Volume One, Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Drunkard

The Drunkard, reputed as the strongest Immortal Emperor in the Feathered Net Realm, had already reached the pinnacle of Ninth Level Immortal Emperor billions of years ago. Not only that, but it was said that although he cultivated as an immortal, his temperament was even more ruthless than that of demon cultivators—bloodthirsty and merciless. To fight him meant only victory or certain death. Yet, tens of millions of years ago, for reasons unknown, the Drunkard withdrew to seclusion within the Feathered Net Realm, no longer meddling in affairs nor killing a single soul. Many Immortal Emperors believed he had ascended to the Divine Realm, but none expected that upon the appearance of a spiritual treasure in the Celestial Heart Realm, the Drunkard would emerge once more to contend for it.

When the Drunkard withdrew, the white-robed youth was but at the sixth level of Golden Immortal. Now, after tens of millions of years, he too had become a leading figure in the realm. Many of their peers had privately speculated: between the current white-robed youth and the Drunkard of old, who was truly stronger?

Staggering, the Drunkard tossed his wine jug aside, his gaze still clouded as he swept his eyes over Qin Shuang and the others. He laughed, “Not bad, you lot. Who will fight me?”

“I will!” “I will!” Two voices rang out simultaneously—Wu Long and Wen Feng. After the previous two battles, those with strength and a hunger for combat were itching to join the fray.

It was no surprise. At their level, opportunities to fight with full force were rare, unless it was a battle to the death.

Indeed, among the entire Immortal, Demon, and Monster realms, those who could force them into a fight to the death were nearly all gathered here.

“Two... Both of you come at once,” the Drunkard glanced at Wen Feng and Wu Long, speaking disdainfully.

“Both at once?” Wen Feng and Wu Long glared, their faces showing contempt, especially Wu Long, who snorted coldly, “You’re not worthy.”

“I think you two should play rock-paper-scissors; whoever wins, goes,” Qin Shuang said with a smile from the side.

“Rock-paper-scissors?” Wu Long grinned confidently, “I might not win a fight against you, but in rock-paper-scissors... I’m certain to win.”

“Hmph, fine, rock-paper-scissors it is.” Wen Feng couldn’t think of a better method. In this situation, they couldn’t very well fight first to decide the winner.

In any case, rock-paper-scissors was relatively fair.

“Hmph, they really are bold, daring to underestimate the Drunkard,” the white-robed youth sneered. Even he couldn't confidently claim victory over the Drunkard.

“Boss, these guys are really arrogant,” said the diminutive figure beside the white-robed youth, wearing a sycophantic expression.

At some point, the white-robed youth was holding a fan, waving it gently. “Once one of them dies, they'll no longer underestimate the Drunkard.”

No sooner had he spoken than his expression froze, muttering, “Immortal Emperor Drunkard, do you truly no longer kill?”

Wu Long and Wen Feng’s rock-paper-scissors had ended. As Wu Long had asserted, Wen Feng indeed couldn’t match him at the game. Wen Feng always attributed it to bad luck, but only Wu Long and Qin Shuang knew the truth.

“Drunkard—your name alone suggests a lover of wine. If it weren’t for your aggression, I’d be glad to share a few drinks with you,” Wu Long smiled.

“You people, always have to say a few words before fighting,” the Drunkard replied calmly, yawning.

“Hmph, fine!” Wu Long’s face darkened, anger rising. With a flick of his right hand, a pitch-black spear appeared. Ever since Qin Yu had guided him with a single thrust, Wu Long had switched to spear cultivation, even abandoning a mid-grade divine saber for the exquisite immortal weapon he now wielded.

“Kill!” Wu Long’s face transformed as he grasped the spear, his once gentle visage contorted with ferocity and terror.

His thrust appeared utterly ordinary—simple, direct, unremarkable in speed or angle.

“This Wu Long truly is formidable,” only a few of the Ninth Level Demon and Immortal Emperors present could discern the profundity: a return from complexity to simplicity, the unity of the great Dao. The skill behind this thrust surpassed countless so-called techniques.

“This thrust of Wu Long’s contains the essence of the Sky-shattering Staff, yet is even more concise and clear,” a subtle gleam flickered in Qin Shuang’s eyes. “But Wu Long’s understanding of space is still lacking. If he could perfect this technique, it would rival the Sky-shattering Staff, perhaps even surpass it.”

