Within the Sanctum of Emptiness, Ascetics sought to devour the Spirits of the Dao, solidifying the Realm of Incense with an unquenchable hunger for souls. Yet, this realm was but an outer shell. Only upon attaining the Sublime Void could one merge the Incense Realm with their very being, transforming themselves into a microcosm, a personal cosmos. Within this self-made universe, countless Incense Souls would prostrate themselves, granting the Ascetic unimaginable divine powers.

The Four Realms of the Void were each a monumental challenge to conquer, particularly the ascension from Perfected Sublime Void to the Ethereal Void. This final leap demanded not just an Incense Realm, but the very Essence of Illusion!

Essence was divided into two distinct forms: the Tangible and the Illusory. The Tangible, such as lightning, fire, or the Five Elements, was visible, its acquisition relatively straightforward. Little comprehension was needed; simply fuse enough of its kind, and the Essence would gradually mature.

Wang Lin, in his past, had achieved mastery over the Essence of Flame and the Essence of Lightning in this very manner.

However, the Illusory Essence, embodying concepts like Fate, Life and Death, Truth and Deception, defied sight. It demanded profound comprehension, an agonizingly slow process, for it could not be simply fused, only understood.

The scarcity of Ethereal Void cultivators, numbering barely a score amidst millions, stemmed from the excruciating difficulty of grasping the Illusory Essence.

Possessing even a sliver of Illusory Essence upon entering the Third Step would greatly alleviate the trials of the Ethereal Void. Alas, few could boast such a boon upon shattering the Gates of Emptiness. To reach the Ethereal Void, one had to either rediscover this Essence, seize it from another, or painstakingly cultivate it from scratch.

Though acquiring Essence after the Third Step was a notoriously arduous task, ages had birthed ingenious minds who devised a peculiar method.

In their Incense Realms, these powerful beings encouraged their Incense People to cultivate, their progress accelerated by the Ascetic’s potent aid. They then reshaped the Incense Realm, conjuring illusory landscapes of mountains, rivers, and ceaseless cycles, until the Incense People lost sight of their true reality, believing themselves to inhabit a genuine world.

Thus, the Incense People gained illusory power, and after countless years, a rare few would spontaneously generate the Illusory Essence.

This Essence was immediately devoured by the Ascetic who nurtured them, becoming one with their being. The process was seamless, for the Incense People were, in essence, extensions of the Ascetic.

Yet, the powers of the Incense People were ephemeral. Should they ever venture beyond the Ascetic’s Incense Realm, they would be stripped of their strength, reduced to mere mortals.

Throughout the ages, many have pondered whether their own reality was nothing more than the Incense Realm of some unfathomable entity. No definitive answer had ever emerged.

The only test was whether one’s power vanished upon leaving this world, proving their existence to be mere Incense. Conversely, if their power remained, it signified the truth of their being.

Wang Lin traversed the starfield of Zhaohe, his mind retreating from the head clutched in his right hand. In the instant of seizing it, he had employed the Soul-Searching Art, gleaning a trove of memories from the slain cultivator.

He flung the head behind him, adding it to his collection of tens of thousands of severed heads. It was the first Third Step cultivator among the invaders, but it would not be the last.

Zhaohe was now devoid of any powerful cultivators. Even if some lingered, they would merely become additions to his gruesome hoard. Wang Lin took a stride forward, a white meteor sweeping across Zhaohe.

Each cultivation star he visited became a scene of carnage, a tempest of death that gathered countless heads.

Upon star after star, from outpost to outpost, the flash of white heralded the arrival of doom. With each step, the number of heads behind Wang Lin swelled: ten thousand, fifteen thousand, twenty thousand… until his macabre entourage numbered nearly fifty thousand!

Fifty thousand heads was no mere statistic. The sight of them was enough to shatter the mind of any cultivator. It was not an abstract number, but a visceral display of severed heads, a wave of blood that permeated the air with its acrid stench.

When Situ Nan and the other thousands of cultivators arrived in Zhaohe, they found not a single invader remained. As they passed the crimson-stained stars, more and more Zhaohe cultivators joined the ranks, following Wang Lin’s receding footsteps.

Wang Lin led the way, while they followed behind, separated by vast distances, yet united by his presence. He was the sharp point of a spear, and where he pointed, they followed.

Gathering his consciousness from across Zhaohe, and confirming the absence of any more invaders, Wang Lin entered the Sea of Clouds, his fifty thousand severed heads wailing in a chorus of agonizing screams that shook the heavens.

The Sea of Clouds had been the front line of a past war, the graves of countless warriors from both sides. As Wang Lin stepped into it, he felt the presence of countless lingering spirits, their sorrowful howls a constant lament.

He closed his eyes, absorbing the desolate atmosphere, then opened them with a surge of killing intent. He moved forward, his floating army of heads a disturbing spectacle, a sea of faces.

“Fifty thousand heads can form the Formation of Life and Death!” Wang Lin spoke as he moved through the Sea of Clouds, and observed the countless shattered remains of what were once great continents, now ruined and unrecognizable.

The remaining continents were now occupied by invading cultivators, the Sea of Clouds, long since devoid of native inhabitants, had become a foothold for the invaders.

Wang Lin’s consciousness expanded, engulfing the entirety of the Sea of Clouds, and with this expansion came the realization that the once familiar land had been transformed. Rage, like a cataclysmic storm, raged in his heart.

His consciousness was as a tsunami, informing all of the invaders that he had arrived, and was a constant ringing in their ears.

Deep within the Sea of Clouds, on a rare, preserved cultivation star, once the site of the Shattered Heaven Sect, now overgrown with endless purple seaweed, was a bloom of epic proportion, the flower was not yet in full bloom, but a bud of ten zhang diameter.

Within the bud sat a beautiful woman in green robes in silent meditation.

Just as Wang Lin’s consciousness swept across the star, the woman within opened her eyes, and the seaweed moved wildly.

Far from the planet, on the borders of the Sea of Clouds, stood a continent occupied by the invaders who were busy constructing a temple, on top of which sat a statue of an enormous bat beast.

On top of the statue sat an elder whose mark was also a black bat, he opened his eyes with a start when Wang Lin’s consciousness washed over him.

At the same time, in the starfield of Luo Tian, a host of invaders had gathered, led by the former foes of Wang Lin.

The group was surrounding a formation made of a thousand different stars who were desperately defending their world from the impending invaders.

At the very center of the formation was a circular altar that was shrouded in mist, upon it sat a lone figure in silent meditation.

On a different star, a girl looked on in despair, while in another star, a girl was staring blankly at her surrounding, for Wang Lin has come to save them from doom.