Chapter 1588: Slaughter Begins

Human life is as worthless as grass, with blood and bones carpeting the heavens and earth. The dim sky has turned into a Jiu You hell, a scene of bloody horror that shocks the eyes, while the once exalted immortals have all become dust in history.

The Sword God and a hundred other quasi-emperors surround Ye Chen, suppressing the entire Zhou Tian. Though he still clings to life, the Zhou Tian continues to backfire, intent on devouring him completely, making it extremely troublesome to deal with.

No one interferes with the Nine Emperors’ slaughter, and no one shows any pity. The fury of Da Chu must be extinguished with mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

"You all truly want to fight to the death."

The four clan ancestors roar in fury, their bodies drenched in blood and bones, each driven to madness by the onslaught. Their words only fuel the Nine Emperors' ferocity; even with ultimate Dao emperor weapons for protection, the four are still beaten until they can no longer rise.

As fellow quasi-emperors, the four's combat strength is clearly not on the same level as the Nine Emperors, and no one can withstand their assaults.

Quasi-emperor blood splatters across the heavens, with scenes growing ever more gruesome. Their domineering divine bodies are repeatedly shattered, their bones and blood intertwining as they disintegrate in their fall.

"Spare us, spare us."

The four clans' cultivators scream hysterically, their pleas of mercy rising louder and louder. The Nine Emperors remain indifferent, ignoring them completely. How could they spare these lives and still honor the heroic souls who died for Da Chu?

This is a debt of blood that must be repaid in blood.

The four clans' cultivators wail in agony, none daring to resist, as they are wiped out en masse under the emperor's might.

Regret fills the four clan ancestors; they rue the day they provoked Ye Chen, dragging their entire clans into this catastrophe. The Feng Clan regrets it most deeply, only now truly understanding the words of Chi Yang and Wu Ji, and regretting even more that they didn't heed their warnings, insisting on exterminating Ye Chen at all costs.

The battle's fluctuations are immense, causing the heavens to collapse and the earth to crack, accompanied by blood and thunder, cycling through destruction and rebirth.

The onlookers retreat again and again, fearing the aftershocks.

They came to watch the four clans attack the Heavenly Court, but who could have anticipated so many twists: Ye Chen's final surge challenging the four clans alone, the Nine Emperors of Da Chu returning in force, each wielding an emperor weapon.

"They're too strong, those nine are too strong."

Many can't help but tremble, as if gazing upon nine true emperors.

"Four quasi-emperor, four emperor weapons, and over ten million cultivators, yet they're being slaughtered without any chance to fight back."

"Nine against four, peak forces in absolute suppression."

"I've seen fierce, but never this fierce."

An elderly quasi-emperor strokes his beard, sighing in amazement. "It's a good thing I didn't provoke him, or I'd have met a miserable end."

"You don't know until you see it, but once you do, it's shocking—Lao Qi's background is incredible."

Kui Niu and the others secretly swallow hard.

"She's escaped, that wretch has escaped."

The Little Ape Emperor shouts.

Everyone looks over to see a disheveled figure fleeing the battlefield—a woman, and upon closer inspection, it's Feng Xian.

She's remarkably lucky, and her skill at escaping is no joke.

But for this, she paid a terrible price, sacrificing several hundred years of her lifespan and using a forbidden secret technique.

"Feng Xian, your life ends here."

A shrill voice full of killing intent rings out as Xi Yan charges forward, sword in hand, straight for Feng Xian.

Right behind her come Lin Shi Hua, Liu Ru Yan, Shangguan Yu Er, Shangguan Han Yue, and Hao Tian Shi Yue.

In other words, all of Ye Chen's confidantes rush in, their killing swords ringing and silent extinction sword energy dancing through the air.

Feng Xian's expression changes; she doesn't dare turn back, dragging her blood-soaked phoenix body as she flees, burning her origin to wildly boost her speed.

"Stay put."