Now, Qin Shuang’s soul had reached the superior Divine Person realm, and having broken through the Primordial Water, his comprehension of space had greatly improved. What was once obscure, was now clear.

“That is indeed a fine strike,” the tip of Wu Long’s spear loomed larger in the Drunkard’s vision, and the oppressive force told him that evading by speed was impossible.

“This thrust... is enough to place him among the top experts in the Feathered Net Realm,” the white-robed youth’s eyes widened in disbelief at Wu Long’s prowess.

As the target, the Drunkard was utterly calm. When the spear tip was less than a meter from his body, he flicked his right hand.

All saw clearly: the Drunkard hadn’t moved, yet Wu Long’s spear deviated slightly.

“Such powerful spatial control,” even Qin Shuang was astonished by the Drunkard’s technique.

That seemingly effortless flick caused a ripple in space, altering the trajectory of Wu Long’s attack.

Just as with the laws of space, all divine kings understand them, but their mastery varies. This is the art of applying the law. In terms of spatial comprehension, none present could match Qin Shuang, but even he knew that when it came to spatial control and manipulation, he was far inferior to the Drunkard.

“Drunkard... I never imagined you’d become so strong,” the white-robed youth was stunned, his heart shaken beyond measure. He once believed his current strength had surpassed that of the legendary Drunkard, but now realized how laughable that notion was.

Wu Long was surprised too. In spatial comprehension and application, he believed himself to be the strongest in the Immortal, Demon, and Monster realms. Yet this inconspicuous figure exceeded him.

“Your strength is impressive!” the Drunkard praised. “Had it been thirty million years ago, I might indeed have lost to you.”

Boom! Without any visible action from the Drunkard, Wu Long felt the space around him compress rapidly and then explode.

At the core of the explosion, a small region of space vibrated at an incredibly high frequency. Even Wu Long, who was near the edge, felt his scalp tingle. Not to mention himself—even a superior divine artifact thrown into that vibrating space would be reduced to dust in an instant.

“Incredible...” Wen Feng, watching from afar, felt uneasy and patted his chest in relief, “Thank goodness I lost to Wu Long in rock-paper-scissors. I’d never be able to face someone like that.”

“Thirty million years ago?” Wu Long chuckled. “If I’m not mistaken, you reached Ninth Level Immortal Emperor long ago?”

“More pointless words,” the Drunkard frowned. “Ninth Level Immortal Emperor? I reached that billions of years ago.”

“If that’s so, you might be about to lose,” Wu Long smiled victoriously.

The Drunkard was momentarily stunned, then scoffed, “Even dreams must keep to time.”

“Haha, we’ll see about that,” Wu Long said, his figure shimmering, suddenly vanishing.

Of course, Wu Long hadn’t truly disappeared. On the field, only the white-robed youth and Qin Shuang could detect his presence.

Boom! The Drunkard felt a roar in his ears, as the scene before him blurred.

In the next instant, he was shocked to find himself back in the Feathered Net Realm.

Azure Water Star, once headquarters of the Drunkard’s power, had long been known for its beautiful mountains and rivers.

Now he found himself seated atop a mountain peak on Azure Water Star, wind whipping his coarse robe, everything so vivid and real.

“Tian Xuan, what do you think? Shall we find a beautiful planet like this to hide away someday?” Beside him, a stunning girl rested her chin in her hands, gazing at the sky.

The Drunkard was dumbfounded, yet the girl was unmistakably real, right at his side. He reached out to gently brush her cheek—warm and delicate.

“You... would really stay with a killer like me?” The genuine scene unsettled the Drunkard, making him uncertain.

“So what if you kill? In the Feathered Net Realm, who hasn’t killed? You just killed more, that’s all. As long as you never kill again, isn’t that enough?” The girl wrapped her arms around his neck, speaking cheerfully.

“Very well... I promise you, when this is over, I’ll find a place with you to hide away, and never kill again,” the Drunkard gently embraced her waist.

“Dream? Illusion?” The Drunkard had his doubts, but which was dream, which was illusion, which was real—who could truly tell?

(To be continued)