Chapter 372: Red Disaster Star Field! Human Race Crisis! Primordial Fire News

Chapter 372: The Red Catastrophe Sector! The Human Crisis! Tidings of the Primordial Flame! Preparing for the Imperial Ascension!

Deep within the sub-space, the folds of time and space were smoothed out in silence by a silver streak of light.

The voyage of the Oracle Throne was not a tearing of space in the traditional sense, but rather a passage granted by supreme authority.

It moved through this chaotic, disordered sub-space like an administrator possessing the highest level of clearance; all temporal turbulence and dimensional storms parted before it, offering a path of absolute safety.

This was the perfect crystallization of the Mechanical Race’s supreme technology and their profound understanding of the universe’s underlying laws.

Seven standard cosmic days later, the silver light quietly emerged from the depths of the sub-space, like a drop of water merging into the sea, without stirring a single ripple in the reality of the universe.

Qin Feng’s consciousness, seated upon the throne, gazed through the cold faceplate of the Vanguard at the star sector before him.

What met his eyes was neither the brilliance of stars nor the depth of darkness.

It was, instead, a state of chaos.

Yes, chaos.

Time and space were twisted here, the laws were fractured, light was rendered meaningless, and causality was hopelessly entangled.

It was as if the Creator, while forging the world, had discarded all the drafts, failed designs, and unclassifiable error codes into this forgotten corner.

And in the center of this chaos stood a mountain.

It could not be measured by any three-dimensional scale, for its peak pierced into higher dimensions of space-time, flickering in and out of existence, while its base was rooted deep within an absolute void that devoured all things, its beginning lost to sight.

The mountain’s body possessed a chaotic hue, neither metal nor stone, upon which flowed billions of temporal waterfalls and rifts of broken law.

Merely glancing at it from afar would cause a King-tier powerhouse to feel their very foundation of Dao being twisted and assimilated, their spirit swaying as if they were about to be pulled into the mountain, becoming a part of its eternal mass.

The Eternal Mountain.

One of the oldest and most mysterious sites of fortune in the universe.

Legend held that it was the physical manifestation of the very first concept of immortality at the dawn of creation.

Yet, at this moment, Qin Feng’s attention was not entirely fixed upon this fabled divine peak.

His gaze—or rather, the Oracle Throne’s supreme detection system, capable of perceiving the very veins of the laws—was scanning the vast star sector beyond the mountain, a region that appeared empty but was in fact teeming with lethal intent.

The scan results, rendered through massive data streams, appeared directly within his consciousness.

"Confirmed: Imperial-tier energy signatures, seven hundred and fifty-three."

"Confirmed: Super-specification law-locking arrays, twelve."

"Confirmed: Causality-locking cosmic artifacts, three."

"Confirmed: Spatial anchoring devices, three point six million, forming a perfect spherical blockade that renders any spatial jumping impossible."

The cold data painted a suffocating picture of despair.

On the periphery of the Eternal Mountain, the Alliance of Ten Thousand Races had cast a net from which there was no escape.

Seven hundred and fifty-three Emperors!

This number was enough to make any peak race tremble.

It was more than half of all the mobile Imperial-tier forces the Alliance could possibly mobilize!

They were not in a hurry to assault the mountain, for the Eternal Mountain itself was a natural fortress that no external force could breach. They were waiting.

Using the divine mountain as a cage and the void as a hunting ground, they waited.

They waited for the mountain gates to open, for the trapped human Emperors to emerge.

Within Qin Feng’s consciousness, the sub-system of the Supreme Mechanical God’s intellect was calculating at high speed.

"According to database records, the opening cycle of the Eternal Mountain is one million standard cosmic years. Fifty thousand years have passed since it last closed."

"Conclusion: Fifty thousand years remain until the next opening of the gates."

Fifty thousand years.

To a mortal, this was an unimaginably long span of time.

But to an Imperial-tier existence, it was merely a slightly extended period of seclusion.

"They intend to... settle everything in one final stroke."

