Rain poured like a deluge, wind howling.

Lightning tore the sky again and again, thunder rolling, echoing through the mountains.

The Red Emperor stood amid the storm, head held high and chest out, facing the sheets of rain with closed eyes, stretching his claws and wings.

The surrounding crowd stood ready.

And he, was alone among them.

He simply stood there, eyes shut, letting the rain wash over his scales, the gale sweep his body, thunder explode above his head.

This posture did not look like someone preparing for a life-or-death struggle; it looked more like an embrace of a world shrouded in black clouds. Rain slid through the gaps between his scales, gathering into rivulets on the ground, then whipped up by the wind into mist that spread around.

Seconds later.

On the other side, Varta finally came to his senses.

His expression had sunk to its lowest, his face overcast, fists clenching uncontrollably, a ring after ring of tangible air currents appearing around him, turning the rain aimed at him into clouds of mist.

The colossal spell-sword containing the Mandate’s might — had it been grabbed and smashed like that?

He had watched with his own eyes as the great sword, the product of Aphra’s massive effort, shattered like fragile glass in the Red Emperor’s claws.

All the crown-level fighters’ expressions hardened, their gazes scanning back and forth over the Red Emperor, trying to glean something from the dragon.

The legendaries beneath the crown-levels, beyond looking grave, now also showed a trace of apprehension.

The surging dragon might pressed on them like something solid, forcing them to instinctively look around and inch back, seeking a chance to distance themselves from this danger.

“Is the real fight going to end before it even begins?”

Varta’s heart sank.

He could see it clearly.

Although the Red Emperor’s body seemed thinner than before his slumber, his frame had greatly expanded, and his life level had clearly reached crown-level, becoming a bona fide crown-level giant dragon.

How could this be?

This was completely different from what he had expected.

In Varta’s plan, they would face a Red Emperor who had not yet entered crown-level and whose body was hollow and weak from decades of sleep. With their lineup, victory should have been almost certain.

But now...

Things had turned out the opposite.

“Fate never asks mortals’ opinions when casting its dice. Losing nine out of ten is the world’s rule.”

Varta sighed inwardly, then the confusion in his eyes hardened into resolution; his gaze grew determined.

If he could not obtain the Tear of the Immortal and remain stuck at crown-level, even if he clung to life he would only die of old age in the end.

He could not accept that.

Better to die fighting than to wither away in bed.

Win, and he might earn a chance at breakthrough; lose, and pulverized in the pursuit of the path would at least be a kind of release.

He lifted his head and took a deep breath.

“Everyone.”

The Tri-Crown’s voice rolled out like distant thunder and carried a calming power, dispelling some of the dragon might that had unsettled their legendaries and helping the trembling veterans steady themselves.

“The time to settle this has come!”

He paused, then continued, “He took the Celestial Sword, but at a price. He is not in his prime now. He is gravely wounded.”

He pointed at the Red Emperor.

Everyone’s gazes followed.

Indeed, deep fissures covered the dragon’s scales, especially on the plates over his six claws and arms.

Scale cracks, flesh turned inside out, blood seeping from the gaps and burning into a fiery vapor in the rain, making sounds of fracture. It looked as if, although the Celestial Sword had been shattered, the dragon had suffered significant backlash.

Varta’s words dropped like a hammer.

The legendaries scrutinized the Red Emperor, hope rekindling in their eyes.

Varta said no more.

He drew a deep breath and charged first.

His shape shifted rapidly in the rush, fierce flames igniting all over him.

Life-flow qi shaped his body, which swelled at astonishing speed: muscles bulging, bones lengthening, skin roughening like rock, until in an instant he became a weighty giant whose form rivaled the Red Emperor’s, like a moving mountain.

But this was only the start.

Star Path qi condensed his limbs.

A hundred colossal arms unfurled behind him like a peacock’s tail, solidifying into ring-like rotations; each arm was as solid as flesh, muscles taut, veins bulging with enough strength to shatter mountains. The wind from their swings sounded like the howls of the damned.

