Chapter 398: The Emperor Awakens! Divine Selection Battlefield, Taking the Lead!

Chapter 398: The Emperor Awakens! The God-Chosen Battlefield, Leading the Charge!

Holy Terra, the High Council Chamber of Humanity.

As the weight of Qin Feng’s status as a "Legendary Elder" settled, and as he sat at the round table with the bearing of a Cosmic Venerable, the air in the chamber seemed to solidify into substance. His mentor, the Heaven-Swallowing Saint, had reddened eyes, while his former comrades, Tyrant Blade and Cloud Bat, gazed at the young figure with a look bordering on pilgrimage.

Yet, this atmosphere of "reunion" and "shock" was shattered in the next heartbeat.

There was no warning, no violent eruption of energy.

A shudder originating from the depths of the soul instantly pierced the marrow of every powerhouse present. It was not fear, but an instinctive resonance with a supreme existence, rooted deep within their genetic sequences.

"Clang—"

A bell tolled.

The sound did not travel through the air; it detonated directly within the mind-palace of every individual. It was grand, distant, as if traversing a river of time spanning billions of years, carrying the dust and blood of the primordial era to strike the gates of the present.

Qin Feng, who had been leaning lazily against his chair, suddenly sat bolt upright.

As a Cosmic Venerable, a master of "Conceptual Erasure" and "Fundamental Rules," his perception far exceeded that of most saints present. In that instant, his "Ultimate Saint Path," which usually enveloped his body in a self-contained unity, felt an irresistible "gentle pressure."

It was the will of a higher dimension.

"This is..." Qin Feng’s pupils contracted slightly; his eyes, fused with the Eye of Guixu, could not parse the source of this power. It did not exist in the physical universe; it came from the Warp, from that which was sustained by the billions of human thoughts—the Golden Throne.

The light in the council chamber began to shift.

The soft, bionic natural light faded, replaced by a faint, omnipresent golden glow. This radiance was not blinding, nor did it carry heat, but as it fell, the material structure of the room seemed to stabilize.

"Silence."

An ancient entity seated at the head of the table rose slowly. He was one of the three existing Lords of the Universe; usually, he resembled a withered, silent statue, but now, this elder who had witnessed countless eons had hands that trembled slightly.

He straightened his robes, which symbolized supreme authority, with meticulous movements, like a young apprentice about to meet a deity.

"Welcome... the Emperor."

The moment these two words were uttered, the entire chamber fell into a deathly silence.

No further explanation was needed. Within the human domain, the title "Emperor" belonged to only one.

The man who led humanity’s rise in the Dark Age, who suppressed the four Chaos Gods for countless eons, the man who had imprisoned himself upon the Golden Throne for ten thousand years to ensure the survival of his race.

The Emperor of Mankind.

Qin Feng rose slowly. Following his lead, the Heaven-Swallowing Saint, Tyrant Blade, Cloud Bat, and the hundred-odd saints and venerables around the table—any of whom could cause a galaxy to collapse with a single stomp—all stood in perfect unison.

No one spoke; no one even dared to breathe loudly.

The golden radiance began to converge in the center of the chamber. The space there did not shatter, but rippled like the surface of water, and a divine pressure began to climb exponentially.

This pressure was unlike the overbearing "Return to Nothingness" of Qin Feng, nor the "corrupt chaos" of the dark gods.

It was order.

It was iron law.

It was absolute protection.

Qin Feng stared fixedly at the mass of light. Through his "Eye of Guixu," he saw not just energy, but the convergence of countless causal threads. Each thread connected to a human soul, from the newborn infant to the dying elder, from the beggar in the slums to the governor of a star system.

Trillions upon trillions of human faiths, expectations, agonies, and hopes all gathered at that single point.

"So this is... the Emperor." Qin Feng murmured to himself. He had never seen such a mode of existence; it transcended mere cultivation, becoming a "Conceptual God" that embodied the power of an entire race.

The light dissipated, and a figure slowly emerged.

It was not a physical entity, but a projection. Yet, even as a phantom, its quality of existence was enough to crush the physical laws of the reality dimension.

He was tall, clad in intricate, archaic golden armor. Every scratch and dent on that armor seemed to record an epic battle. They were marks left by the struggle against Chaos demons, medals earned from suppressing alien civilizations. Along the seams of the armor flowed not psychic power, but the pure fortune of humanity.

Behind him floated a massive golden halo. It rotated slowly, shedding streams of particles like stardust, each grain seemingly containing a fragment of human civilization—the campfires of the agrarian age, the engines of interstellar warships, the cry of a newborn, the roar of a warrior before death.

The Emperor.

He was there.