Qin Feng’s consciousness judged with icy detachment.

This was no longer a simple tactic of besieging a point to strike reinforcements.

This was a plan to completely and cruelly annihilate the core strength of the human race’s current Emperors!

Nearly eighty percent of the human Emperors of this generation had been drawn into this trap when they were pursuing the "fallen" Qin Feng, only to be caught alongside the Emperors of the other races when the Eternal Mountain suddenly manifested.

This was a calculated trap.

The Alliance of Ten Thousand Races was willing to see dozens of their own Emperors trapped just to ensure the human race’s backbone was locked within the Eternal Mountain.

Then, they would mobilize even greater forces to set up a killing field outside.

Once the gates opened in fifty thousand years, the human Emperors would emerge with their hard-won fortunes, only to be met by an enemy force several times their size and a web of death prepared for half a million years.

By then, the human race would face an unprecedented generational collapse of its Imperial power.

Not the kind of talent gap seen in the Heaven’s Pride Rankings that lasted a mere century.

But a true, fundamental collapse of the civilization’s peak combat power, one that would shake the very foundations of the race!

"What a grand design."

Even with Qin Feng’s current state of mind, he felt a chill upon discerning the interlocking layers of this venomous scheme.

To stifle the rise of the human race, the Alliance of Ten Thousand Races had reached a point where they would stop at nothing.

"Fifty thousand years..."

Qin Feng’s consciousness calculated calmly.

This time was long enough, yet short enough.

Long enough for him to make extensive preparations.

Short enough that... he had little room for error.

To charge in now as the "Vanguard" would be meaningless.

It would not only fail to break the deadlock but would expose his connection to the human race, dragging the Mechanical Race into the fray and complicating the situation further.

He needed a perfect point of entry, a script where he could return as "Qin Feng," a king reclaiming his throne to turn the tide.

And now was not the time for his entrance.

"Find a place to lie dormant first."

Qin Feng made his decision.

The Oracle Throne retreated silently, melting like a ghost into the shadows of an asteroid belt.

Relying on the Mechanical Race’s top-tier stealth technology, it became an insignificant speck of noise against the cosmic background radiation, invisible even to the divine senses of the Emperors sweeping the area.

He prepared to wait here, watching in silence.

Waiting for the moment the storm gathers to its absolute zenith.

The Human Domain, the very core of the realm.

Headquarters of the Holy Academy.

It is not built upon any planet, but suspended within a "Sea of Holy Light" forged from pure radiance and fundamental laws.

Billions of white jade floating isles are linked by chains of law that pierce the heavens, each island crowned with a temple representing a different branch of knowledge or heritage.

This is the seat of human wisdom and the highest chamber of decision-making.

At the pinnacle of the Sea of Holy Light, within an ancient stone hall that appears humble yet feels like the center of the entire universe.

The Lord of Limits, clad in a simple grey robe, stands silently in the center of the hall.

His aura is restrained to the extreme, making him appear as an ordinary old man; yet, observe closely, and one would see the space, light, and even causality around him "collapsing" in a subtle manner, as if he himself were a walking human black hole, a singularity of cosmic law.

Before him float five towering, indistinct phantoms.

Some of these shadows resemble human-shaped galaxies composed of billions of stars, others are chaotic thunder in a state of eternal flux, and one is a withered, ancient Buddha sitting atop the river of time...

They are the true pillars of humanity, beings who have long transcended ordinary life forms... the Lords of the Universe.

At this moment, within this hall where the fate of humanity is decided, the atmosphere is so oppressive it feels frozen.

"The situation is as follows."

The voice of the Lord of Limits is calm, yet laden with an indescribable weight.

"The crisis at the Heavenly Profound Pass was unexpectedly resolved by a mysterious powerhouse of the Machine Race. But according to the intelligence relayed by the Heavenly Profound Emperor, the opponent's identity is a riddle, their motives unknown; we cannot yet determine their true stance toward our race."

