Chapter 55

  The sky above the capital had become a canvas of terror and awe.

  Millions upon millions of colossal ships tore through the wormhole — vast, glimmering constructs of black steel and alien light. Each vessel was shaped unlike anything the cultivators had ever seen, with limbs that bent in impossible geometries and engines that shone with colors beyond the natural spectrum.

  Shockwaves rippled through the air with every new arrival.

  The clouds themselves twisted away, as though afraid to touch the invading armada.

  All the sect masters and grand elders rose into the air above the arena, robes fluttering in the gathering storm of spiritual and alien energy. The audience below could only stare, caught between awe and disbelief.

  One of the older sect masters muttered, voice trembling,

  “Great heavens… to think I would live to see such a thing — an otherworldly invasion.”

  Another added, eyes wide as he gazed up at the endless expanse of ships,

  “We have always known of realms beyond our own — stories of travelers, lost souls from different planes. But an invasion? That… that's unheard of.”

  Their voices carried across the stunned silence.

  Floating beside Han Wuqing, Zhou Yanyue narrowed her eyes at the incoming fleet, her tone calm but curious.

  “What kind of creatures are they, Sect Leader Han? You seem… unsurprised. You were expecting them, weren’t you?”

  Han Wuqing didn’t look away from the sky. His face was unreadable, but there was a quiet weight in his words.

  “Yes. I have the information you want. The informant’s identity is classified… but what I can tell you is this —”

  He paused, as a massive ship eclipsed the sun.

  “They are called the Myrthans. Four-legged, four-armed beings — half arachnid, half humanoid. Their upper bodies resemble ours, but their faces…”

  He exhaled, as if recalling something unpleasant.

  “…their faces are like that of a crab. Armored. Cold. Expressionless.”

  Zhou Yanyue blinked, then gave a small, incredulous laugh.

  “That’s… oddly specific, Sect Leader Han.”

  Han Wuqing merely gave a small nod, his eyes reflecting the descending fleet.

  “You’ll see soon enough. Let’s hope words are the only thing that prove true.”

  The heavens above rumbled again — and from the largest of the ships, a beam of light began to descend.

  Far beyond the arena, at the edge of the capital’s outskirts, a pillar of light tore through the clouds — descending like divine punishment.

  But this was no blessing.

  Below it lay a small farming village. The villagers barely had time to scream before their bodies began to float upward, along with terrified livestock, all pulled toward the gaping light from the descending Myrthan ship.

  Their cries echoed through the valley.

  Then —

  A booming voice resounded across the skies.

  “You invaders are not going to take people of our realm!”

  A brilliant golden shield appeared above the village, intercepting the beam. The light clashed violently, ripples of spiritual energy sweeping across the land.

  And then — in a shimmer of blue light — Mr. Turtle appeared, hovering slightly above the gathered sect masters and royal observers.

  The moment his figure materialized, every sect master and grand elder instantly bowed, their combined might paling before his calm, effortless presence.

  “We greet the Heaven’s Forguard Saint!” they said in unison, voices echoing with reverence.

  Mr. Turtle sighed, visibly rolling his eyes.

  “I told you all, ‘Turtle Saint’ is more than enough.”

  Zhou Yanyue stepped forward slightly, hands clasped in respect.

  “We apologize, Saint. But that would not be appropriate. You are a Heavenly Saint. We do not think the heavens themselves would wish their apostle to be addressed in any lesser manner.”

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  Mr. Turtle turned his head toward her, an amused smirk crossing his face.

  “Zhou kid, I don’t think the heavens give a damn.”

  The elders exchanged awkward glances, unsure if it was blasphemy or wisdom.

  But before anyone could speak further, Mr. Turtle’s gaze sharpened. His playful air vanished, replaced by a crushing seriousness that made even Saint-level spiritual energy tremble around him.

  He looked up at the descending fleet and declared —

  “No one will participate in this.”

  “They are mine to reap.”

  The tone was calm, but it left no room for debate.

  He continued, eyes still on the alien vessels.