The transformation was not finished.

Sun Soul qi erupted in light.

Gold surged from every inch of the giant’s skin, glinting metal-bright even beneath the dark clouds, impenetrable and fiercely scorching. It vaporized the surrounding rain into mist, shrouding Varta in a golden halo.

Star Path, Life-Flow, Sun Soul.

The three peak-path Tri-Crown emitted an aura far beyond an ordinary crown-level: tumultuous, massive, pressing the air into trembling, even vaporizing the rain falling on him midair.

“Red Emperor!”

His voice sounded like thunder, eyes blazing like the sun. “Come! Witness the limit of a human body!”

Before he finished, the hundred arms struck.

Countless fist-shadows rained down like meteors, each blow carrying the Sun Soul’s searing heat, capable of shattering mountains. The dense flurry of punches darkened half the sky, smashing toward the Red Emperor rising from the earth.

The air was torn, letting out shrill wails. The rain was swept by the punch-wind into water tornados.

Varta had not blinked.

Reflected in his pupils were the incoming fist-shadows; he neither advanced nor dodged.

Six dragon claws shot out at once, leaving countless afterimages in the air, moving so fast it was like dozens of claws striking at once. Six arms versus a hundred — the numbers were overwhelmingly disadvantageous, yet the force from the dragon was no weaker.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The shockwaves from fist and claw collisions rippled like tides in all directions.

Where they passed, rain vaporized and air distorted. Wave after wave of shockwaves layered over each other, tearing the surrounding curtain of rain to pieces.

Varta’s hundred arms were many, but the Red Iron Dragon’s six arms were stronger and thicker.

Each claw that reached out could crush, tear, and shatter a charging fist.

The Star Path-formed giant arms were like paper before him, breaking at a slap, ripping apart at a yank, their golden light scattering and dissipating in the air.

Still, Varta had too many Star Path arms.

Although the six dragon claws were fast, they could not block all the simultaneous strikes; some slipped through and smashed into the Red Emperor.

Moreover, as the life-flow qi surged, those shattered arms regenerated at superspeed.

Arms torn by the dragon’s claws reformed in the blink of an eye and rejoined the assault, endlessly streaming back into the fray.

Bang!

A punch landed under the Red Iron Dragon’s ribs.

The scale dented slightly and fissured, then soon returned to normal.

Bang!

Another hit struck the dragon’s chest.

The same dent, the same crack, the same recovery.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The thunderous sounds continued, like someone beating an enormous war drum. Each strike from the Tri-Crown left scratches and dents on the Red Emperor’s scales.

Yet they were shallow.

The damage was so light it could not even make the giant dragon bleed; only repeated hits to the same spot could cause a trace of real harm, and even then it was inconsequential.

Those cracks often healed more than halfway before the next punch landed.

Among Varta’s three major paths, the Sun Soul spearheaded offense.

But Sun Soul attacks rely on sunlike high temperatures to add fire element damage to limbs.

Among the Red Iron Dragon’s enormous resistances, fire resistance stood out; his defense against high heat and flame was exceptional. Varta’s Sun Soul bursts were severely weakened on him, their effect greatly reduced.

Previously, Varta could rely on a level advantage to break defenses and make the Red Iron Dragon wary.

Back then, the Red Iron Dragon had still been a high-ranking legendary, not a true crown-level.

Now, both sides were crown-level.

The Tri-Crown’s strikes on the dragon’s body felt like mild irritations.

Feeling the tremor beneath him, Varta shook his head slightly.

“You can’t even draw my blood.”

He said.

Before his words finished, the Red Iron Dragon bore through the storm of punches and swept a claw at the Tri-Crown’s chest, fast and vicious, tearing the air with a piercing whine.

Varta dodged to the side.

Despite his large frame, he was not slow; he leaned aside.

Yet the Red Emperor’s talon still grazed his torso.

Rending!