"As for the Eternal Mountain, the situation has deteriorated to the extreme. The blockade of the Myriad Races Alliance has fully formed. Based on our current intelligence, the number of resident Emperors is no fewer than fifty. They are clearly determined to tear a fatal piece of flesh from our people."

The hall falls into silence.

After a long while, the phantom of the "Lord of Galaxies," composed of billions of stars, emits a grand sound like the grinding of celestial bodies.

"We cannot spare any manpower from the Endless Sea."

"The 'Mother Empress' of the Zerg and the 'Ancestral Dragon' of the Monster Race have been frequently active of late, seemingly making final preparations for the full arrival of the 'Golden Age.' We five must remain here to confront them; we cannot leave for even a moment. Otherwise, the entire front line will collapse."

The Lords of the Universe are the anchors of humanity, and they face the oldest, most terrifying existences of the other peak races at the same level.

The game between them is so delicate that a single move affects the whole, making it impossible to withdraw easily.

"What of the Conferred Saint Battlefield?"

Another phantom, the "Lord of Piercing Heavens" surrounded by endless sword intent, asks, his voice sharp enough to sever causality.

The Lord of Limits shakes his head slowly.

"That is also impossible. The traitors of the Myriad Races Cult have become unusually active recently. Just three standard months ago, a war unseen in ten thousand years erupted on the Conferred Saint Battlefield; it cost the life of a newly ascended Saint for us to barely drive them back."

"Now, every Conferred Saint is locked in a standoff with their counterparts from the Cult in their respective sectors. No one dares to act rashly."

As his words fall, the atmosphere in the hall grows even heavier.

The highest combat power—the Lords of the Universe and the Conferred Saints—are all tightly held in check.

"What of the... remaining Emperors we can mobilize?"

The voice of the "Lord of Myriad Laws," who resembles a withered Buddha, is ancient and distant.

"Fewer than ten."

The Lord of Limits utters a chilling number.

"To hunt down Qin Feng, we deployed almost every mobile Emperor we had. Those thirty or so are eighty percent of our top-tier combat strength. The few remaining each guard the core nodes of several cosmic nations to prevent the Zerg and Monsters from seizing the opportunity. If we pull them away, our gates will be left wide open."

"Furthermore..."

The Lord of Limits pauses, a hint of bitterness in his voice, "Even if we sent them all out, facing the encirclement of over fifty Emperors from the Alliance would be like trying to put out a burning cart of firewood with a single cup of water—it would merely be throwing more lives away."

A dead end.

An absolute, total dead end.

The enemy has used a brilliant strategy to force the human pieces into the corner of the board. No matter how we move, we lose.

"What about the Kings?"

"Sending the Kings is no different from sending them to their deaths."

The Lord of Limits flatly rejects the proposal. "On a battlefield of Emperors, no matter how many Kings there are, it cannot cause a qualitative change. Any one of the enemy's Emperors could slaughter thousands of Kings in a short time."

The hall falls into a long, profound silence once more.

The five Lords of the Universe, representing the pinnacle of human strength, feel a deep sense of powerlessness.

It is not that they are weak, but that the foundation of humanity is ultimately inferior to those ancient races that have inherited the cosmos for countless eons.

The rise of humanity has been too fast, too fierce, and its roots are shallow—like a giant with powerful limbs but internal organs that have yet to fully mature.

Once the enemy finds a flaw and strikes with precision, we are immediately plunged into this desperate, constrained predicament.

"Is there... truly no other way?"

The voice of the Lord of Piercing Heavens contains a trace of suppressed fury. "Must we simply watch as the spine of our race is broken, one vertebra at a time, outside the Eternal Mountain?"

"Sigh..."

A long, weary sigh emanates from the phantom of the Lord of Myriad Laws.

"This is the 'Tribulation' of a civilization. Every race that attempts to rise must face such a trial. If we survive, the sea is wide and the sky is vast, and we shall soar. If we fail, we are doomed to eternal destruction, becoming nothing more than dust in the starry void."

"We... perhaps should consider... the worst-case scenario."