His face was shrouded in a hazy, divine radiance, making it impossible to discern his features. Or perhaps, his features no longer mattered, for in the eyes of everyone who gazed upon him, they saw the image they revered and perfected most in their own hearts.

Some saw a stern father, others a benevolent prophet, still others an iron-fisted commander.

But in Qin Feng’s eyes, he saw a face that was weary yet resolute. There was no expression on that face, yet it was etched with the heaviest burden in existence.

An indescribable "divine majesty" filled the hall.

This majesty was not a condescending gaze from above, but a weight as heavy as a mountain. He stood there like a spine supporting a collapsing firmament.

"..."

Silence.

Utter, absolute silence.

The three Lords of the Universe present bowed their noble heads, not daring to look directly at the golden figure. Below them, the saints who ruled vast star sectors stood stiffly, their eyes filled with a longing and awe they had never known.

Except for the three Lords, no one present had ever truly seen the Emperor.

To the Heaven-Swallowing Saint, to Cloud Bat, and to 99% of those present, the Emperor was a myth, a legend, a cold and great symbol in history books, the object of contemplation during their martial arts initiation.

Even though they had lived for millions or tens of millions of years, before the Emperor, they were still children.

It was a brand etched into the depths of their souls.

Qin Feng felt a strange emotion spreading through the air.

It was not fear, nor fanaticism, but a sense of... grievance.

Yes, grievance.

Like a child who had been away from home for years, enduring the frost and bullying of the world, carrying the burdens of life alone, struggling desperately to survive. In this dark, cold, and malicious universe, humanity had walked a difficult path. They faced the butcher knives of aliens, the corruption of the Chaos gods, and the unknowns of the Endless Sea.

They gritted their teeth, bled, and died on the battlefield generation after generation, burning away their lifespans to protect their territory.

They had thought they were fighting alone.

Until this moment, the "father" of the house had awakened.

This emotion was like a tsunami, instantly shattering the impenetrable mental defenses of these saints and venerables.

The Emperor’s phantom did not speak.

He simply stood there, his gaze sweeping over everyone at the round table.

In that gaze, there was no special favor for any individual.

When his eyes passed over the Heaven-Swallowing Saint, the Saint felt no special recognition; when he looked at Qin Feng, the peerless new talent, Qin Feng felt no extra appreciation.

Equal.

It was absolute equality.

In the eyes of the Emperor, whether one was a saint or a common soldier, they were all part of the collective whole of "humanity."

He did not love any specific individual.

He did not love Qin Feng’s brilliance, the Heaven-Swallowing Saint’s loyalty, or the hard-earned achievements of the Lords. To the Emperor, the individual was small, a chip to be sacrificed for the greater good.

But he loved the entirety of the human race.

This love is so vast it borders on the cold, yet so searing it could incinerate the stars.

It is an ultimate devotion, one that would sacrifice everything—his own self included—for the continuation of the race.

As this sensation washed over the assembly, it brought no chill, but rather a warmth they had never known. They understood that as long as they remained within the definition of "human," this supreme being before them was their most unyielding bastion.

He is the father of all mankind, yet the father of no one in particular.

"Hum—"

The golden halo trembled, and a ripple of intent brushed gently across the hall.

It was not language, yet it struck the heart more directly than any words could. It was a sigh—a sigh laden with apology, solace, and encouragement.

It was as if he were saying: "You have suffered, my children."

In that moment, the defenses collapsed entirely.

"Ugh..."

A stifled sob echoed through the silent chamber.

Qin Feng turned to look; it was his mentor, the Heaven-Swallowing Saint. This rugged man, known for consuming all things and tearing enemies asunder on the battlefield, now stood like a child caught in a mistake, his bearded face already drenched in tears.

The Heaven-Swallowing Saint gritted his teeth, desperate to maintain his composure, but tears streamed down his cheeks, dripping onto his armor, which had been stained by the blood of countless alien races.

He was not alone.

Qin Feng saw the Tyrant Blade. That cold, ruthless man whose blade never turned back was now gripping his hilt so tightly his knuckles turned white, his eyes rimmed with red, tears flowing in silence.

He saw Yun Fu. This master of strategy removed his monocle, wiping the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand, his shoulders trembling slightly.

Even the three supreme Lords of the Universe closed their eyes, two lines of tears tracing paths down their aged faces.

There was no wailing, no heart-wrenching cries.

Only silent tears, falling in quiet tribute.

It was a catharsis spanning ten thousand years of history.

Before this supreme leader of humanity, they shed all pretenses, all strength, all schemes and calculations. They were no longer saints, no longer venerated masters, no longer the ancestors worshipped by millions.

They were simply human.

A group of humans who had struggled to survive in a dark universe, finally waiting for the dawn.

Qin Feng felt his own eyes grow moist.

