CHAPTER 229: DEMON YU XUAN, BLOODLINE REGRESSION

High above the illusionary realm, the four figures hovered in silence — their gazes piercing through the boundless golden plane below, where chaos and brilliance intertwined.

"This is... unexpected," Baotian murmured, his sharp eyes fixed on Yu Xuan’s figure carving through disciples like a storm of crimson light.

"But I don’t like his character, Grand Elder," Wuji said coldly, his tone laced with disdain.

"He’s too arrogant, killing fellow disciples without a single though."

"We did say only one would remain alive," Fang Wu replied evenly.

"Perhaps that’s why he’s acting this way."

"No," the Martial Ancestor’s deep voice interrupted, calm but firm.

"That boy already knows the truth, that these deaths are an illusion."

The other three turned toward him in surprise.

"How can that be, Ancestor?" Baotian frowned.

"I could believe such perception from the Death Clan’s child, his affinity with the Death Dao makes him nearly impossible to deceive or that dragon girl, her bloodline grants her instinctive awareness of falsehood... but this boy? He looks ordinary, aside from his appearance."

The Martial Ancestor’s gaze deepened, faint nostalgia flickering in his ancient eyes.

"He is the disciple of that woman. I can sense traces of her spirit and method in his cultivation technique, though it’s modified beyond recognition."

Baotian’s brow creased.

"You mean...?"

"The Elemental Heaven Peak Master," Fang Wu answered, realization dawning on him.

He knew she had taken a lower-realm disciple recently, but this? This level of strength and composure was far beyond expectation.

Fang Wu sighed inwardly.

’Will anyone from our peak even make it to the end among these monsters?’ he thought bitterly.

’I can only hope the Wu brothers hold their ground...’

Wuji’s eyes glimmered faintly, unreadable.

"Ancestor," he said slowly, "would you truly allow someone to inherit your legacy even though he already carries another?"

"It doesn’t matter," the Martial Ancestor replied, his voice detached, as though speaking from across time itself.

"The legacy chooses its bearer, not the other way around."

Below, the vast battlefield was drenched in bloodlust.

From the initial five thousand, only five hundred disciples still stood. The weak were culled, the strong honed. Soon, there would be a hundred.

Fang Wu turned toward the Martial Ancestor once more.

"Ancestor, the next stage...?"

The Martial Ancestor smiled faintly, a rare, almost imperceptible curve at the corner of his lips.

"For those who qualify," he said, "it is only right they receive a reward. But the measure of that reward... shall depend entirely on their own strength and comprehension."

A ripple passed through the other three elders, a quiet understanding of the storm to come.

And so, the four of them waited in solemn patience, watching the realm below burn, bleed, and blaze its way toward the top hundred.

***

"Ha ha..."

A female disciple with long green hair stumbled across the blood-soaked plains, her robes torn, her breathing ragged.

Moments ago, she and her group had encountered a demon — a man so terrifyingly beautiful it made her skin crawl. They had tried to kill him, striking together in numbers, but it had been in vain.

One by one, her fellow brothers and sisters had fallen.

This cursed realm allowed no protection talismans to function, though healing pills still worked, perhaps just to prolong their suffering.

’Was it so that the demon could keep killing us... even after we healed?’ she thought bitterly, horror flashing through her mind as she recalled his face — handsome, cold, soaked in blood, his eyes like twin abysses of light and shadow.

’I swear... if I survive this, I’ll use every means to destroy him!’ she vowed, her eyes burning with hatred.

But her thoughts shattered when a spear tore through her leg.

"Ahhh!" she screamed, collapsing to the ground as crimson Qi spread through her veins like fire, invading her body and shattering her meridians from within.

When she looked up, her heart froze.

Descending from the sky was that same figure, the demon.

His appearance was otherworldly: one eye black as the void, devouring all light, and the other pure white, spilling endless brilliance. His white robes were soaked in blood, his aura vast and oppressive.

"You’re the last one among them," the demon said coldly, his voice calm and resonant, yet utterly devoid of pity.

"You... demon! You’ll die sooner or later!" she spat, her voice trembling with pain and fury.

"But you," he replied, eyes gleaming with cruel serenity, "are not the one who will kill me."