"The worst-case scenario?"

"Prepare to welcome an era... without Emperors."

The voice of the Lord of Myriad Laws is calm, yet cruelly cold. "Contract the defensive lines, abandon all outer territories, and retreat all viable forces to the core domain. With the Holy Academy as the center, relying on the final barriers left by the Ancestors, we shall enter a state of total strategic defense."

"Trade space for time. Wait for... the 'Qin Feng' of the next era to grow."

This proposal causes the temperature of the hall to drop to the freezing point.

What a tragic, helpless choice this is.

It means humanity will abandon the vast territories won through eons of expansion, meaning countless humans living in those lands will be abandoned and reduced to fodder for alien races.

It means humanity will regress from an aggressive, peak race into a cowering survivor.

"I... do not agree!"

The phantom of the Lord of Galaxies fluctuates violently, billions of stars roaring within him. "My race rose from the humblest beginnings, forging immortality in blood and fire! When has there ever been a precedent of retreating without a fight!?"

"This is not a retreat; it is the preservation of the spark."

The voice of the Lord of Myriad Laws remains calm.

"Such a spark, even if preserved, will have long since lost the heart to set the plains ablaze!"

An argument, rare and fierce, erupts within the highest hall of humanity.

The Lord of Limits listens quietly, offering no interjection.

He knows this is not a clash of ideologies, but two equally agonizing choices in the face of a desperate end.

After a long silence, he raised his head, cutting through the clamor of the debate.

"Gentlemen."

His voice brought a sudden, absolute stillness to the phantoms.

"Perhaps... things have not yet reached that point."

"Oh?"

"Limit, what are you thinking?"

A light that no one could decipher flickered in the depths of the Lord of Limits' eyes.

He spoke slowly: "We are all waiting. Waiting for a... variable."

"A variable?"

"Yes."

The Lord of Limits looked up, his gaze seemingly piercing the dome of the hall to stare into the endless void. "A chess piece... capable of shattering this stalemate."

Unbidden, an image surfaced in his mind—a figure who should have long since perished.

That peerless genius who, with his own strength, stirred the winds and clouds of the entire universe, only to meet a "tragic end" under the siege of billions of powerful foes.

If... he were still alive, how would he face such a death trap?

The thought flashed through his mind, only to be extinguished by a bitter, self-deprecating smile.

The dead are gone.

The human race cannot pin its hopes on a miracle that no longer exists.

"I have decided."

The voice of the Lord of Limits regained its customary calm and resolve.

"Pass on my orders: from this day forth, all human territories are to enter a state of maximum combat readiness."

"All second-line legions are to assemble in the core territories. All first-line legions are to hold their defensive lines; no unauthorized sorties are permitted."

"Within the Holy Academy, all resources are to be diverted to the geniuses on the [Heavenly Pride List], the [Marquis List], and the [King List]. Spare no cost—I want a new generation of powerhouses cultivated in the shortest time possible!"

"As for [Eternal Mountain]..."

He paused, a flicker of pain and determination crossing his eyes.

"Until we find a way to break the deadlock... we can only... wait. See if Caesar and the others can hold out... if they cannot, alas..."

The single word "wait" carried the weight of infinite bitterness and helplessness.

Within the great hall, silence reigned once more.

Many Lords of the Universe departed for the Endless Sea.

Driven by the supreme will, the vast war machine of the human race began to contract and draw inward with a tragic grace, preparing to welcome a winter... that might last a million years, or even longer.

...

In the shadows of the asteroid belt, the [Oracle] throne hung silently, like a speck of eternal dust.

Inside, Qin Feng’s consciousness was deeply linked to the throne’s detection systems, transforming him into an observer of absolute coldness. He watched the distant [Eternal Mountain], locked down tight by fifty-three Emperors, twelve super-scale formations, and millions of spatial anchors.

In this star region, distorted by supreme power, time lost its conventional meaning.

One year.

Ten years.

A century.

A millennium.

For a thousand years, Qin Feng simply "watched."

