The white-haired elder’s Spirit Imprint was but a pale imitation, lacking the true essence. Long ago, concealing his identity, he had sought knowledge within the halls of the God Sect. But the secrets of their core incantations remained veiled, opportunities to truly understand them scarce. Yet, his innate brilliance shone through. Through tireless experimentation and observation, he had managed to glean a fragment of its power, a self-taught echo of the true art.

Though it paled in comparison to a genuine Spirit Imprint, it possessed its very form and harbored a third of its latent power. Combined with his late-stage Shattered Nirvana cultivation, and fueled by his formidable spiritual power, he could force the self-taught Imprint to near-perfection, almost indistinguishable from the real thing!

Wang Lin’s Spirit Imprint, however, bloomed from the rain-soaked Immortal Realm. Through repeated meditation, he had finally learned to unleash it. His own understanding was rudimentary, but it was forged by witnessing the palm imprint of a being whose power shook the heavens and earth. A being whose remnant energy had carved fissures into the very land, even after countless eons.

Thus, though Wang Lin’s cultivation was lacking, his palm imprint was infused with his own thunderous energy, woven with the ancient aura of the primal god. This, too, could make his Spirit Imprint a convincing replica!

Now, these two prodigious palm strikes collided with a deafening roar, threatening to tear the very fabric of the Seven-Colored Realm. The approaching force generated winds of untold ferocity until, with an earth-shattering boom, they met.

*BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!*

The earth quaked, the mountains swayed, and the sky split asunder. The collision birthed a wave of destruction, its reverberations tearing apart the space between the two palms. The Seven-Colored Realm buckled and fractured, a gargantuan fissure rending the land asunder, cleaving the world into two fractured halves.

In the distance, Chen Tianjun watched the battle unfold, his heart pounding in his chest. Speechless, he felt his mouth grow dry and his spirit tremble. He vowed that, should he survive this ordeal, he would forever shun buried treasure and perilous adventures!

The old crone in azure robes, equally exhausted, took flight and observed the conflict from afar. Her face was ashen, but a profound shift had occurred within her heart. All trace of malice towards Wang Lin had vanished, replaced by a burgeoning awe. “What manner of cultivator *is* he?! I am no match for such a being,” she whispered, drawing in a sharp breath. Her eyes were wide with fear and respect.

At that very moment, within his secluded valley, the rampaging fire and lightning forced back the mists, allowing the monstrous beasts to slink back into the darkness. Yun Hunzi had finally escaped his prison, only to sense the violent tremor shaking the Seven-Colored Realm. He felt the raw power of elemental energy and the roar of thunder, but it was the chilling presence of Wang Lin that truly sent a shiver down his spine…

As the two Spirit Imprints collided, tearing the Seven-Colored Realm asunder and splitting the land into two, Wang Lin bore the brunt of the impact. He was thrown backward, spewing a mouthful of blood, his face as pale as death. The lightning mark upon his brow flickered weakly.

The blast had drained him of a significant amount of his lightning essence.

The white-haired elder fared no better. He staggered backward, each step leaving a deep crater in the earth. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but his expression was twisted in a vicious snarl. Stumbling back, he gathered his strength and lunged forward, tearing through the rising dust and shattered earth toward Wang Lin.

“Lightning Clan mark! I shall seal you once more!” he roared, his voice laced with desperation. “I refuse to believe you possess a third mark after I seal your flame and lightning totems!” With lightning speed, he slammed his palm against his brow, unleashing a second dark fissure. A second runic seal, radiating an endless, ominous energy, hurtled forward.

Twice he had invoked the forbidden Seal the Heavens technique, and each cast drained a terrible portion of his life force. He was now gaunt and withered, as if risen from the grave, radiating the stench of decay.

The black runic seal struck Wang Lin upon the brow, forming a second imprisoning mark, suppressing the lightning glyph.

The elder, his face contorted, surged forward, gathering the ambient energy into a spear in his outstretched hand, aiming to pierce Wang Lin through the heart. But Wang Lin *did* possess a third power, beyond flame and lightning: the intent of battle! The legacy of Zhan Xingye!

He had never fully embraced this intent, but now, as the elder descended upon him, a burning will ignited in Wang Lin’s eyes, and a golden light erupted from his brow.

This light illuminated the heavens, and within it, a single, ancient character emerged upon Wang Lin’s forehead: *Zhan* – War! Simultaneously, a battle spirit permeated the world. In that moment, Wang Lin was no longer simply Wang Lin, but the very avatar of Zhan Xingye! His back straightened, his shoulders squared, he stood tall, unyielding, an indomitable presence. “The battle… has only just begun!” he thundered, surrounded by golden light. With a flick of his wrist, an ethereal character of *War* manifested before him, following his lead, hurtling toward the white-haired elder.

