Chapter 145:
The Divine Arena shook from the thunderous cheers of the audience.
On the stands, several elders who has been paying attention stared intently at Shen Tao.
Crippled circuits, broken meridians, Supreme Bone dug out—just one of them guarantees that the person will be a trash, yet all three happened to him.
Despite this, just with his own physical body, he created an entirely different Cultivation system!
This talent... This is enough achievement to leave his name in history!
There has been many Supremes that has been born since time immemorial, most of them were forgotten, and some of them weren’t even known, just like a certain Bright Silver Emperor.
However, thise who paved way for an entirely new path has never been forgotten, and even to this day, their names were worshipped!
If Shen Tao wasn’t the descendant of the Third Elder, a bonafide peak Heavenly Saint powerhouse, many experts here would risk offending the Shen Clan just to get him!
Under the thunderous cheers, Shen Haoran stepped over the scorched sand toward the crater and stopped at the edge of the pit, looking down at the broken, blood-stained form of Shen Tao.
The boy lay there, his fingers still curled into a fist even in unconsciousness, his breathing a shallow but stubborn rhythm.
Haoran’s golden eyes narrowed, analyzing the very threads of causality surrounding the fallen youth.
’A protagonist,’ he mused, the thought resonating with the cold clarity of a divine decree.
He can be sure of it. This man is definitely a protagonist. In the narrative of the heavens, Shen Tao had all the hallmarks: the stolen gift, the fall from grace, the years of silent suffering, and the eventual, explosive rise through a self-created path.
He was a variable that should have been an anomaly, yet here he was, proving that the spirit could indeed forge its own laws when the heavens turned their back.
’Should I kill him?’ that is indeed the most logical choice.
However, if his hypothesis was correct, and that the luck of the Shen Clan was truly waning, then killing this boy would surely just result into their own luck further plummeting.
Right now, Shen Tao has no reason to hate the Shen Clan, but if he tried to kill him...
He can be sure, the heaven will surely interfere, saving him, and the Third Elder also wouldn’t just sit by and watch his grandson getting killed.
And even if he succeeded in killing him, the Clan’s luck would plummet, and the they would also lose a peak Heavenly Saint powerhouse, weakening them.
Alright. As long as this guy remained loyal, then there is no reason for him to die.
"Shen Tao, right?" Haoran asked.
The question was met with silence.
Shen Tao did not answer, obviously, his body and soul had reached their absolute limit, retreating into the deep restorative sleep of the truly exhausted.
He had given everything to prove his point, and in doing so, he had carved his name into the memory of every spectator present.
"The Third Enshrined Elder should be proud of having a grandson like you," Haoran spoke to the air, his voice carrying to the high VIP balconies. "In this world, so many tiger of a father have given birth to dogs of a son—weaklings who hide behind their lineage. But you? Even after being recognized as a cripple, even while being spat upon by those who stole your light, you didn’t bring shame to his prestige even once. You carried the weight of the Shen name in your very marrow."
Haoran reached into his spatial storage and withdrew an item that caused a collective gasp to ripple through the upper tiers of the stadium.
It was a black and gold scarf, woven from the silk of Void-Spiders and embroidered with the personal sigil of the Ruthless Empress’s household.
He draped it loosely over Shen Tao’s battered body.
"Even without having any talent to cultivate Qi, you managed to prove yourself," Haoran declared. "Stand proud. You are strong."
As the final word left his lips, the space around the crater began to warp and shimmer like a heat mirage.
Healers from the Main Line’s infirmary, acting under the subtle command of the Elders, manifested in the arena.
In a blink, both Shen Tao and the broken Shen Jian vanished, whisked away to the high-level medical vats where Saint-grade elixirs would begin the long process of mending their shattered frames.
High above, the Third Enshrined Elder was all smiles.
He didn’t just look satisfied; he looked vindicated. He almost laughed out loud as he stared at the spot where his grandson had been.
That scarf... it was a symbol of "Main Line Recognition."
Each one was worth more than three spirit stone mines, but its value wasn’t in the material.
It was a declaration that the person wearing it was under the protection and acknowledgment of the main line themselves.
It was a life-saving talisman and a badge of supreme honor.
Not even Heavenly Saint experts have the privilege of being granted this scarf, and only those who ascended to the Supreme Realm have received this.
On the other hand, the Second Enshrined Elder’s face was a mask of suffocating rage.
His grandson, the "prodigy" with the Supreme Bone, had been humiliated and discarded, while the "trash" he had tried to bury was now wearing the Young Master’s favor.
His face turned an ugly, mottled purple, looking as though he might erupt into a killing spree at any second.
Haoran turned his gaze back to the remaining Eight Crowns. They stood in a loose semi-circle, their initial arrogance tempered by the brutal display they had just witnessed.
"Only eight of you remain," Haoran said, his voice as smooth and cold as polished jade. "Who would like to go first? Though, if I may offer a suggestion to save us all some time... you should all just come at me at once. The results will be the same, but the process will be faster."
The silence lasted only a heartbeat as a young man with long, shimmering blond hair and piercing brown eyes took a resolute step forward.