Xi Yan takes a single step across space and swings her sword.

Feng Xian is hit, sent flying horizontally, with strands of phoenix blood scattering through the void. If not for the phoenix's rebirth ability, she would have been cleaved in two.

Even so, she can't hold off the attacks.

Before she can steady herself, Liu Ru Yan arrives, slicing off one of her jade arms with a sword; Lin Shi Hua raises her hand, firing a divine beam that pierces her phoenix body; Shangguan Han Yue forms a jade seal in her hand...

The scene is bloody, leaving the onlookers' hearts pounding with shock.

The Feng Clan's princess, who once made Bei Sheng spit blood with a single palm, is no weak fighter, yet she's suppressed by the women in an instant.

It's not that she's lacking in strength; it's just that Ye Chen's confidantes are too numerous, and each one is more ferocious than the last.

By the time Nan Di and Bei Sheng arrive to join the chase, the fight is already over.

"Ancestor, save me."

Feng Xian screams, her eyes full of terror, forced to kneel with her entire cultivation sealed.

Her cry makes the onlookers burst into laughter.

"Still calling for your ancestor? Your ancestor can barely save themselves."

"You're the one who dragged them down—along with the Mo Clan, Yao Clan, and Shen Clan. Today, they're all doomed to be wiped out."

"Is this the legendary femme fatale?"

The thought crosses many minds.

Femme fatale—indeed, she is one.

Counting back, in the past hundred years, how many has she brought down: the Xian Clan's divine son, the Mo Clan's divine son, the Yao Clan's divine son, the Feng divine son, Zhi Yang, Ling Shan, Xue Shang Zi.

And now, it's not enough to pit the divine sons; she's pulled their entire clans into the abyss.

On the other side, the Nine Emperors' assault is nearly complete.

The Yao Clan's army is annihilated, their ancestor nailed to the void by Tai Wang's spear, and even their emperor weapon flees.

The Shen Clan, Mo Clan, and Feng Clan suffer the same fate; no one escapes the slaughter, and their three ancestors are all executed, their emperor weapons dimming as they retreat into the void.

The Nine Emperors are powerless against the emperor weapons; these are tools of great emperors, and if they choose to flee, no one can stop them.

"Four quasi-emperors and over ten million cultivators, just wiped out like that?"

The spectators are left speechless, the scene feeling unreal. So many cultivators, ancestors of such caliber, and the entire force is obliterated.

Amid the gasps, the nine emperor weapons rise into the sky, hovering in the firmament. Emperor Dao laws dance, and ultimate emperor might spreads, like nine suns radiating light across the world.

The gathered power of destruction is beyond what a single emperor weapon can match; one strike could shatter Zhongzhou.

The nine emperor weapons hum in unison, unleashing a beam of immortal light.

The immortal light is dazzling and piercing, carrying world-ending power as it hurles toward the northern void, too fast for the eye to follow.

It transcends the river of time, disrupting yin and yang, racing onward with thunder that shakes the heavens.

Two or three seconds later, a tremendous boom echoes across the eight wastelands.

Looking into the distance, it's the Yao Clan's immortal mountains, obliterated by the immortal light. All the Yao Clan cultivators within—whether great saints or imperial realm—are reduced to ashes under the ultimate emperor might.

Indeed, the ancient Yao Clan lineage is directly exterminated.

The nine emperor weapons tremble again, firing two more beams of immortal light toward the north—one striking the Mo Clan, the other shooting into Bei Yue and hitting the Shen Clan.

Booms resound once more; the Mo Clan's immortal mountains and the Shen Clan's immortal mountains are both leveled, with no living beings escaping the disaster.

"The ancient three great races have been wiped out?"

"The combined power of nine ultimate emperor weapons is truly overwhelming."

"From today, the ancient nine clans should be called the ancient six clans."

The older cultivators sigh, their hearts stirred.

"The Feng Clan's end is near too," someone says.

