As Wang Lin plunged into the embrace of the earth, his face drained of color, a crimson tide erupting from his lips. Like a wisp of smoke, he descended into the planet’s depths, acutely aware of the sealing of this subterranean sanctuary, a gate slamming shut the instant he passed through.

Had his descent been even a fraction slower, he would have been trapped above, facing the wrath of six mid-Void Tribulant elders – a confrontation from which even his three lives could not have offered salvation.

Yet, this escape came at a dire cost. The gourd containing three million Dao souls shattered, a painful sacrifice for Wang Lin. Had it remained intact, the gourd could have served as a devastating weapon against even a mid-Void Tribulant powerhouse. Now, it was reduced to fragments, a mere catalyst for his survival.

“So be it,” he muttered, “though the gourd held immense power, it was but an external tool. If I can weather this storm, I shall surely acquire even greater treasures!”

“Zhang Daozong, Wang Lin will remember this debt!” A dark shadow fell upon his features, the recent events marking the most perilous trial he had faced since his arrival in the Immortal Astral Continent.

A moment’s miscalculation, and he would have been utterly annihilated, his soul and essence extinguished. Wang Lin, ever one to repay debts of malice, etched Zhang Daozong’s treachery into his memory. Likewise, the actions of Lü Wenran did not escape his notice.

Had Lü Wenran delayed the sealing of the earth for even a moment, granting Wang Lin passage, the sacrifice of the soul gourd might have been avoided. But Lü Wenran’s selfishness had nearly condemned Wang Lin to oblivion.

“Lü Wenran!” Wang Lin’s eyes burned with crimson intent, a murderous aura emanating from him. He had arrived in the Immortal Astral Continent with no sense of belonging, viewing its denizens and wonders with detached indifference.

He held no true animosity, for all acted according to their own designs. But now, his perspective had shifted, forged in the crucible of that near-fatal moment.

With a burst of speed, Wang Lin descended deeper into the earth, reaching the subterranean palace. Above, thunderous impacts echoed, as his pursuers relentlessly attacked, seeking to breach the earth’s seal and storm the sanctuary.

Though the array guarding the palace was formidable, the combined might of six mid-Void Tribulant elders would inevitably shatter it. Wang Lin darted into the palace, finding a scene of despair. A mere thousand survivors had sought refuge here, their faces etched with exhaustion and terror. They stood huddled, gazing at the ceiling, the muffled roars of the assault resonating in their ears, filling them with dread and hopelessness.

Their eyes occasionally darted towards the palace’s central chambers, where a handful of wounded Void Tribulant cultivators had retreated. As the barrage intensified, the entire palace trembled, dust and debris raining down from above. Though they knew the array would hold for some time, the relentless assault instilled a growing sense of doom.

Under this mounting pressure, many faltered.

“We are doomed… they are too many, too strong. This array cannot protect us. Once they break through, we will all die!”

“Where are our reinforcements? Why are we left here to defend alone?”

“There is no point in defending! We must flee!”

A wave of panicked cries swept through the palace like a storm, fueled by the ceaseless bombardment. Wang Lin sat cross-legged within his chamber, a spartan space open to the chaos beyond.

He listened to the desperate pleas of the refugees, felt the tremors of the palace, and sensed the unrelenting assault above. His expression darkened.

The fate of the palace was of little concern to him. His thoughts were consumed by how he could strike back at Zhang Daozong amidst the inevitable chaos, when the demons of the Green Devil Continent broke through.

The ability to seal the heavens once meant the ability to do so again, and again. This focused assault was his greatest hindrance.

He also realized that the Green Devil Continent was aware of him, that the events in the Dan Sea were no secret. Perhaps the arrival of the Void Tribulant elders was not simply about seizing the Third Heavenly Bull Continent. Perhaps they were here for him.

“Their goal is twofold: to breach this heavenly gate and to eliminate me. Their plan must be meticulously crafted, offering me no avenue of escape…”

“To survive and retaliate, I must grow stronger with utmost haste, by any means necessary!” Wang Lin’s mind raced, seeking any path to power.

It had been a long time since he had felt this way. Only in the face of constant, deadly peril had Wang Lin, over the course of two thousand years, ascended to his present strength.