Before she could even blink, his sword pierced her heart. Her eyes widened in shock, and then she fell limp, lifeless, her hatred fading into the dirt.

Yu Xuan withdrew his blade, glancing down at her corpse.

"That makes it nearly a thousand," he muttered to himself.

"How many are still left..."

He had been in this illusionary realm for nearly five hours now — and had already slaughtered close to a thousand disciples. Most were disoriented, unable to fully adapt after their cultivation had been sealed to the same level.

It disappointed him.

Too many from the Martial Heaven Peak, too few from the others. Their fighting styles were repetitive, predictable.

Some faced him head-on, others hid and ambushed, but all of them ended the same.

Still, it wasn’t without merit. He had observed those fake deaths, every time he killed someone, a faint ripple of energy emerged, as though their death triggered a deeper mechanism.

’That... was clearly the work of someone or something on the Immortal level,’ Yu Xuan thought, narrowing his eyes.

He began moving again, sword in hand, scanning the vast plains. The landscape refused to shrink with time — forcing him to actively hunt rather than wait for prey.

He sighed inwardly.

’If only I had the minimap function from the game,’ he thought with a smirk.

Then, as if fate had heard his wish, he stopped.

Across the horizon, walking toward him with measured grace, was a girl — her long white hair gleaming like moonlight, and black horns curving upward from her head, forming a crown that radiated ancient might.

Yu Xuan’s eyes narrowed slightly, the corners of his lips curving into a faint, intrigued smile.

"Finally," he whispered, "someone... interesting."

***

Long Anming — her very name carried weight within the Dragon Clan, for she was no ordinary dragon. She was a prodigy, a being of such talent that even the Elders of the clan spoke her name with awe and caution.

She had gained awareness even before her birth, her consciousness stirring within the egg as if impatient to witness the world. But that was not what made her extraordinary.

What truly set her apart was the miracle that occurred the moment she was born — a Bloodline Regression.

Bloodline Regression — a phenomenon so rare that even in the long history of the Dragon Clan, it had only been recorded a handful of times. Unlike ordinary dragons, whose bloodlines would grow diluted or remain stagnant through generations, a regression meant the opposite, her blood had returned closer to that of the Primordial Dragon Ancestors themselves.

It was a rebirth of divine purity, a return to the source.

But that alone was not the reason the heavens trembled the day she was born.

Long Anming was a hybrid, a being born of two of the most feared and exalted dragon lineages: the Destruction Death Dragon Clan and the Heavenly Creation Dragon Clan.

Two bloodlines that should never coexist.

One born from annihilation, the other from genesis.

Yet within her, destruction and creation intertwined in perfect balance.

When she was born, the skies of the Dragon Realm roared with thunder and flame.

Countless dragon souls bowed instinctively, and the ancient Dragon Ancestors themselves opened their eyes for the first time in eras.

Across the realm, visions of creation and ruin unfolded simultaneously, worlds forming and collapsing in the blink of an eye. It was the herald of a being destined to either elevate the Dragon Clan to new heights... or reduce it to ashes.

Despite her divine lineage, Long Anming could never understand why her clan, powerful beyond measure had chosen to send her away to the Heaven Immortal Sect. Was it caution? Political maneuvering?

Whatever the reason, she did not care.

She escaped soon after.

The endless reverence, the ceremonial treatment, the suffocating adoration, being addressed as "Princess" by every passing dragon had long lost its charm. What once felt glorious now only weighed on her.

From her earliest days, she had possessed a pride as vast as the heavens, and a confidence that could split mountains.

She was Long Anming, an Elder Dragon, bearer of creation and destruction, heir to both birth and death itself — and no matter where she went, even the heavens would have to bow their heads before her.

And now, in the illusory realm beneath the nine blazing suns, she found herself facing someone.

A man stood before her, his white and black eyes gleaming with an unfathomable depth, his robes drenched in blood yet his presence calm, almost divine.

Long Anming narrowed her gaze, an inexplicable feeling rippling through her heart.

"You..." she said softly, her voice carrying both curiosity and instinctive caution.

"You look familiar."

Before her, the blood-stained figure, Yu Xuan — simply smiled.