The Cultivation Alliance was a colossal organization. Exactly how many member nations it consisted of was known only to a very few.

  The minimum requirement to become a member nation was to reach Level Six and possess a cultivation planet.

  In theory, all cultivation nations fell under the Alliance’s jurisdiction. In practice, however, the Alliance had neither the time nor the energy to manage each one individually.

  Thus, nations below Level Six were generally governed by the Level Six nation of their respective planet.

  The Nether Phoenix Nation had risen from Level One to Level Six in less than one hundred thousand years—one of the fastest ascents in recorded history.

  Upon reaching Level Six, it was granted a cultivation planet by the Alliance. That planet was officially named Nether Phoenix Star.

  On Nether Phoenix Star, the will of the Nether Phoenix Nation was divine law.

  The planet contained eighteen Level Five cultivation nations. Upon reaching Level Five, each was granted ten Netherworld Battlefields.

  That meant there were only one hundred eighty Netherworld Battlefields on the entire planet.

  If one collapsed, it was permanently lost—unless one was willing to pay an astronomical price to a Level Six nation.

  How Netherworld Battlefields were created—and where those spatial rifts truly led—was unknown to Level Five nations. It was said that the spell to open such battlefields was granted only when a nation advanced to Level Six, and disclosure to lower nations meant immediate expulsion from the Alliance.

  Each Level Five nation governed numerous Level Four nations.

  Each Level Four governed even more Level Three nations.

  Level One and Two nations, by decree of the Alliance, were not to be interfered with.

  Zhao was a Level Three nation on Nether Phoenix Star. It was controlled by the Level Four nation Nether Dragon Nation, which in turn answered to the Level Five nation Nether Ruins Nation.

  During every Netherworld War, all Nascent Soul cultivators of Zhao were conscripted—without exception.

  The five ancestors of the Profound Ice Sword Sect had once faced that choice.

  Go—and the sect might survive, though they might die.

  Refuse—and the sect would be annihilated, and they would have nowhere to escape.

  Such was the reality for nearly every Level Three nation.

  The law of survival was simple:

  The strong spoke.

  The weak obeyed.

  Perhaps it was this cruelty that made cultivators even more calculating than mortals.

  Or perhaps, in the eyes of the Cultivation Alliance, the universe itself was merely a vast furnace—refining all beings without mercy.

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  In ancient mythic times, cultivators pursued the Dao. They spoke of heart and heaven.

  But after the cataclysm that ended that era—and the sudden rise of the Cultivation Alliance—the word “Dao” was shattered.

  History proved one thing:

  Cultivation without desire led to extinction.

  Only through ruthless competition could survival be secured.

  Whether this path would ultimately succeed, none could say.

  But for now, cultivators under the Alliance were far stronger than those of the ancient age.

  And that was enough.

  At this moment, within a Netherworld Battlefield of Nether Ruins Nation, something strange was unfolding.

  Every cultivator who had obtained divine consciousness fragments in the past three years was filled with dread.

  Across the battlefield, it was as though an Azure meteor shower was falling—

  Countless fragments streaked toward one direction.

  The already unstable battlefield could not withstand the surge.

  A massive section tore open, as though devoured by an invisible mouth—vanishing silently.

  From that rift, a vast divine consciousness cautiously extended—

  Then erupted outward, devouring wildly.

  Along with it came countless smoke-like creatures—the very same beings Yun Che had once consumed entirely.

  Similar scenes unfolded elsewhere.

  Three colossal consciousnesses emerged from collapsing spatial fissures.

  The mysterious creatures swarmed like locusts—attacking cultivators and objects alike.

  Panic erupted.

  Fleeing lights filled the sky as cultivators rushed toward the teleportation array.

  The moment those three consciousnesses appeared, Yun Che sensed them.

  His former “neighbors” within the rifts.

  Meanwhile, his scattered fragments continued returning.

  With each return, his consciousness strengthened—until it nearly matched its former peak.

  He was not in a hurry.

  Seated cross-legged, he adapted to this unfamiliar body.

  Several of the smoke-creatures drifted toward him.

  They hesitated—

  Then, unable to resist temptation, swarmed forward.

  Yun Che’s eyes snapped open.

  “Courting death.”

  His immense consciousness burst outward.

  The creatures shrieked in terror and retreated.

  But before they could escape, he swallowed several in one gulp.

  A distant consciousness attempted to intervene.

  Yun Che snorted and devoured the rest.

  A sigh echoed—but no further protest.

  “You have crossed the boundary,” Yun Che transmitted.

  His consciousness rippled across the battlefield.

  The three great entities paused.

  “You are strong. We did not expect you to emerge.”

  “This realm is collapsing. We are Devourers. Our mission is to consume and prevent wider collapse. Why interfere?”

  “If our lesser souls offended you, punish them. But devouring collapse is our purpose.”

  This was Yun Che’s first time hearing the term Devourers.

  He considered.

  The teleportation array would soon activate.

  If collapse accelerated now, evacuation might fail.

  “I do not seek to stop you,” he replied. “Only delay the final collapse.”

  “Agreed.”

  “As you wish.”

  “But our lesser souls must still feed.”

  Agreement reached, Yun Che departed.

  He struggled with the new body.

  Ma Liang’s spiritual roots were superior to his former self.

  But this was possession.

  It required refinement.

  He currently possessed no spiritual power—only consciousness.

  He needed seclusion to cultivate.

  Mid-flight, he paused—sensing something northwest.

  Three streaks of light fled.

  Behind them, over a dozen smoke-creatures closed in.

  Zhou Zihong of the Flame Incineration Nation’s Nether Deity Hall fled desperately alongside two senior brothers.

  Three days ago, there had been ten of them.

  Now only three remained.

  The creatures devoured soul and flesh alike—leaving mummified corpses.

  The distance shrank.

  One hundred zhang.

  Fifty.

  Thirty.

  Zhou Zihong felt death’s chill.

  She closed her eyes—

  A vast consciousness swept across.

  The pursuing creatures shrieked and fled instantly.

  The three cultivators froze.

  A young man floated nearby.

  Zhou Zihong’s body trembled.

  She recognized the face.

  Ma Liang.

  But he had died.

  “Senior Brother… Ma Liang?”

  He did not answer.

  He turned to leave.

  “Wait!” she called out. “The teleportation array is ahead. We have no strength left. Could you… take us with you?”

  He paused.

  “Follow.”

  Relief flooded her.

  She did not know—

  The man before her was no longer Ma Liang.

  Ahead, Yun Che gazed into the distance.

  Fifty years…

  Teng Huayuan.

  Are you still alive?