Though he had not lived through those desperate, dark ages, and his own rise had spanned only a short hundred thousand years, the genes of the human race flowed in his blood, and the resonance of humanity was branded upon his soul.

He felt the weight of it all.

The phantom of the Emperor seemed to perceive their emotions. A faint, subtle smile appeared on his blurred face, a smile filled with infinite tolerance and compassion.

He slowly raised a hand encased in a golden gauntlet and made a gentle, pressing gesture.

This movement seemed to smooth away the creases in their weary hearts.

All sorrow, grievance, and exhaustion were washed away in an instant by that warm, golden radiance. In their place rose an unprecedented resolve.

Since the Father has awakened.

Since the God has returned to his throne.

Then the sword of humanity must be unsheathed once more.

Qin Feng took a deep breath, his "Primordial Secret Art" surging, transmuting his turbulent emotions into pure battle intent. He looked at the golden phantom, his gaze shifting from initial scrutiny to profound reverence. This was the foundation of the human race.

This was why humanity had stood firm under the siege of the four Chaos Gods.

Because we have the Emperor.

And because we all love this race as deeply as the Emperor loves us.

Golden light flowed through the council chamber; every breath of the Emperor’s phantom seemed to pulse in rhythm with the star-core of Holy Terra.

The pathos and warmth permeating the air were replaced, the moment the Emperor raised his hand again, by a more murderous, more majestic will.

It was the will of a Commander.

"Everyone."

The Emperor spoke.

The voice did not ring directly in their minds, but traveled through the vibrating medium of physical space. It was as resonant as metal striking metal, carrying an unquestionable, absolute authority.

"The God-War has already erupted once in the higher dimensions."

A single sentence caused the hearts of every saint and master present to contract violently.

Though they stood at the pinnacle of the universe, they knew little of the games played at that level. To think that while they were unaware, the Emperor had already clashed with the Chaos Gods?

The Emperor’s gaze was deep, as if piercing the dome of the council chamber to look into the depths of the unspeakable Warp.

"That battle had no victor. The four Chaos Gods could not fully consume me, nor could I, at this stage, completely shatter their conceptual domains. If we were to force the continuation of the God-War, the universe would disintegrate in our collision and return to chaos."

"Therefore, I have reached a 'truce' with the gods."

"We shall jointly activate seventy-two cosmic artifacts to serve as a foundation for constructing a 'God-Chosen Battlefield'."

The Emperor’s voice rose, each word striking their hearts like a heavy hammer.

"In this theater of war, no god may enter."

"Only those at the level of Cosmic Master and below may set foot within."

"This is a proxy war. The victor shall plunder the 'fortune' of the defeated. This is not merely a struggle for resources, but a gamble on the fate of our race."

"If humanity wins, my power will leap forward through the feedback of our racial destiny, suppressing Chaos; if humanity loses, the human mandate will collapse, our territories will be plagued by constant disasters, newborns will be born without talent, the path of martial arts will be severed, and you yourselves will be cursed—or even face total extinction."

The moment the words fell, the temperature in the council chamber plummeted to absolute zero, only to rebound instantly to a boiling heat.

The words "total extinction" seared into everyone’s nerves like a red-hot branding iron.

The silence lasted less than a ten-thousandth of a second.

Then, a terrifying, sky-piercing murderous aura erupted!

"Fight!!!"

A saint clad in heavy armor slammed his chest, his roar causing the very ripples of space to tremble violently.

"Those damned Chaos bastards! If the ones above can't fight, then let us do the killing!"

"A war of destiny, to the death! I, the Black Prison Saint, volunteer to be the vanguard! I will charge into that God-Chosen Battlefield and bleed my last drop for the Emperor and for humanity!"

"The God-Chosen Battlefield? Good! Very good! I’ve been stifled at the frontier for thirty thousand years, guarding against the petty tricks of those degenerates—I’ve been dying for a real fight!"

There was no fear.

There was no retreat.

Every person present had climbed out of a sea of corpses to reach this position; who among them had not attained their status by stepping over the bones of countless alien races?

Humanity is a warlike race.

This is not a pejorative; it is the only law for survival in this cruel universe.

Even Yun Fu, who usually appeared refined and scholarly, now had a dangerous, icy glint in his eyes as he toyed with a dark-energy dagger, his entire being radiating lethal intent.

They do not fear death.

What they fear is a death without hope, a death like that of an ant, flicked away by the gods as if it were nothing.

But now, the Emperor tells them that the opportunity lies within their grasp.

If they can emerge victorious in that so-called "God-Chosen Battlefield," they can help the Emperor suppress the Evil Gods and dictate the destiny of all mankind!

For these powerhouses, who value honor far above life itself, this is the ultimate reward.