  “Protect yourselves if you don’t wish to become casualties.”

  The sect masters exchanged quick looks — none dared to challenge him.

  Immediately, one of the Grand Array Masters raised his hand, summoning a vast defensive formation. Enormous lines of runic light spread outward like golden veins across the earth, forming a dome that encompassed the entire arena and several miles beyond.

  Dozens of Soul Transformation and Nascent Soul cultivators joined in, pouring their Qi into the formation as key conduits to sustain it.

  From below, Adam watched in awe. The air trembled as the Saint’s presence alone distorted space.

  Adam (thinking):

  “To say that to those just one realm below him—and for them to agree instantly... The gap between a Saint Realm cultivator and Soul Transformation must truly be the difference between heaven and earth.”

  The defensive dome locked into place.

  The entire capital now glowed beneath its golden light — a fragile sanctuary beneath a storm of alien firepower.

  And at its center, Mr. Turtle hovered alone, eyes locked on the Myrthan fleet, calm yet terrifyingly resolute.

  The air shimmered as Mr. Turtle drifted upward, his figure rising through the clouds until he stood face to face with the Myrthan fleet — a wall of steel and light blotting out the sun.

  One of the massive ships descended slightly. A ripple of static energy pulsed outward, and then—

  A voice, warped yet disturbingly clear, echoed across the heavens.

  Myrthan Voice (translated through energy waves):

  “Do not reject our grace. Click! Click! Submit, and you Click! shall be one with the Eternal Mind. Your knowledge will feed the Collective, Click! Click! and you shall ascend beyond the chains of flesh.”

  Mr. Turtle blinked once, unimpressed.

  Then he chuckled.

  “To think you creatures are capable of speech— and in our language, no less. How convenient.”

  He crossed his arms, his tone dry.

  “So, you’re preaching unity through consumption. Twisted religious lunatics, then.”

  The Myrthan ship’s core glowed ominously as the voice thundered again:

  “Rejection Click! is ignorance. The ignorant must Click! be remade.”

  Mr. Turtle’s smile vanished, replaced by a slow, dangerous grin.

  “Oh, I see how it is.”

  He raised his hand skyward. His voice boomed like thunder.

  “WE DO NOT WANT YOUR DAMN GRACE!”

  “IN FACT—”

  “I’M GOING TO GIVE YOU UNENLIGHTENED FUCKS MY GRACE, IF YOU WISH UPON IT!”

  The skies darkened instantly. Clouds began to swirl, twisting into massive spirals that spread for miles.

  Then the Myrthans opened fire.

  A brilliant beam — a plasma cannon shot the size of a mountain — tore through the air toward him.

  The explosion rocked the heavens.

  When the light faded, Mr. Turtle was gone.

  For a heartbeat, all was still.

  Then came a voice from above, calm yet echoing with divine wrath:

  “Shall we begin?”

  The clouds erupted.

  Three colossal draconic heads, each large enough to crush mountains, burst forth from the storm. Golden eyes burned like miniature suns as the creature roared — the sound itself shattered the atmosphere.

  The first head snapped forward — a single bite obliterated a hundreds of mile-long Myrthan battleship, turning it into molten slag.

  The second swung its tail — tens more were reduced to glowing fragments.

  The third exhaled light — a beam of condensed light Qi piercing straight through an entire Myrthan formation.

  Every explosion lit up the world like a second sun.

  From below, Adam and the others stared in awe.

  Adam (muttering):

  “...A turtle, my ass.”

  He pointed upward at the titanic form ravaging the fleet.

  “That’s a fucking dragon.”

  The crowd below could only nod in stunned silence, their faces illuminated by the celestial war unfolding above — a Saint’s wrath made manifest.

  And in that moment, every cultivator present understood:

  There were beings among them who no longer belonged to the realm of mortals —

  They were calamities made flesh.

  While Mr. Turtle continued his celestial rampage, tearing through the Myrthan fleet like a storm given form, a sudden shift rippled through the heavens.