His robes were etched with silver threads that seemed to pulse in a rhythmic, geometric pattern.
"Young Master Haoran," the youth said, his voice surprisingly steady. "I am Shen Bai, the 10th Crown. Although I admit you are strong, terrifyingly so, we are the Crowns for a reason. We represent the pride of our respective branches. We cannot and will not stand this humiliation. My cultivation may only be at the 8th Stage of the Golden Core Realm, but I am also a certified Fifth-Rank Formation Master. You want to fight all of us? Very well. We’ll show you the price of your arrogance!"
With a sudden, fluid motion, Shen Bai slammed his palm onto the arena floor, and at that moment, the ground lit up as a massive, circular array of glowing runes erupted from the sand, spanning the entire breadth of the combat area.
Immediately, the temperature in the arena plummeted and the sound of a thousand howling ghosts echoed from the void, and translucent, weeping spirits began to manifest, dancing around Haoran in a macabre, laughing parade.
"During the battle between Shen Tao and Shen Jian, while everyone was distracted by their primal exchange, I was not idle," Shen Bai sneered, his confidence returning. "I have laid down the necessary anchor-runes to activate this Rank 5 Formation: The Ghost Parade. This is a drainage array. It will slowly but relentlessly siphon the energy of any target within its boundaries. The longer you stay, the weaker you become. And the most beautiful part? Under the influence of these spirits, any injuries you sustain cannot be healed by normal means. Your regeneration is nullified."
Shen Haoran looked down at the ghostly spirits nipping at his sleeves, then back at Shen Bai as he nodded slowly in genuine appreciation. "This formation... its logic is sound. It’s based on the ancient Rank 4 Formation, the Spirit Starvation Field, isn’t it? But you’ve added a necrotic layer to interfere with the cellular reconstruction of the body."
Shen Bai’s eyes widened, his jaw dropping slightly. "How did you—?!"
Haoran hummed, letting out a sound of mild amusement.
"....I thought I was the only one in the realm who knew the root of this ancient art," Shen Bai muttered, a wry, bitter smile touching his lips.
The Spirit Starvation Field was indeed ancient—so ancient that the only complete record of it resided in the library of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the Imperial Artifact he had reclaimed from the Heaven Piercing Saint’s legacy.
For Shen Bai, he had found a complete scroll while he was out hunting some demonic cultivators in the vast wilderness.
"So?" Haoran asked, his hands still tucked into his sleeves. "What are you going to do next? This formation is impressive I must admit, but you know that it relies on a target having finite energy. With my physique, I can recover my Qi faster than your ghosts can eat it."
"We’re not done yet," a clear, feminine voice interrupted.
A girl with long, golden-blonde hair and heavy bangs that obscured her eyes stepped forward.
She wore baggy white robes that smelled faintly of medicinal herbs and scorched cinnabar. "Young Master, I am Shen Ying, the 9th Crown, and a Rank 5 Alchemist. I know your stamina is monstrous, but even a god can be bled out if the pressure is constant."
She opened her palm, and a dozen blood-red pills appeared, glowing with a sinister, incandescent light. "Everyone! These are Qi-Bursting Pills. They will double your Qi capacity for the duration of the fight without the usual backlash. And with me standing here as your rear guard, you need not worry about exhaustion. I have enough pills to keep you all at peak performance for three months straight!"
Then, a muscular young man with a golden hair in a buzz cut and shoulders as broad as a barn door stepped forward.
He summoned a massive, black iron war-hammer from his storage ring and slammed it into the ground, causing a localized tremor.
"I am Shen Cai! The 7th Crown! A Rank 5 Artificer!" he bellowed. "Since the rules forbid us from using the treasures given by our elders, then allow me to be the forge! I carry an entire mobile armory of Rank 5 Artifacts that I personally crafted! Spears! Swords! Heavy Armor! Whatever your element, whatever your style, I can equip you with the best gear in this arena!"
With the support of the formation, the bottomless supply of pills, and the specialized weapons, the morale of the remaining Crowns shifted instantly.
Shen Fei, the First Crown, let out a booming laugh as he stepped to the front of the line, his black Qi surging.
"Shen Haoran! Do you see this?" Shen Fei shouted, his eyes wide with a manic triumph. "This is the power of a collective! You might have had a chance to pick us off one by one, but now? Now our road to victory is inevitable! We are a fortress that cannot be breached!"
The hundreds of millions of spectators held their breath.
The combination was perfect—a support system that neutralized Haoran’s advantages while magnifying the strength of his opponents.
Shen Haoran stared at the united front of the Eight Crowns.
He looked at the ghosts, the pills, and the shimmering artifacts, and then, slowly, a real smile spread across his face, the smile of a predator who had finally found a meal worth the effort.
"Is that so?" he asked softly.
He took a single step forward, and the ground beneath his feet groaned as if it were being crushed by a mountain.
"I applaud your delusions of teamwork. It’s quite touching, really. But Shen Fei, you must not forget—"
Haoran’s golden eyes flared, and the "Ghost Parade" spirits suddenly shrieked in terror, attempting to flee back into the ground.
"—All roads lead back to me."