The Celestial Ascension Tournament drew a scant few of the Transcendent Sages, each a venerable patriarch of their clan, loath to reveal themselves. Upon their shoulders rested the burdens of their lineage, and every word, every deed, demanded cautious deliberation.

Beneath the clamor of younger aspirants, their intervention risked accusations of preying upon the weak, an ignoble stain upon their venerable names. For many had gleaned that the Thunder Immortal Hall sought a fierce, untamed spirit, the might of youth ascendant! Though unspoken, the whispers in the wind hinted at this truth.

Thus, the presence of a Transcendent Sage was rare indeed. Within the Southern Domain of Luo Tian, only a handful held such sway, and none desired to incur the wrath of Wang Lin. For the name of Xu Mu resonated with dark power, the title of Demonic Son still tinged with the scent of blood. Though he had walked a path of quietude, now he strode forth with brazen ambition, seeking naught less than the champion’s mantle. Best to concede the field, lest a needless feud be forged.

Seven dawns swiftly followed one another. Within the estate prepared by the Terraflame Clan, Wang Lin remained in meditative repose, gathering his essence for the final trial within the Luo Tian Starfield.

Shen Gonghu was the first to arrive. He spoke no more of Wang Lin’s past cultivation, instead seeking counsel on the Tao. He departed with newfound insights, a respectful bow upon his lips, a sign that Wang Lin had earned his esteem.

After Shen Gonghu, others came to pay their respects. Peace descended only on the fourth day. Yet, even as Wang Lin sought solace in meditation, one visitor persisted: Nangong Han.

Nangong Han’s obsession was but one: the art of space-folding, causing Wang Lin endless vexation. Yuan Zhong, driven to his wit’s end, suggested the impish Xu Liguo might ease the fellow’s relentless pursuit.

Wang Lin, weary, declared to Nangong Han that Xu Liguo also possessed this arcane skill. With a flick of his sleeve, he departed, seeking a haven of quietude to gather his breath.

The hapless Xu Liguo, though Nangong Han initially doubted Wang Lin’s words, soon found himself a captive audience. Nangong Han, captivated, refused to release him from his endless discourse.

Xu Liguo, at first amused, soon found his spirit crushed beneath the weight of incessant chatter. Unable to resist or flee, he could only nod and grunt in response, his soul yearning for the passage of time and the return of his master.

On the seventh day, Wang Lin opened his eyes. With a fleeting motion, he vanished, his divine sense finding Xu Liguo. A frown creased his brow at what he beheld.

Xu Liguo, the demonic wraith, was fading, near dissolution. Before him, Nangong Han sighed and gesticulated, lost in his endless monologue.

Xu Liguo, sighting Wang Lin, erupted in jubilation. Tears, had he possessed them, would have flowed freely.

“Master! You have returned! Little Xu will never stray again! Spare me, I beg! This scholar is a terror! Do not abandon Little Xu, I cannot bear it!” His voice, a pitiful wail, pierced the air.

Wang Lin, witnessing the wretched state of his servant, raised his hand and returned him to his spatial pouch. His gaze settled upon Nangong Han.

Nangong Han, in excellent spirits, rubbed his hands together, a touch of embarrassment upon his features. “Xu Daoist,” he said, “your spirit vessel is remarkable! We have formed a bond, and I wish to deepen our acquaintance.”

Wang Lin, frowning, turned and vanished.

Nangong Han sighed in regret, following swiftly behind. “Such a treasure!” he muttered to himself. “Alas, I cannot best Xu Mu, or I would claim him for my own!”

The remaining one hundred and seven champions of the Southern Domain were chosen. In the star-strewn void, the purple-robed elder drew forth a black stone. As he shattered it, countless crystalline lights erupted, forming a phantom array in the void.

The array was vast, encompassing a hundred leagues. The elder stepped within, followed by two azure-robed envoys of the Thunder Immortal Hall, vanishing into its depths.

The remaining warriors followed, Wang Lin among them. Among the one hundred and eight stood Zhan Konglie, Shen Gonghu, and others. The array pulsed with light, transporting them all away.

The Thunder Immortal Hall, mightiest force within the Luo Tian Starfield, had, through the ages and countless masters, risen to become the most powerful force in the realm.

Its location was shrouded in mystery, unknown to all save a select few. Even its envoys returned via enchanted teleportation circles, none other existing.

Now, a hundred thousand leagues surrounding the Hall were bound by potent enchantments, patrolled by envoys and servants. The Celestial Ascension Tournament was a vital event, and within these enchanted boundaries, all private combat was forbidden, with the Hall reserving the right to intervene.

Four vast teleportation circles stood near the Thunder Immortal Hall. From the northernmost circle emerged a throng of warriors, led by a northern envoy. These warriors were stoic, their faces betraying little emotion as they stepped forth, radiating an aura of anticipation.

At that moment, the southern and western circles flared to life, spewing forth their own contingents. Wang Lin emerged from the southern array, his eyes sweeping the landscape without a flicker of emotion.

The Thunder Immortal Hall resembled an emperor’s palace in the mortal realm, a majestic edifice radiating ominous enchantment. Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed as he perceived the Hall’s potent enchantments, recognizing their immense power. Were he trapped within, even his cultivation would not save him from certain death.

The Hall was not alone. Wang Lin’s brow furrowed as he noticed that the surrounding foliage, the very clouds in the sky, were interwoven with potent enchantment!

Wang Lin was not alone in his scrutiny. Most of the gathered warriors watched with apprehension. Then, the eastern teleportation circle flickered to life, drawing all eyes.

The eastern array pulsed with increasing ferocity, disgorging three figures: the envoys sent to the Eastern Domain. Their faces were grim, and as they hastened away, one glanced back at the array with lingering fear.

Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed. A wave of cloying blood-reek emanated from the eastern circle, which pulsed erratically before spitting forth a lone survivor! “Await no more!” he cried. “I have slain the other one hundred and seven!”