Throughout that millennium, the blockade of the Myriad Races Alliance never slackened; instead, it grew more formidable with each passing day. New Emperors arrived to rotate the watch, bringing with them more precise sealing artifacts and more vicious kill-arrays. They were like the most patient of hunters, weaving a net that grew tighter and more lethal, waiting only for the moment the prey emerged.

As for the human side, there was no movement.

No reinforcements, no attempts to break the siege, not even a single probing signal.

Even from here, Qin Feng could guess the Holy Academy’s decision with eighty percent accuracy.

Facing such a lethal, calculated trap, any rash action before having absolute certainty would only accelerate the deaths of the trapped Emperors.

The strategy of "waiting" was both a necessity and the only choice.

"Fifty thousand years... too long."

Qin Feng withdrew his consciousness from the despairing blockade.

He knew clearly that with his current strength—whether as the "Vanguard" avatar with top-tier Emperor-level combat power, or as his own "Qin Feng" body with its infinite potential—he was not enough to break this stalemate.

To charge in and face the siege of over fifty Emperors would mean nothing but his own fall.

He needed greater power.

A power capable of delivering the final blow, of completely overturning the chessboard.

He needed... to ascend to the rank of Emperor.

And not an ordinary Emperor. With his supreme foundation of the [Primal Singularity], once he broke through, it would be earth-shattering, his combat power soaring to the pinnacle of the Emperor realm, or perhaps... even higher.

Only then, returning as "Qin Feng," could he deliver a thunderous strike and break the deadlock.

"There is no meaning in staying here."

The cold judgment formed in his consciousness. To continue monitoring was merely a waste of time.

"[Oracle], depart from the current star region. Engage random jump mode. Mask all traceable signals. Destination... the entire universe."

"Command confirmed."

Accompanied by a soulless, mechanical voice, the throne—bearing the pinnacle technology of the Mechanical Race—slipped silently into the deeper layers of subspace.

It set no clear destination, like a true lone boat beginning its long drift through the boundless universe.

A solitary expedition, aimed at seeking the ultimate breakthrough, had begun.

Time, like the cheapest dust in the cosmos, drifted away quietly.

Thirty thousand years.

Fifty thousand years.

One hundred thousand years.

Qin Feng piloted the [Oracle], disguised as the "Vanguard," wandering the vast sea of stars.

He was like a true ghost, a cold observer witnessing an unprecedented, fanatical, and bloody era erupting like the rising sun.

The [Golden Age]... had arrived.

It was not a specific point in time, but a gradual process. When the vast majority of living beings in the universe could clearly feel a certain "change," it had already come.

This change was first manifested in the "activity" of the cosmic will.

Boom—!

In the bustling, multi-species trading sector known as the Seven-Treasure Galaxy, the once-placid sea of laws began to boil without warning.

Billions of golden, sacred rays pierced through the dimensions, coalescing at the heart of the galaxy into a massive golden scroll that blotted out the heavens.

Upon the scroll, ancient and arcane cosmic runes slowly emerged, their contents instantly translated and branded into the minds of every powerhouse at the King-rank or above within this sector.

[Cosmic Mission: Purify the 'Void Eater']

[Mission Objective: Hunt down the runaway ancient chaotic creature, the 'Void Eater', within the 'Chaos Vortex'.]

[Mission Reward: Depending on contribution, bestow one to ten units of 'World Origin'.]

The moment the mission was issued, the entire Seven-Treasure Galaxy erupted into chaos.

"World Origin! It is actually World Origin!"

"A mission issued by the Cosmic Will itself! This is the most distinct sign of the Golden Age!"

"Madness! It is all madness! Quick! Assemble the fleet! Target the Chaos Vortex!"

Countless King-rank powerhouses, who were busy trading, meditating, or even indulging in pleasure, turned bloodshot-eyed at this moment, like sharks catching the scent of blood, transforming into streaks of light as they surged frantically toward the perilous region known as the "Chaos Vortex."