A spray of golden sparks flew. Deep claw gashes marked Varta’s chest, flesh turned outwards, golden light seeping from the wounds as Sun Soul qi mixed with life-flow qi.

Varta groaned and staggered back on one knee.

The Red Emperor pressed the advantage.

All six arms swung, claw-shadows like tides, wave after wave, leaving Varta no breathing room. His great wings spread to maintain balance and to seal escape routes.

Varta’s hundred arms met them again, but this time he was clearly on the back foot.

Each of the Red Emperor’s claws could rip apart several of his arms, while his punches only left shallow cracks. The hundred arms were repeatedly torn apart, and the life-flow body’s recovery rate began to lag behind the rate of destruction.

The battle had only just begun, yet Varta, standing alone against the Red Emperor, was already in dire straits.

At that moment.

A figure cut in from the flank. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

From Farrel’s Steel Crown, the sanda monk Kahn.

His build was human-sized; against the two colossi he looked like an ant, yet his speed was astonishing and his footwork razor-sharp.

He darted through the rain, leaving countless afterimages.

Shadows approached the Red Emperor from all directions, making it impossible to tell which were real and which illusions; rain sliced through those afterimages, raising veils of mist.

His boxing lacked Varta’s grandeur but was deadlier; each punch concentrated all of his power, the sanda qi condensed and unyielding, with tremendous penetrating force.

Bang!

A punch struck the Red Emperor’s spine. The dragon’s scales remained whole, but invisible force penetrated into flesh and detonated inside.

The Red Iron Dragon’s body shuddered; the muscles along his spine twitched.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three more strikes landed on the ribs, spine, and nape.

Each blow was precise and harsh, capable of piercing defenses and causing internal harm. Even with the Red Emperor’s stupendous defenses, it was hard to fully block such concentrated attacks.

But Kahn was only human-sized.

His attacks were highly concentrated yet narrow in reach.

Though the damage was deep, it was too localized; like a mosquito bite, a moment after penetrating the defense and inflicting damage inside the giant, that wound healed in the blink of an eye.

Muscles flexed, the wound closed, everything restored.

The Red Emperor turned and swatted a claw at Kahn.

The talon sliced the air, its tip nearly covering Kahn’s escape routes.

Kahn slipped aside and circled to the Red Emperor’s flank.

He twisted midair and, as the Tri-Crown lunged again, he kicked at the dragon’s lower jaw.

Bang!

The kick connected solidly, sending a shockwave that exploded rain in all directions.

The Red Emperor’s right head rocked back; his central head suddenly snapped forward, snapping at the Steel Crown, while the left head exhaled Dragon Breath at the Tri-Crown.

Kahn shifted his step and narrowly avoided the bite; the giant teeth grazed past him, gusts unbalancing his posture, and a huge shadow loomed over his head.

This claw came down at a perfect moment, the talon pressing from above.

“This is bad.”

The sanda monk’s pupils constricted.

The dragon claw had already closed on him, unavoidable; he could even make out the pattern of each scale on the talon.

At that instant.

An arrow ripped through the rain.

It moved so fast it left no afterimage; its tip gathered a gloomy light as it cut a straight line across the storm.

Thrust!

The arrow struck the Red Emperor’s outstretched claw.

It pierced scale and flesh; blood spurted and burst into fiery vapor in the rain.

The Red Emperor’s motion stuttered.

That brief falter.

Kahn slid through the gap between the claw’s plates and narrowly escaped that grab.

The talon barely scraped his backcloth as it passed, tearing a few pieces of fabric. He tumbled in midair several times before regaining his footing.

The sanda monk panted, rain mixed with sweat pouring from his brow, a chill running down his back. For a moment he had truly felt death’s breath.

The Red Emperor lowered his head and glanced at his wounded talon.

He then raised his gaze toward the arrow’s origin.

In the distant sky, the crown-level ranger stood there with her longbow still drawn in firing posture, her gaze sharp. Her eyes met the Red Emperor’s in midair; her finger rested on the string, ready to draw again.

