Chapter 29: Mockery

In the Wind and Cloud Arena, on the Generals’ Ranking Square, thirty dueling platforms stood reserved for the Wind and Cloud Rankings Challenge. On each stage, pairs of contestants clashed fiercely, displaying their extraordinary skills and arcane arts, their battles raging with fiery enthusiasm.

Since this space was created by the joint effort of the six kings of the Eastern Wilderness, everything within it had been imbued with new concepts, differing greatly from the real world in both rules and natural laws. For instance, once a cultivator reached a certain stage and achieved the status of a Marquis—marked by a significant boost in combat power—they were required to earnestly comprehend the spirit of heaven and earth, thereby evolving their own personal “Dao.” Only thus could they strengthen their foundation, ascend to the rank of General, and ultimately vie for a king’s throne in the future.

Those who had not cultivated a personal “Great Dao” might be able to force a breakthrough to become a General, but from that moment on, the path of further cultivation was essentially closed to them.

Without Dao, there is no path forward.

Indeed, even possessing a Dao did not guarantee one would become a king; the odds of success were woefully slim.

This alone illustrated the profound significance of the Dao.

In the real world, a few were born with extraordinary talent, and by chance, even at lower realms, managed to comprehend their own Dao. Their foundations became exceptionally solid, and they easily rose above their peers, becoming leaders of their regions and growing into future overlords. If they had no interest in serving under a king or joining a major power, they could even establish their own clans.

Such was the power of the Dao.

Of course, at lower realms, even after grasping a Dao, it was difficult to wield it perfectly, let alone unleash its full potential.

The ancestor of Shang Yi, after wandering through the wilds, enduring hardships, and tasting the marks left by the years, once witnessed the boundless sands of the desert, obscuring the sky and sun. Deeply moved, he comprehended the Palm of Yellow Sands, and later founded the Shang Clan.

The Palm of Yellow Sands was the manifestation of his Dao.

In the real world, no matter how gifted Shang Yi was, he could only evoke the essence of that technique, never able to replicate the feat of his ancestor, who, with a single palm, could shroud the heavens in sand. This was his regret and his dream—to one day fully comprehend and wield the palm’s true essence, earn the ancestor’s approval, and become the heir of his generation.

Yet here, in the Wind and Cloud Arena, his dream was realized ahead of time.

The rules and laws of this place imposed no limits. As soon as he unfurled his technique, yellow sand billowed forth, sweeping in every direction, veiling all sight. Each mote of dust became both his weapon and his avatar.

This was a difference never before experienced, and it intrigued Dugu Bieli.

He sheathed his blade.

Drifting through the yellow chaos, he searched for Shang Yi’s presence, tracking the traces he left behind, observing the wonders of his technique, analyzing the Dao within.

The sands multiplied, storms whirled, howling like thunder. Shang Yi, as he fought, felt an unprecedented sense of freedom—his movements fluid, his strikes seamless. In the midst of battle, he experienced a new revelation. Hastily, he tried to savor this insight while remaining vigilant—not to unleash too much power and inadvertently harm the deeply-rooted Dugu Bieli.

He needed to maintain control.

Outside, countless Generals watched the spectacular duel, shouting in excitement. Those hundreds who respected Dugu Bieli as a senior were particularly tense, eyes fixed on the match, secretly anxious for him, their breaths short and suppressed, faces flushed, veins bulging on their foreheads.

At that moment, from the pitch-black heavens above, a series of spectral lights flickered, and a dozen or so elders appeared, their gazes fixed on the thirty platforms below. Their expressions varied—some excited, some arrogant, some gratified, some anxious, some inscrutable.

The Grand Dean, and Wuying.

The Grand Dean’s face was wooden, as if carved from timber, betraying no emotion. He seemed an outsider, utterly indifferent, the thousands of Generals below as if they did not exist.

Wuying glanced at him, sighed quietly, then looked up. There, a colossal leaderboard hung from sky to earth, spanning the void, listing names and lineages by rank.

The most striking was the first place: Thousand Hands. His name blazed in gold, radiating a formidable, domineering presence, suppressing all beneath him. He was like an impassable chasm, extinguishing the passion and hope of countless Generals who strove in vain to surpass him.

With his special privileges, Wuying checked and saw that Thousand Hands had zero challenges—no one dared to face him.

Wuying shook his head and continued down the list. Occasionally, students from the other five academies appeared, interspersed with scions from various clans and prodigies cultivated by major powers—but not a single one from Butterfly Academy. Not until near the very end of the top thousand, at around the nine-hundredth rank, did a handful appear. The highest was ranked nine hundred and thirty-one, named Gale.

“It’s him…” Wuying thought for a moment, recalling the details. Gale was from a certain clan, strong and talented. During the last recruitment, he had entered the Butterfly Academy’s selection but had not competed until the end. Instead, his family pulled strings, leveraging connections to secure him a spot directly. Wuying himself had handled the process.

He naturally remembered.

Truth be told, Wuying was somewhat averse to such favoritism. Yet there was a reason he could not refuse: Gale’s elder brother, the so-called God of Slaughter—Mad War—was an exceptionally outstanding prodigy.

Mad War was a fourth-level student at Butterfly Academy.

Years ago, he entered the Academy’s selection in secret, hiding it from his family, and proceeded to slaughter hundreds of contestants, catching even the Queen’s eye. Instead of punishment, he received lavish praise and immediate admission. It was said his family benefited greatly from this, their power swelling.

From a single name, Wuying connected these events and nodded slightly. He found Gale impressive, having risen so quickly to General and climbed the ranks. In the brief moments of his observation, Gale’s rank jumped again to nine hundred and eleven.

Feeling a touch of comfort, Wuying pointed out to the Grand Dean, “Look, that’s Mad War’s younger brother, named Gale, recruited last session. He broke through as soon as he arrived and went straight to the second-level class. Luckily, that allowed him to participate now. Perhaps he’ll surprise us yet.”

“Oh?” The Grand Dean’s eyebrow twitched. He pondered, then asked doubtfully, “Gale… Mad War’s brother? The so-called God of Slaughter, fourth-level student Mad War?”

“Exactly,” Wuying replied with a smile.

“Well, what’s the discussion?” Ten-odd elders appeared at once, all Grand Deans and Vice Deans from the various academies. One, his face crimson as blood, drew near and deliberately inquired.

He was a Vice Dean from Shura Academy, whose students had over a hundred names on the board. Naturally, he wished to boast and mock Butterfly Academy for some amusement.

After all, Thousand Hands was a student of Shura Academy!