On a trading planet within the Seven-Treasure Galaxy, inside an inconspicuous tavern, the "Vanguard," clad in silver-white armor, sat quietly holding a glass of liquor made of pure energy, watching the spectacular scene of locust-like swarms crossing the sky through the window, his eyes as still as an ancient well.

"World Origin, to an ordinary King-rank, is a supreme treasure for forging the foundation of an Emperor-rank. But to me... it is useless."

His [Primordial Singularity], in its essence, had long since surpassed any single World Origin.

What he required were the "Primordial" series substances that constituted the lowest-level rules of the universe.

He set down his glass, and his figure quietly vanished.

This opportunity, capable of plunging a star sector into a century of bloody war, was to him nothing more than a noisy background painting in his journey.

The second characteristic of the Golden Age was the frequent appearance of ancient opportunities.

Above the ruins of an ancient battlefield long deemed "dead and silent," the wreckage of a star that had been extinguished for billions of years suddenly erupted with seven-colored divine light.

Within the radiance, a magnificent white jade palace, unimaginable in scale, slowly rose from the cracks of the dimensions.

On the plaque of the palace, the two characters "Yaoguang" radiated an aura of a Venerable that made even Emperors tremble.

"It is Yaoguang's dojo!"

"Heavens! The legacy of this powerful Venerable, who vanished in the ancient era... has emerged!"

The news swept through dozens of surrounding cosmic nations like a storm.

This time, it was the true giants who were stirred.

"This place belongs to my 'Celestial Race'! All idlers, retreat!"

A three-headed, six-armed giant, ten thousand feet tall and composed entirely of golden divine radiance, stepped through the void holding a giant axe, his terrifying Emperor-rank aura crushing several planets into powder.

"Celestial Race? What a boast! The legacy of Yaoguang belongs to those with virtue! My 'Holy Spirit Race' shall not yield!"

On the other side, a perfect being bathed in holy flames descended, behind whom billions of believers seemed to be chanting, the holy light shining down, rivaling the golden radiance.

The great war erupted instantly.

Dozens of Emperors who had arrived upon hearing the news engaged in a brutal slaughter on this ancient battlefield for the sake of an ethereal Venerable legacy.

Laws shattered, the galaxy inverted, and the aftermath of their battle was enough to easily obliterate swaths of King-rank powerhouses.

The [Oracle] sat quietly anchored in the void outside the battlefield.

Qin Feng's consciousness calmly analyzed the fluctuations of the laws emanating from the white jade palace.

"Yaoguang's legacy... I have already obtained it."

"This palace may be another dojo he left behind, or... a trap. Regardless, it holds little value for me."

His gaze swept over the Emperors fighting frantically, without the slightest ripple.

There was a time when Emperors were beings he had to look up to, high and unreachable.

But now, in his eyes, these people were merely a group of profit-seekers whose minds had been clouded by the word "opportunity."

The [Oracle] departed quietly once more.

The activity of the Cosmic Will and the descent of ancient opportunities together catalyzed the core characteristic of the Golden Age—chaos.

Extreme chaos.

Order was collapsing, and rules were being reshaped.

Two races that were allies yesterday might turn into sworn enemies today over a newly discovered secret realm, leaving rivers of blood.

A King-rank powerhouse who was high and mighty one second might be ambushed in some dark corner the next by a group of "hunters," stripped of their life's savings.

The entire universe had transformed into a massive, steaming alchemical furnace.

Opportunities, slaughter, betrayal, rise, fall...

Every day, it played out countless times.

Against such a backdrop, Qin Feng was like an absolute outsider, a lonely scavenger, searching the vast cosmic ruins for those few inconspicuous "Primordial" fragments that belonged only to him.

He had been to a "Tear Star" about to be swallowed by a black hole, where the intelligent life, as the apocalypse descended, did not despair or pray, but instead sang an ancient ballad as a whole race, calmly welcoming the end.

Their spirits, in the moment of annihilation, sublimated into a purity that bordered on the "Dao."