As Wang Lin delved into his thoughts, the desperate refugees outside his chamber, save for a silent few, erupted into a frenzied mob, gathering outside the palace’s central chambers.

“Grand Elders, what must we do?!”

“The devils of the Green Devil Continent will soon be upon us! How can we resist?!”

“Will we receive reinforcements? If so, when? If not, are we meant to die here?”

“Grand Elders, give us guidance!”

“Give us answers!”
The words of surrender died in the throat of the middle-aged man, a grimace of fear contorting his face. “If there is no salvation, we cannot simply wait for death. I say, better to yield to the Gr…” But before the treacherous word could fully escape his lips, his eyes widened in horror. An unseen force seized him, lifting him bodily from the throng. His own hands clawed at his throat, but to no avail.

Invisible fingers, vast and pitiless, squeezed the life from him. His struggles were futile.

With a thunderous *boom*, the man exploded in a shower of steaming gore, raining down upon the thousand souls gathered in the cavern. A collective gasp, then silence, choked the air.

“What is this cowardice?!” A voice, cold as a winter wind, echoed from the palace within. Lord Lu Wenran, pale and missing an arm, emerged, his eyes burning with a chilling light. Behind him slunk Yan Chui, her robes stained with blood and her face ashen. Xu Dongde, equally haggard, limped beside her, bearing the mark of grievous wounds.

Trailing behind them, the three Sky-Reavers from the nomadic tribes near the Celestial Steppe shuffled along, their spirits dimmed.

Lu Wenran, flanked by his depleted entourage of Sky-Reavers and the elder Zhou, who hung at the rear like a condemned man, ascended into the cavern’s vastness. His gaze swept across the multitude, a subtle flicker of triumph hidden within his heart. The hidden alcoves and shadowed corners were unnoticed, dismissed with a careless glance.

“These are not yet the darkest of hours. Let any who further sow discord amongst the warriors of Tianniu suffer my wrath! Zhou, speak to them.” Lu Wenran commanded, his eyes fixed upon the trembling elder.

Zhou started, bowing low before addressing the throng below, his face a mask of conflicted emotions. He sighed inwardly before speaking.

“Honored cultivators, I am Zhou, custodian of this Celestial Steppe Palace. Most of you know me…”

“Be brief!” Lu Wenran snapped, his brow furrowed with impatience.

Zhou flinched. “Indeed. Though six Sky-Reaver monsters besiege us, the Third Abode of Tianniu holds one final safeguard. If invoked, it will allow us to either counter-attack and vanquish our foes, or retreat in safety.”

“Therefore, do not despair! This final measure requires the sacrifice of your combined cultivation to summon the Soul of Tianniu. It will manifest as a Soul-Armor, a vessel to be inhabited by the Celestial Steed itself, granting the wearer a power of terrifying magnitude!”

The pronouncement sent a ripple of excitement through the assembled cultivators. They had never heard of such a thing. The very existence of the Celestial Steed was whispered of as mere legend. Yet now, they were told they could call upon its very soul, to wield its might?

“Yet, know that donning the Soul-Armor carries inherent peril. Therefore, after much deliberation, the Sky-Reavers have unanimously agreed that Lord Lu Wenran, being the most powerful amongst us, and having shown the greatest dedication, shall be the one to bear this honor,” Zhou announced. From the shadows of a distant alcove, Wang Lin’s eyes sparked with sudden interest.

He did not believe a word. If such a danger truly existed, Lu Wenran would be the last to offer himself. There must be some hidden boon, some reward beyond measure, lurking within this supposed sacrifice.

“Esteemed cultivators,” Lu Wenran declared, struggling to contain his elation, “the Soul-Armor holds risk, yes, but these are the darkest days of Tianniu! How could I, in good conscience, allow another to face such peril? It cannot be done! The greatest dangers must be faced by the greatest amongst us!” He paused, affecting a somber tone. “If… if I should fall, consumed by the Soul-Armor, I ask only that upon this day, each year hence, you honor my memory with a jug of old wine!” His words dripped with self-sacrifice, yet behind him, Yan Chui barely concealed a look of scorn.