste the fear creeping through the Weavers' minds.

The first Weaver stepped back hastily, but his foot tripped over a tree root. He felt a dark shadow appear over him. His Majesty did not manifest techniques or spiritual essence. He simply reached out with his dark left hand, palm facing down, and gripped the Weaver's head with a speed that the other Weavers' eyes could not follow.

There was no sound of explosion, no scream. Only a soft hiss as the first Weaver’s spiritual energy was sucked dry, his soul pulled out like a thread being drawn from a spool. The Weaver’s body, which was previously full of vitality, instantly withered, becoming a dry mummy that fell to the ground silently. The blood on the first Weaver’s lips had not even had time to dry.

One Weaver down.

The four remaining Ancient Han Clan messengers froze, their pupils shrinking like a cornered cat in the darkness. Their comrade's death was not dramatic; there was no magnificent bloodshed, only an erasure of existence so absolute that their reason refused to believe it.

"D-devil..." whispered the second Weaver, his voice breaking. "This is not a technique from the Nine Plains! You are not human!"

His Majesty moved his fingers. The shadows beneath the ancient trees seemed to come alive, lengthening and twisting like devilish tentacles emerging from the deepest abyss. Before the second Weaver could chant a protective mantra, the shadow beneath his feet shot upward, binding his body until the simultaneous sound of cracking bones echoed.

"Argh—!" The scream was cut off instantly as His Majesty appeared directly in front of him, as if space and time held no meaning for the Ancient Devil figure. His Majesty’s palm, radiating a dark purple glow, pressed against the Weaver's chest.

Instantly, the Divine Wheel within the Weaver’s body exploded—not from an impact, but from being forced to surrender all its essence in a single breath. Silver light, the result of hundreds of years of cultivation, flowed heavily into His Majesty’s raga, making the second Ancient Devil pillar on his forehead increasingly magnificent.

The second Weaver’s body collapsed, turning into dust swept by the wind before it could touch the pile of rotting leaves. The three remaining Weavers trembled violently. The fourth Weaver tried to raise his hand to form a judgment seal, but his arm felt as heavy as a mountain.

His Majesty stepped. In the blink of an eye, the distance of ten paces was closed. The third Weaver, who was closest, did not even have time to blink his eyelids before His Majesty’s cold, pale hand gripped his neck. That grip did not just lock his airway but also locked the entire flow of spiritual essence within his body.

The Weaver struggled, his legs kicking the air in vain. His eyes bulged, staring directly into His Majesty’s bi-colored eyes, which were flat and devoid of emotion. Purple light crept from His Majesty’s palm, seeping through the messenger's neck. Within seconds, the Weaver’s skin turned a pale grey, his muscles withered, and the light of life in his eyes faded until it was completely extinguished.

His Majesty released his grip. The lifeless body fell like a dry log, shattering into pieces as it hit the ground, leaving only an empty grey robe. The last two messengers lost their sanity.

The fourth Weaver turned and tried to bolt upward, intending to pierce through the forest canopy to escape. However, just as his feet left the ground, His Majesty simply stomped his right foot softly.

A shockwave of pure force containing the weight of a thousand mountains traveled through the ground, causing the ancient tree roots to explode and thrust upward. But the roots did not pierce; they merely served as supporting pillars as His Majesty shot straight up like an arrow released from a divine bow.

A loud physical thud broke the silence. His Majesty was already in the air, gripping the fourth Weaver’s back and slamming him back into the ground with a force that collapsed the circular clearing. The ground sank one pace deep. The Weaver spat blood, but before he could groan, His Majesty’s palm had pressed against his face.

The suction occurred again. The pure spiritual essence of Weaver Transformation was pulled out by force, filling the void within the second pillar that now glowed intensely on His Majesty’s forehead. The fourth Weaver’s form withered like a leaf in autumn, vanishing within heartbeats.

Now only the fifth Weaver remained.

He stood at the edge of the small crater that had been created, his legs so weak he fell to a sitting position. All his pride as an elite practitioner of the Ancient Han Clan had vanished, replaced by a cold emptiness. He watched His Majesty rise from the crater with graceful movements, his dark purple hair fluttering in the wind of death he had created himself.

His Majesty walked closer. There was no anger on his face, no satisfaction. The fifth Weaver moved his fingers, intending to form a mudra to self-destruct. His Majesty stood directly in front of him, towering over him. With a movement that almost looked gentle, His Majesty lifted his right foot and stepped on the leader's chest.

The sound of shattering ribs echoed throughout the clearing. His Majesty canceled any technique that might have been used. He punched the head and body of the fifth Weaver several times, then his palm opened and drew out the soul and essence. Immediately, dark light pulsed around him, spreading an oppressive aura and making the ground tremble.

WHUMP! WHUMP!

His Majesty stood tall amidst the destruction. The second pillar on his forehead was perfectly formed, marking the advancement of the Ancient Devil. A thick purple-golden glow emanated from his forehead, as if a dark galaxy had just been born there. The vibrations radiating from his body made the entire Forest Spirit Land bow; the ancient trees that were previously bloodthirsty now twisted away, creating an empty circle one hundred paces wide.