Chapter 102: Jade for Its Hardness, the Ring for Its Unbroken Circle

Shen Chenzi’s single strike knocked the Thunder God Thor unconscious, a result that greatly surprised the Norse gods.

When they looked seriously at Shen Chenzi, they saw his entire body shrouded in black mist, from beneath which emanated a mysterious aura.

Is this the power of the East? Such a question arose in the minds of the gods. Of course, they did not know that Shen Chenzi’s self-sacrifice into demonhood was a desperate measure; to them, it appeared as a unique and formidable technique characteristic of Eastern cultivators. Although it seemed to be a use of dark energy, they understood that energy was not confined merely to light and darkness. In this regard, the Norse gods indeed deserved the title of “Gods,” for their thinking was far more advanced than that of the Church.

Within the black mist, Shen Chenzi’s brows furrowed fiercely, and his eyes radiated intense killing intent. With a swift motion, he darted toward Freyr, the god of fertility. One must strike the softest point — though Shen Chenzi's strength was not yet on par with several renowned Norse gods, taking on a single god of fertility was still within his capability.

In an instant, Shen Chenzi was before Freyr, wind howling as his fist thundered toward him. A mocking smile curved Freyr’s lips, but it froze as Shen Chenzi’s punch landed. “Boom!” Freyr spat out a mouthful of golden blood, his body hurled like a falling star, slamming heavily onto the sea surface. After a splash, he vanished beneath the waves.

Shen Chenzi turned his head and glanced disdainfully amid his raging fury. The Norse gods remained stunned, seemingly unable to recover from the earlier shock.

With a roar, Shen Chenzi immediately engaged several other gods. He knew his time was limited, but at this moment, he had few regrets. To defeat even one “Heavenly God” alone was already worthwhile. Now, he hoped to vanquish as many as possible before his demonic energy dissipated.

“Roar!” Shen Chenzi moved like a phantom among the gods, striking here, feinting there. Wherever he appeared, whether successful or not, he would vanish without hesitation. This guerrilla warfare infuriated the Norse gods immensely.

“Fellow cultivators, how can we watch Shen Chenzi fight alone? Jade is chosen for its hardness; rings for their unbroken continuity!” Qingxu sighed, admiring Shen Chenzi’s perseverance. Every cultivator yearns to achieve enlightenment and ascend as immortals, but who possesses the resolve to relinquish such a goal? Especially Shen Chenzi, whose talent was brilliant—a rising star in the cultivation world, having reached the early Consolidation stage in merely six hundred years, a speed all cultivators envied.

Yet amid admiration, Qingxu lamented Shen Chenzi’s self-sacrifice into demonhood. A star was about to fall. As an elder who had witnessed the rises and falls of the mortal realm, he quietly sighed.

Qingxu’s words resonated deeply with the cultivators. Indeed, how could they allow Shen Chenzi to battle alone? The opponent was a god from the West!

A fiery resolve and hatred for the Western divine realm ignited within their chests.

“A warrior may be slain but never humiliated! Are we the proud cultivators of China to have Shen Chenzi as the sole defender? If none stand, what is cultivation for? Gold is not treasured for its value, but jade is prized for its hardness! It is better to be as unyielding as rubble than to be used merely as ink brushes!”

Better to be as unyielding as rubble! A true hero rises in times of peril. Clearly, Shen Chenzi was a hero—but he was not the only one! The cultivators, burning with rage, felt a passion long dormant reignite. Though their hearts were usually steady due to cultivation, at this moment, the fervor corroded by time surged anew.

“Roar! Jade is prized for its hardness! Better to be as unyielding as rubble!” The cries came in waves. Cultivation was meant for longevity and self-betterment; if they could not protect their own people, what use was cultivation? Better to drift with the current as ordinary mortals! A spectacular scene unfolded before them. Cultivators floating in midair saw their spiritual energy dimming, replaced by surging demonic power.

Self-sacrifice into demonhood—such a vast number of cultivators had done so simultaneously!

Over one hundred thousand cultivators had come to the East Sea battlefield, including both worldly and cultivation practitioners. Earlier battles against the Church had caused few casualties, but since the arrival of the Norse gods, losses surged dramatically. Now, fewer than seventy thousand cultivators remained alive, with over thirty thousand having fallen in battle! The injured were few because fighting gods left no room for injury—only death.

More than half of the seventy thousand cultivators had turned demonic! The Lord of the Chaotic Demon Sect’s eyes flickered with an inexplicable excitement. Though he had dealt with cultivators before, it was always superficial—never sincere. He regarded cultivators as rigid and stubborn, incapable of adaptation, and looked down upon them. Yet now, he was utterly moved by their tenacity, as so many had embraced demonhood. To know that becoming demonic meant a nine-deaths-one-life chance, were they truly ready to forsake all bonds and the future of cultivation, to die together here?