“Impossible!” the elder gasped, his shock eclipsing all that had come before. From the moment their clash had begun, Wang Lin had repeatedly defied his expectations!

The formidable azure flames had startled him, but they were sealed by the Seal the Heavens technique, only to reveal the lightning mark! He had believed the Spirit Imprint would end this impudent cultivator, but his foe possessed one as well! Finally, he had attempted the Seal the Heavens once more to bind the lightning totem, confident Wang Lin was defeated. But again, he was wrong! An unknown character had blazed upon his brow!

A chilling realization dawned upon him: should he expend his precious life force once more, even if he sealed away the *War* character, his adversary would simply unearth yet another hidden power!

The feeling was overpowering. In a fleeting moment of disbelief, Wang Lin was upon him. Uncaring for spells or incantations, he relied solely on the raw power of his physical form, unleashing ancient techniques and titanic strength.

He exuded a wild, unbridled battle spirit, transforming Wang Lin into a veritable war immortal!

The white-haired elder retreated, his physical prowess inferior to his opponent’s. Yet, his cultivation was far more advanced, and he unleashed a torrent of supernatural abilities. The two clashed in close combat as the old man summoned a barrage of magical weapons. But none could impede Wang Lin’s relentless assault. With booming impact, Wang Lin spun, unleashing a sweeping kick that forced the white-haired elder to stumble backward.

In all his long life, the white-haired elder had rarely faced such an attack. His battles were typically waged with spells and enchanted items. Yet this foe, with every punch and kick, wielded earth-shattering power. Even the slightest touch threatened to shatter his physical form! Fear gnawed at the elder’s heart. “If he lives, he will become a dire threat to the Ancient race! Especially, the calmness within his spirit, is what makes him so terrifying!”

The marks on Wang Lin’s forehead pulsed as battle scenes flashed through his mind: the life of Zhan Xingye, who had lived up to his name with unwavering dedication to the art of *War*!

He had never retreated, even in countless skirmishes. His combat spirit was unyielding, and his experience was vast. This was his Intent, the essence of *War*.

The physical battle provided experience, but the spiritual understanding was the core of the character *War*. To Zhan Xingye, it was a spirit, a philosophy, an unbending defiance of heaven and earth!

*I may die, but my spirit will remain a battle soul in this world!*

*I may perish, but the memory of my struggle shall tremble the heavens! Born a hero, die a legend! We cultivators should never fear a fight!*

Wang Lin channeled this spirit and his vast trove of combat knowledge. His attacks became a whirlwind, battering the elder with unrelenting force, further stoking his fear.

The white-haired elder began an incantation, burning his life force to weave a shield, using the destructive force to create distance between himself and Wang Lin. He was pale faced, wearing an expression of fear. As Wang Lin charged, the elder closed his eyes. In the chaos, he began the most dangerous form of necromancy in his arsenal. A way to call forth ancient spirits and bring forth the souls of the long dead to aid him. “Summon the Lost, summon the Enshrined, all the Returned souls who have wandered this place for eons! Grant me your power!” As the elder spoke, the Lost and Enshrined began to appear in random corners of the shattered Realm.

As they appeared, they quickly crumbled. Their eyes showed the barest glimmer of life and a moment of clarity, before they were gone.

As they faded, each of them released a spirit from their point of origin. All spirits were drawn into the sky, towards the ancient being. The monsters who burned alive within the outer flames soon began to crumble, becoming blood, and their spirits left them to do the same, towards the ancient. “Borrow the power of the Ancients, that the path of cultivation be undone!”

All the countless spirits within the Seven-Colored Realm gathered before the ancient one, and in an instant, a single, immense flash of yellow light pierced the veil between the old man and Wang Lin.

“Disperse!” The old man’s vile scream echoed out as his power and knowledge became one, and he cast the ultimate technique of the race that once ruled all, second only to gods, demons, and ancient spirits! This technique, not magic or illusion, was the rarest of all arts, the Art of the Tao!

Anyone bathed in the golden light would see their path undone, reducing immortals into mortals! A technique of such power could not be fully realized by the ancient one, who could only sustain it for three breaths. Even three breaths were nearly all the vitality of the elder could muster, but in that moment, he would follow his master’s will, and strike with all of his might! The moment of fate rested upon the Art of the Tao!