Qin Feng listened quietly for seven days and seven nights.

His Dao heart was washed even more transparent in that tragic yet transcendent singing.

He had been to a silent star sector infected by "mechanical viruses," where all matter had been assimilated into illogical, frantically proliferating metallic flesh.

He saw the other side of the universe, the reverse of order—absolute chaos and entropy increase.

He stayed there for a century, using [Myriad Phenomena] to analyze the underlying logic of those viruses, deepening his understanding of "creation" and "destruction."

He had also descended upon a black market known as the [Reincarnation Bazaar].

There, everything could be traded—lifespan, talent, memory, fortune, and even... fragments of the soul.

He saw a dying King-rank trade his final life's insights for three hundred years of returned youth, just to return to his home planet and see the grave of his first love, who had long since turned to dust.

He also saw an ambitious prodigy sell his race's star map in exchange for a drop of "divine blood" that would allow him to break through his bottleneck, only to immediately throw himself into the embrace of a hostile faction.

All manifestations of sentient beings, strange and bizarre.

In this lonely journey spanning one hundred thousand years, Qin Feng's strength did not undergo a qualitative leap. His realm remained at the peak of the King-rank.

But his temperament had undergone a earth-shaking transformation through these profound witnessings and realizations.

If he was once a peerless, sharp, and indestructible weapon, he was now more like an boundless deep sea that encompassed all things.

Beneath the surface, there remained the sharpness capable of severing all.

But above the surface, it could calmly reflect the stars and dust of the entire universe.

His "path of limits" was no longer just about pursuing the limit of power, but about pursuing a limit of... cognition and state of mind.

He realized ever more clearly that his Dao was unique.

Ordinary opportunities, even the legacy of a Venerable, were to him merely a supplement of "knowledge," not a completion of his "foundation."

He needed—

The Primordial Divine Gold, to forge his indestructible Ultimate Imperial Body.

The Primordial Fire, to ignite his world-consuming Primordial Furnace.

The Primordial Secret Arts, to perfect his Ultimate Dao that transcends all laws.

These were the true puzzle pieces required for his ascension to the Imperial Rank.

Yet, treasures of such caliber, even in this Golden Age, were as rare as phoenix feathers and qilin horns, impossible to seek out by design. They were the cornerstones of the cosmos, and every time they surfaced, they inevitably ignited a storm of blood and slaughter at the highest level.

Qin Feng was patient.

Like the most seasoned hunter, he waited silently in the dark forest for his singular prey to reveal its trail.

On this day, he finally waited long enough.

The Tian-Shu Star Domain.

It was a neutral territory of great renown within the universe. It belonged to no peak race, controlled instead by an ancient information brokerage known as the Thousand-Mechanism Pavilion.

Here, the only currency that held sway was not cosmic crystals or exotic artifacts, but intelligence.

As long as you could pay the price, you could purchase any secret—from the private predilections of an Imperial-ranked powerhouse to the latest military maneuvers of a peak civilization.

The Oracle, disguised as an unremarkable shuttle, docked at the public port of Linglong Star, the capital of the Tian-Shu Star Domain.

Qin Feng, in the form of the Vanguard, stepped off the vessel.

He did not head for the gilded headquarters of the Thousand-Mechanism Pavilion, but instead turned into a dim, chaotic back alley teeming with turbulent flows of energy and data.

This was the black market of information.

He entered a tavern called the Wind-Listening Pavilion.

The tavern was shrouded in gloom, a melting pot of the desperate and the depraved, where every corner seemed to host a clandestine transaction.

Qin Feng found a seat in the shadows, ordered a glass of the most common swill, and allowed his consciousness to unfurl like an invisible spiderweb, instantly enveloping the entire room.

With his current mental strength, comparable to the peak of the Imperial Rank, combined with the Mechanical Race’s innate talent for data processing, every public, encrypted, or even subconscious stream of information here had nowhere to hide.

Countless chaotic signals flooded his sea of consciousness, instantly filtered, categorized, and organized by the sub-systems of the Supreme Mechanical God’s central processor.