“Continue.”

The Red Emperor said softly.

Then the battle resumed.

The Tri-Crown and Steel Crown monks engaged the Red Emperor up close while the ranger kept distance, firing arrows to cover them when needed.

Even so, the two monks felt the crushing pressure.

Varta fared slightly better.

His body was tough, his recovery rapid; he could sustain the Red Emperor’s blows for a short time and, if his heavy blows kept hitting the same spot, could cause meaningful damage.

The sanda monk, however, tiptoed on a blade’s edge, unwilling to let the Red Emperor touch him even slightly.

His endurance could not match Varta’s; his breathing grew labored, each dodge more costly than the last. Several times the talon’s tip scraped his skin, flinging beads of blood.

Fortunately, with time, Aphra’s chanting grew more majestic and loud.

Her voice wove with thunder and lightning, swelling with vigor.

In the sky, one large magic circle after another unfolded around her, layered and spreading across half the heavens.

The Crown of Magic was constructing yet another spell imbued with Mandate-level power.

“Almost there, hold on a little longer.”

Varta grunted and slammed a fist into the Red Emperor’s abdomen.

Their only turnaround lay in the Crown of Magic’s spell.

That thought did not escape the Red Emperor.

He struck back, driving the monks away, then looked up at the magic tower suspended in the clouds and cracked a smile, baring sharp teeth.

“What are you hoping for?”

He asked.

The crown-levels across from him had endured this long and even thought a comeback possible not because of any supposed weakness or lack of prime strength.

The real reason was that he had let these few gauge his current power.

He had done so to warm up.

And now, the warm-up was nearly complete.

No sooner had he finished speaking than the aura around the Red Emperor changed abruptly.

Where the flames had been black-red, deep and heavy like solidified magma, they suddenly surged upward as if more fuel had been poured on them. The color shifted from black-red to a dazzling gold, blinding and fierce, lighting the whole sky and staining the black clouds with gold.

Golden flames leapt from him, each strand carrying terrifying energy.

A massive gust rolled out from him.

It radiated from the Red Emperor to all directions, warping air and rattling space.

The Tri-Crown took the brunt.

His Star Path hundred arms had just struck and were preparing to hit again, when the airwave slammed him like a mountain; he was hurled backward, rolling in the air and slamming down into the ground at an angle, carving a massive crater.

Mud and water sprayed, stones shattered.

The Steel Crown was also flung by the wave.

His elusive form, lacking firm footing, was swept up and battered like a leaf in a gale, smashing through three small mountains before he could barely steady himself.

The Red Emperor reared his head and roared, his dragon-song booming like laughter.

The sound shook the heavens, drowning thunder and wind, reverberating across the Rhen Plateau.

Then he raised his dragon arms.

All six limbs rose and his talons spread.

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!

Golden flames condensed on each talon.

At first they were faint, like pinpricks of starlight, but they quickly brightened, swirling, expanding, transforming... in an instant condensing into golden orbs.

Dragon Qi bombs.

Unlike before, they formed at astonishing speed, from gathering to completion in mere blinks.

Six Dragon Qi bombs formed at once.

The Red Emperor swung his great arms.

The six Dragon Qi bombs shot skyward, aimed at the magic tower in the clouds.

They left six golden trails in the sky like six meteors flying backward, tearing through rain and lightning, ripping apart anything in their path.

Air ignited where they passed, leaving streaks of gold.

Aphra’s pupils narrowed.

She saw the six Dragon Qi bombs and felt the dreadful power within them.

Her chant slowed; she diverted a sliver of spirit into defense.

The magic tower spun layer upon layer, each level activating protective spells. One shielding dome after another spread from the tower, blue, purple, gold, stacked densely to cloak the whole tower.

Each shield flowed with complex runes flickering different colors.

The first Dragon Qi bomb fell.

Boom!