"We await the Emperor's command!"

The three Lords of the Universe knelt on one knee in unison, their voices thundering like a storm.

"We await the Emperor's command!!"

Hundreds of Saints and Venerables knelt as one, their voices coalescing into a tangible storm of energy that swept across the entirety of Terra.

Amidst this fanatical tide, only one man remained seated.

It was not out of disrespect.

It was because he had no need to kneel.

That man was Qin Feng.

Qin Feng leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the surface of the round table.

"Tap. Tap. Tap."

This subtle sound, amidst the roar of fanatical battle cries, seemed entirely out of place, yet it rang with absolute clarity in the ears of everyone present.

Slowly, the shouting died away.

Every gaze began to shift, almost involuntarily.

From the initial fervor directed at the Emperor’s phantom, their eyes drifted toward the young figure sitting at the edge of the round table, who now seemed to occupy the very center of the world.

The Heaven-Swallowing Saint looked up at his disciple, a flash of realization crossing his eyes, followed instantly by overwhelming ecstasy.

Tyrant Blade gripped the hilt of his weapon, staring at Qin Feng, and drew a deep, steadying breath.

Even the three Lords of the Universe, still kneeling on the ground, slowly turned their heads, their burning gazes fixed upon Qin Feng.

They had finally realized it.

The God-Chosen Battlefield had a restriction: Universe Venerables and below.

In the past, this would have been a brutal meat grinder.

Humanity would have had to send waves of geniuses and Venerables, using human-sea tactics, suicide charges, and their very lives to fill the void, clashing against the monsters of the God, Demon, Insect, Holy Light, Crystal, Mechanical, and Chaos factions.

The outcome would have been uncertain, and the cost, in all likelihood, catastrophic.

For the Venerable-level monsters of the Chaos faction often possessed all manner of insidious, corrupting abilities.

But now...

Everyone looked at Qin Feng.

They looked at this "ruthless man" who had just fought his way back from the Divine Pass.

They looked at this monster who, despite being ranked as a "Mid-stage Universe Venerable," possessed combat power that was essentially a "logical bug."

A thought sprouted wildly in everyone's mind, quickly becoming the only truth:

This was no God-Chosen Battlefield.

This was a buffet the Emperor had prepared specifically for Qin Feng!

"Gulp."

Someone swallowed hard.

"If it’s Elder Qin Feng going..." a Saint muttered under his breath, "should we be worried... that those seventy-two cosmic artifacts won't be enough for him to dismantle?"

The atmosphere shifted.

The tragic, heroic air of "the wind howls, the river is cold" vanished instantly, replaced by an excitement born of the certainty that "this victory is assured," and a sense of anticipation for the show to come.

This was a war that would decide the fate of the race.

Since it concerned the survival of their people, it could not be treated as a game; they had to send the strongest!

And who was the strongest?

With Saints barred from entry (and even if they weren't), Qin Feng was, without question, the greatest Universe Venerable in existence!

He was, perhaps, the strongest Venerable in history.

"It seems you have all made your choice."

The Emperor’s phantom spoke again, his voice carrying a rare, faint hint of... amusement?

Though his features remained obscured, everyone could feel that the Emperor’s gaze was now focused entirely on Qin Feng.

Qin Feng stopped tapping the table.

He rose slowly to his feet.

As he stood, the space behind him seemed to distort for a fleeting moment, revealing glimpses of a desolate, withered starry sky and the corpses of countless gods and demons. It was the lingering aura of slaughter, a natural force field formed by the lives he had extinguished.

Qin Feng straightened his collar, looked up to meet the Emperor’s phantom, and a faint, yet supremely confident smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"A Venerable-level battlefield?"

Qin Feng chuckled, his tone calm, yet arrogant to the extreme:

"Emperor."

"Do you wish for me to win this war?"

"Or do you wish for me to..."

Qin Feng paused, black flames flickering in his eyes as the terrifying aura of a "Concept Eraser" erupted, causing every Saint present to gasp for breath.

"...slaughter every other race within it?"

Dead silence.

Then, an explosive cheer!

"Slaughter them all! Slaughter them all!!"

"Let those Chaos bastards learn the meaning of cruelty!"

The Heaven-Swallowing Saint grinned broadly, laughing like a child: "Good! As expected of my disciple! Don't just win—slaughter them until their bloodlines are severed! Make them fear to raise their heads for ten thousand years!"

The Emperor’s phantom nodded slightly, the golden radiance transforming into a crown of coronation that hovered above Qin Feng’s head.

"Then go."

"Qin Feng."

"Carry the honor of humanity, and tell these gods and Buddhas."

"In this era, who is the true master of the universe."

Qin Feng gave a standard Imperial salute.

"As you wish."

(End of chapter)