"...Did you hear? The Crown Prince of the Blood Demon Race was slaughtered in the Abyss of Fallen Gods. The Blood Demon Emperor is offering a frantic bounty for the killer..."

"...Latest news, a super-massive Source Crystal vein has been discovered in the Tian-Niu Sector. Several major powers are already tearing each other apart over it..."

"...Stay away from the Gloom-Blue Star Sea; a Spacetime Plague is spreading there. Even an Imperial-ranked powerhouse could see their Dao foundation rot away..."

These were all useless static.

Qin Feng filtered them with patience.

Finally, a faint, thousand-fold encrypted telepathic exchange caught his attention.

It was a conversation between two figures shrouded in dark cloaks in the deepest corner of the tavern.

"...Did you bring it?"

"...I did. But the intelligence you want is of too high a value. This is not enough."

"...Add this."

A crystal radiating a faint fluctuation of Time Laws was pushed across the table.

The other man’s breathing hitched for a moment before he regained his composure. "...Very well. What do you wish to know?"

"...What is happening with the recent anomalies in the Red Calamity Star Domain? My people have all lost contact after entering."

The other party fell silent for a moment, seemingly weighing the risks, before speaking slowly: "...A fragment of a Primordial Secret Realm has appeared there."

The word "Primordial" caused Qin Feng’s consciousness to lock on instantly.

"A Primordial Secret Realm? Is that true?"

"Absolutely. According to our intelligence, that realm seems to... be gestating a wisp of the legendary..."

He paused, the transmission of his thoughts becoming incredibly strained.

"...Primordial Fire."

Boom!

Qin Feng’s sea of consciousness, that ancient, still deep, finally stirred with a true ripple.

Found it!

One of the "puzzle pieces" he had sought in vain for a hundred thousand years!

The figure was clearly shocked beyond measure by this news. He blurted out, "How is that possible! Doesn't such a thing only exist from the dawn of the universe?"

"In the Golden Age, anything is possible. However, I advise you to abandon the thought. Because those eyeing that item are no longer at a level you or I can provoke."

"...Who are they?"

"As far as I know, at least three have already descended upon the Red Calamity Star Domain."

"Each one is a monster who, like the former 'Fierce God' Qin Feng, has stepped onto the Divine Path."

"The first is the Nine-Change Crown Prince of the Divine Silkworm Race, the Divine Silkworm King. It is rumored he has nine chances to be reborn through nirvana; each time he dies, he grows stronger. He has already died eight times."

"The second is the Golden Bloodline of the War Race, the War Martial King. A pure combat maniac whose martial path is war itself—the more he fights, the stronger he becomes, without end."

"As for the third..."

The voice dropped even lower. "...From the most mysterious Ancient Void Race, the one known to have touched the 'Source of Space'... the Ancient Void King."

Divine Silkworm King.

War Martial King.

Ancient Void King.

Three names, each representing a near-invincible legend on the Imperial Ranking.

They were the children of destiny born for this Golden Age. They were peerless prodigies capable of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the Qin Feng of before his "fall."

And now, these three monsters had gathered in the Red Calamity Star Domain for that single wisp of Primordial Fire.

One could only imagine what a terrifying dragon’s den that place would become.

He silently withdrew his chips, stood up, and vanished into the darkness without looking back.

Clearly, he had given up.

In the corner of the tavern, Qin Feng slowly set down his glass.

The eyes hidden behind his cold faceplate ignited, for the first time in a hundred thousand years, with a true, searing heat.

Divine Path prodigies?

Perfect.

His "Ultimate Path" needed the finest whetstone to advance further.

And that wisp of Primordial Fire...

He would have it, no matter the cost.

The figure of the Vanguard quietly vanished from the tavern, as if he had never been there at all.

From the harbor of Exquisite Star, that unassuming shuttle set sail once more.

This time, its destination was etched in absolute certainty—

The Crimson Catastrophe Sector!

(End of chapter)