Golden light exploded, shockwaves spreading. Shield after shield shattered like glass struck by a hammer, crisp cracks sounding.

The other bombs followed.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

Each impact broke several protective layers.

Golden light detonated continuously, wave after wave of shock.

The tower still held but trembled violently; countless runes shattered.

Aphra’s body shook fiercely, her face as pale as paper, but she continued to hold the array. Her chant became ragged yet persisted; blood trickled from the corner of her mouth and dripped from her chin into the gale.

“Stop him!”

Varta roared.

He climbed from the crater, his body flickering with light yet still charging the Red Emperor. The Steel Crown streaked in from afar at even greater speed; he knew the success of this fight would be decided here.

The crown-level ranger drew her longbow taut, aimed at the Red Emperor’s vital spots, ready to unleash.

But Garoth did not even glance their way.

He simply lifted his head and reveled in his dragon-song, the roar rolling outward.

“You think living is a right? No, it is only my mercy.”

“Now, dance!”

His six claws opened again; more Dragon Qi bombs condensed in his talons, forming one after another like golden stars in his palm.

Then he alternated his swings.

This time, the Dragon Qi bombs were not aimed solely at the magic tower.

They split into two groups: some continued for the tower, others slammed toward the three crown-levels like a meteor shower, dragging golden tails through the rain along deadly arcs.

Varta’s face changed slightly.

He swept his hundred arms, trying to block the bombs, but his Star Path arms disintegrated the moment they touched the first Dragon Qi bomb.

Golden light swallowed his limbs — then the second, then the third — striking him relentlessly.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

The light engulfed him and blasted him back to the ground.

This time the blast gouged even deeper, harder.

A massive bottomless crater opened, the surrounding earth cracked in all directions, fissures radiating outward.

The sanda monk tried to dodge.

But the Dragon Qi bombs were too many, too dense.

He had just avoided one when another slammed by his side, its shockwave flinging him into a roll, and the next struck him full-on.

Boom!

His silhouette vanished in the blinding light. There was no scream, no struggle, just disappearance.

On the other side, the ranger felt chilled to the bone.

She had never seen attacks condensed and unleashed so quickly and with such power, as if the Red Emperor treated other crown-level dragons’ ultimate moves as ordinary blows.

She turned and fled.

Meanwhile, more Dragon Qi bombs continued to pound the magic tower.

One, two, three...

They struck like torrential hail, each explosion making the tower tremble; every impact deepened the cracks.

Runes shattered in sheets; protective shields collapsed layer by layer.

The tower began to tilt and crumble.

Aphra’s chant snapped off.

She stood atop the tower, her robe tattered, hair unbound, her body trembling from the backlash of failed casting, eyes clenched shut, face drained of color. She had lost consciousness and tumbled toward the ravaged earth.

It was over.

Garoth withdrew his gaze and looked at the sky.

The magic tower had completely disintegrated into countless fragments falling from the heavens, and among the debris a figure was also falling.

Aphra.

Crown of Magic of the Southern Domain.

Her robes in tatters, hair loose, body bloodied, eyes closed, face devoid of color, she had lost consciousness and was plummeting toward the scarred ground.

It was finished.

Garoth drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

He lowered his head to inspect his cracked scales, then lifted it, eyes softening as he glanced toward the sunlit direction.

“After more than three hundred cycles of sun and moon, I finally became a crown-level.”

He murmured to himself.

On the whole immortal aspired-to path, crown-level marks the most important watershed; becoming crown-level means acquiring a ticket to higher life tiers and the secrets of Immortality.

Year 550 of the New Calendar, summer.

Two great national alliances gathered their legendaries and, led by the Tri-Crown and the Crown of Magic, struck at the Red Emperor’s sleeping place.

The Red Emperor awakened, his dragon-song shaking the heavens, shattering the Celestial Sword, condensing Dragon Qi like a boundless sun. A crown-level existence surpassed the Mandate, and with unstoppable might swept away his enemies.