“Lord Dragon Dust, that man has completed his fusion with the Emperor Flame—he has truly condensed the Dao Flame of the Emperor!” Xiyuan Qing’s voice trembled with urgency as he called out, his scalp tingling with fear.
His instincts screamed that the moment this figure made a move, their chances of survival would vanish. The wisest choice now was to retreat.
“Uncle Fan, shift the battle lines back. Don’t get splattered with blood,” Dragon Dust said, his tone calm as his gaze locked onto the flame-shrouded figure. “Let me see just how strong someone who has unified the Emperor Flames truly is.”
—
The colossal Imperial Dragon Nest rumbled as it shifted, pulling the battlefield outward to create more distance between it and Dragon Dust.
However, the movement of the Imperial Dragon Nest made the enemies besieging the Xilong Clan believe they were retreating. Thinking victory was near, they launched a frenzied assault.
Yet, the Xilong warriors had grown stronger. The crucible of battle had honed their innate abilities to perceive weakness and danger. This heightened sense was their greatest weapon—one that allowed them to challenge foes far beyond their level.
The overzealous attackers, blinded by greed and haste, rushed recklessly forward, only to plunge themselves into chaos. A moment later, countless warriors fell, their bodies torn apart.
—
The Emperor Flame warrior stood wreathed in raging fire, his form obscured by the sheer intensity of the blaze. The very air around him distorted from the heat, and the battlefield quaked under the pressure of his presence.
Meanwhile, those surrounding Dragon Dust had lost all reason. Eyes bloodshot with desperation, they hurled themselves at him, blades flashing and roars echoing.
Logically, with such a terrifying force about to be unleashed, they should have hesitated. But Dragon Dust understood in an instant—if that man emerged, they would no longer matter.
They weren’t fighting for honor or vengeance; they were scrambling for the last chance to claim the Qian Kun Cauldron before their time ran out.
Clearly, the external dragon clans and the Evil Dragon Clan were not truly united. If they were, they wouldn’t be fighting so ferociously over Dragon Dust’s treasure.
—
The battlefield turned into a storm of madness.
Swords clashed. Bodies fell. Blood splattered.
Even Canglu, relentless as he was, found himself overwhelmed as the horde swarmed him.
Dragonbone Evil Moon’s barrier quivered under the relentless barrage of divine weapons. Cracks spread across its surface, a fragile spiderweb that seemed ready to shatter at any moment.
“Evil Moon, are you holding up?” For the first time, Dragon Dust felt a sliver of concern.
If this tide of lunatics broke through before he had even entered battle mode, the situation could spiral beyond control.
“Relax,” Dragonbone Evil Moon sneered. “Against attacks of this level? To use your words—I could hold out until next autumn.”
The cracks? Nothing but an illusion. No matter how fiercely they struck, they could not shake it.
Hearing this, Dragon Dust smirked. If they couldn’t get through, then he had all the time in the world. He continued playing the weakling, allowing Canglu to reap the enemy like a god of slaughter.
One by one, the frenzied warriors fell. Their greed made them blind—they fixated only on reaching Dragon Dust, leaving their backs open to Canglu’s merciless strikes.
Scarlet mist filled the air, thick enough to form a blood-soaked pool beneath their feet. Yet the barrier still stood, trembling like a flickering candle, deceiving them into thinking victory was near.
Finally, some began to realize something was amiss.
They glanced at Canglu, his spear carving through their ranks, then at Dragon Dust, sitting unbothered behind the barrier. The trap became obvious.
Those with a sliver of intelligence forced down their greed and retreated from the slaughter.
But some, unwilling to leave empty-handed, turned their sights toward the Imperial Dragon Nest instead. If the Qian Kun Cauldron was too risky, then plundering the treasures inside the Imperial Dragon Nest was a safer gamble.
—
A deafening explosion split the sky.
A wave of unparalleled heat erupted outward, carrying the weight of supreme imperial might. The mere pressure alone sent the attackers spiraling through the air like leaves in a storm.
Canglu abandoned his pursuit, planting his Blood Fiend War Spear into the void, bracing against the tremendous force.
Even Dragonbone Evil Moon’s barrier shuddered violently—not from deception this time, but from the sheer destructive power of the flames.
—
“Lord Mingzang has emerged!”
The warriors of the Evil Dragon Clan roared with reverence, their voices trembling with devotion.
“Mingzang?” Dragon Dust’s eyes narrowed slightly. An unexpected name.
—
A silhouette strode forth from the endless inferno.
The moment he emerged, the space behind him fractured like a broken eggshell, reality itself unable to withstand his presence.
Bathed in radiant seven-colored divine light, he stood as if reborn from the ashes, basking in the heavens’ boundless favor. The very will of the world seemed to welcome him, bestowing upon him an unshakable blessing.
His voice rang out, smooth yet commanding:
“Dragon Dust, I have seen you. I have heard of you. And I admire you.”
Each step he took was firm, measured. The flames that once obscured him now fell away, revealing his true visage.
His face was sharp and cold, his gaze like divine lightning. His golden dragon horns shimmered with flowing runes, forming an imperial crown that exuded the majesty of supreme bloodlines.
“As a show of my favor, I offer you a place under my banner,” he declared. “Submit to me, and I, Mingzang, shall grant you unparalleled glory.”
—
The battlefield froze.
Every warrior, every outsider, even the Xilong fighters—none dared make a move.
They all understood: now that Mingzang had stepped forward, everything here—every treasure, every opportunity—belonged to him alone.
He had stepped beyond the limit. Compared to him, those who wielded even nine hundred and ninety-nine Emperor Flames were mere insects.
The wise knew to remain still. To reach for power now meant death.
—
Dragonbone Evil Moon’s barrier receded.
Dragon Dust stood there, gazing at the approaching Mingzang, his lips curling into a faint smirk.
“Surprising,” he murmured. “I thought Long Wu would have killed you.”
Long Xu had once told him that the Evil Dragon Clan boasted three ultimate prodigies, each bearing a supreme bloodline. Long Wu was considered the strongest among them.
The other two, nearly equal to him in power, were Long Wu’s greatest threats. And one of those two was Mingzang.
Back then, Long Xu had predicted that after suffering defeat at Dragon Dust’s hands, Long Wu would seek out the other two, forcing them into submission—or eliminating them before they had a chance to rise.
Mingzang laughed, a deep, resounding laugh that echoed through the battlefield.
“Long Wu?” he sneered. “If you kneel before me, I will personally twist off Long Wu’s head and present it to you. What do you say?”
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