Confused yet respectful, the Demon Sect Lord’s gaze showed newfound admiration.

As more cultivators became demonic, Amaterasu was startled by the sudden change. The collective demonic transformation released an overwhelming aura; even an Immortal Lord of mid-stage like her dared not approach lightly. While lamenting the cultivators’ stubbornness, she nodded silently in approval.

But the Norse gods felt quite differently. Shen Chenzi’s earlier actions had already surprised them; now, faced with so many “Shen Chenzis,” a deep fear blossomed in their hearts. What kind of world was this East? How could it be so terrifying?

The demonic cultivators felt none of their thoughts and surged forward en masse. Tens of thousands strong, they vastly outnumbered the few Norse gods present. Overwhelmed, the gods had no chance to resist.

Within moments, the Norse “gods” were each sent back to their divine realm.

Next, dealing with the Church’s ragtag forces was effortless. Bloodshed erupted anew as the cultivators fought with blazing eyes. Their demonic energy was fading, and they feared survival was uncertain once it disappeared. Before their deaths, they resolved to eliminate all threats to the Chinese sacred land.

Killing and sin, karmic burdens—nonsense! Who cared for such things now?

During the slaughter, each cultivator felt their demonic energy ebbing. Shen Chenzi was the first, weakened beyond measure, forced to descend onto a desolate island.

Others followed suit until only Qingxu remained. The Church was reduced to two cardinal archbishops, one grand cardinal, one red-robed cardinal, and the pope himself. The Church’s million-strong expeditionary army was now a mere five, suffering catastrophic casualties.

Qingxu half-closed his eyes, his true essence depleted, demonic energy nearly exhausted. He could no longer endure.

“Rest now. Leave these few to me,” Amaterasu’s voice whispered in Qingxu’s ear. She saw he was near his limit. Qingxu glanced at her, considering his own state, and quietly nodded.

As Qingxu landed on the barren isle and Amaterasu prepared to eliminate the Church’s remnants, the sky suddenly roiled with clouds. Purple qi coalesced, and crackling sounds echoed clearly from above.

Everyone instinctively looked up. What was happening now? Was another stronger enemy arriving? The thought of yet another foe made them smile bitterly—was Heaven truly set against China?

Their already weakened bodies trembled violently as the aftereffects of self-sacrifice into demonhood worsened. Moments felt like being caught in roaring flames or frozen ice pits, intense pain lancing through their veins as their meridians twisted as if to tear apart. Self-sacrifice into demonhood—nine deaths and one life—this was only the beginning of the aftershocks.

They gritted their teeth against the piercing agony and lifted their heads to see the newcomer. A figure of unmatched elegance appeared amidst the churning purple clouds, his body ethereal and veiled in mist.

In the next moment, a tremendous pressure descended from the sky, overwhelming all. Their hearts wavered, and an inexplicable urge to surrender arose. This was the aura of a sovereign, the breath of an emperor!

Even Amaterasu, an Immortal Lord of mid-stage, was not exempt. Among all, she felt the pressure most deeply. Her heart trembled—what kind of power was this? The sheer weight of it made breathing difficult.

Amaterasu had no time to attend to the Church’s few survivors. She stood dumbfounded, gazing at the figure becoming clearer in midair. Handsome and ethereal, his eyes sparkled like stars in the night sky, ensnaring her mind.

Her heart quivered as realization dawned—this was a youth of peerless grace, now standing before her. What power allowed him to approach so silently? Amaterasu felt her own cultivation was far inferior, sparking an irresistible urge to submit. Given her status as an Immortal Lord of mid-stage, could he be an Immortal Emperor?

Lingering nearby, Leng Bingyan smiled wryly at the dazed girl before him. Dressed in ancient garb that gracefully accentuated her slender figure, she seemed a delicate maiden, shy and tender—yet who would imagine she was an immortal who had cultivated for countless years?

All eyes were drawn to Leng Bingyan, and Amaterasu remained stupefied. After days of refining artifacts, Leng Bingyan’s skills had improved greatly, and his speed had increased markedly. Over several days, he had forged thousands of treasures, though still a mere drop in the bucket compared to the total needed for the Nine Provinces’ barrier.

Originally immersed in the joy of artifact crafting, Leng Bingyan had suddenly felt a tremor in his spirit. Deploying his divine sense, he immediately realized the massive energy surge caused by the cultivators’ self-sacrifice into demonhood.

Understanding the situation’s outline, Leng Bingyan instantly teleported to the East Sea battlefield. The swirling purple clouds at his arrival were the unintended outburst of his anger and power.