  Two new presences appeared — immense, radiant, and oppressive. Their arrival warped the very air, and even the clouds bent and distorted under the weight of their auras.

  Every cultivator below froze. Their instincts screamed.

  This was not something mortals should feel.

  The two figures stepped from the horizon — one an elderly man, calm-faced and refined. Adam felt the air grow heavy with the scent of ozone and the profound silence of the void. This was the Umbral Sovereign, a master of darkness and lightning.

  The other, a young woman with hair flowing like starlight, made the ground beneath them feel inexplicably heavier. She was the Verdant Arbiter, whose command over wood and gravity could make forests swallow mountains or skies collapse.

  Both of them hovered beside Mr. Turtle, their gazes fixed upon the burning wreckage of Myrthan ships.

  Mr. Turtle sighed, clearly irritated.

  “...And why, exactly, are you two here?”

  The older man smiled faintly.

  “Why, to help, of course. Surely, even you could use assistance in purging this infestation?”

  The younger one added lightly, her tone far too casual for her strength,

  “It wouldn’t do for a Saint to exhaust himself alone, would it?”

  Mr. Turtle clicked his tongue.

  “Tch.”

  He wasn’t buying it — not for a second.

  All Saints had long made a pact — a truce. They would never fight each other, for the consequences could destroy continents.

  But that didn’t stop their greed.

  They weren’t here to “help.” They were here to harvest.

  Because when an outsider enters a foreign world, the laws of that world instinctively begin to reshape the intruder — twisting their essence to conform to its own order.

  For the world’s inhabitants, the change is imperceptible. But in that process of forced adaptation, an extraordinary energy is released — an energy known as Aether— the purest form of cosmic energy. And since the Three Titans’ Hearts had been taken centuries ago, Aether had become scarce in this realm

  It seeps into everything around the outsider, saturating their bodies, their technology, and the very air with pure essence.

  For those who had reached the Saint Realm, this was no trivial matter.

  Aether was the fuel of transcendence — the key required to push beyond the Saint Realm itself. And now, with the Myrthan invasion, the heavens themselves were bleeding with it.

  Now, with the Myrthans bringing vast amounts of it through their incursion, these Saints had come to feed.

  Mr. Turtle gave a snappy grin, his tone dripping with mockery.

  “Fine, then. Let’s see who reaps more from this harvest, shall we?”

  The other two Saints smirked, accepting the unspoken challenge.

  ---

  Below, the cultivators suddenly felt it — a shift in reality.

  Adam shuddered as a wave of invisible pressure passed through him.

  [It feels like… I’m inside something. A boundary.]

  He closed his eyes, focusing.

  [Although it’s faint, I can sense their presence everywhere. Like the entire sky is watching me — as if their eyes are in every direction.]

  He glanced around. Many others felt it too — the same eerie, omnipresent awareness.

  [It’s just like when Sect Leader Han fought those mad cultivators… The same crushing, divine sensation.]

  Before he could think further, a shriek cut through the heavens — sharp, piercing, and primal.

  Everyone looked up.

  A massive shadow ripped through the clouds — wings stretching wider than mountains.

  A Roc, its feathers glimmering with gold lightning, descended like a falling sun.

  With a single sweep of its claws, it ripped through a dozen battleships, tearing them apart like paper.

  The shockwave flattened mountains in the distance.

  Mr. Turtle groaned, voice echoing through the clouds.

  “Damn it! Now this damn bird is here too?”

  The older Saint sighed.

  “It seems the wild one wishes to join the feast.”

  The young Saint chuckled.

  “How… beastly of it.”

  Mr. Turtle growled, clearly exasperated.

  “Beastly? The damn thing’s sapient! It just acts like it isn’t — a feathered menace!”

  And so, in the storm-filled skies above the mortal world, four Saint Realm beings — three divine cultivators and one titanic Roc — waged a competitive slaughter against the Myrthan invasion, each vying not for glory, but for who could destroy more.

  Below, the world could only watch — trembling in awe and terror —

  as gods fought over the spoils of alien war.