Everyone looks up as the nine emperor weapons unleash a fourth beam of immortal light, tracing a brilliant arc toward Donghuang.

Soon, Donghuang resounds with world-shaking commotion as nearly ten thousand immortal mountains turn to dust in an instant.

But it's not over; a fifth beam of emperor immortal light follows, flying west, crossing Zhongzhou's lands and piercing into Xi Mo, striking the Buddhist spirit mountains.

Another massive boom shakes the sky; even with ten thousand Buddha golden bodies and emperor weapons for protection, the spirit mountains still collapse, and all Buddhas are extinguished.

Shijiamouni grieves, his anguished cry echoing across all of Xi Mo.

The supreme Buddha, in his final moments, finds his heart no longer at peace.

Among the seven emotions and six desires, a new one called regret emerges. Buddhism preaches compassion, but his so-called compassion disrupted others' karma, saving one only to bury the masses, sending the Buddhist lineage into the sea of suffering in its destruction.

In this instant, the heavens and earth fall into a dead silence.

Across the five domains of Xuan Huang, no one dares to speak, and no great sect dares to act, their souls trembling in fear, their minds on the verge of collapse.

It's all too shocking—whether the ancient Yao Clan, Mo Clan, Shen Clan, or Feng Clan, each had great emperors in endless ages past, ruling over all spirits and leaving immortal legacies.

Yet these inheritances, passed down to this era, are wiped out in a single day. The emperors' descendants have disgraced their forebears' glory.

They only have themselves to blame for provoking the wrong person. What good is a great emperor's lineage? A blood debt must be repaid in blood.

In the howling bloody winds, a towering stone stele rises from the ground, with the characters "Da Chu" carved in fresh blood upon it.

Feng Xian is brought over and forced to kneel before the stele.

Heaven's cycle brings retribution; the heavens spare no one. This is karma, plain and clear in the present world.

"Spare me, spare me."

The Feng Clan has been exterminated, yet as their princess, she still wails for mercy, her phoenix body drenched in blood, her face pale, her eyes filled with terror.

Ah!

A sigh suddenly rises, laced with sorrow and grief.

From the void, a white-haired woman steps through the sky, accompanied by phoenix visions and cries that weave together in dance.

She is the Feng, the true ancestor of the Feng Clan, of the highest seniority, and the aunt of the Feng Clan ancestor.

She has emerged from seclusion, only to watch helplessly as her clan is wiped out. As an ancestor, she is powerless.

"Ancestor, save me, ancestor, save me."

Feng Xian screams desperately, clutching at her last straw.

"You and I are both sinners."

The Feng approaches step by step, her laughter self-mocking and full of self-reproach.

As Chi Yang said, her heart holds only Jiang Tai Xu.

Precisely because of that ancient affection, she remained in seclusion for a hundred years, missing countless chances to stop this catastrophe.

Feng Xian is the eternal sinner of the Feng Clan, and she is no different. As a clan ancestor, she has no face to meet her forebears.

She raises her killing sword and strikes at her descendant.

"No, no, no."

Feng Xian's phoenix eyes bulge, her pupils contract, and her phoenix body trembles uncontrollably. Her spirit shatters in the instant the sword falls.

In the throes of death, she regrets too—becoming the sinner of the Feng Clan, even in the underworld, she will be condemned, unable to face her people.

"In the next life, do not provoke those you shouldn't."

The Feng closes her eyes, and the ringing immortal sword falls.

Blood mist scatters as Feng Xian turns to ash on the spot, dust returning to dust, returning whence she came.

This resentment, spanning a hundred years, truly ends with her death, though countless others have perished for it.

The Feng departs, walking step by step into the distance, her killing sword slipping from her hand unnoticed. Her figure is utterly desolate.

The world falls silent once more; everyone is mute, only the Da Chu stele stands firm amid the bloody winds.

This is a symbol: Those who offend Da Chu will be pursued to the ends of the earth.