"This is getting interesting."
With a light flick of his sleeve, Yang Cheng sent a burst of invisible force through the air. The two bronze short swords that had been flying toward him spun midair, then shot backward and embedded themselves into the little girl's hair bun.
The girl gave a startled cry. Her body twisted and instantly dissolved into a puff of black smoke. When the smoke dispersed, what stood in her place was a hunchbacked old woman leaning on a cane.
The old crone tapped the ground lightly, and the mud-brick wall beside the street suddenly rumbled open, revealing a hidden alley behind it.
Again and again, Night Owl shifted forms—sometimes a peddler, sometimes a monk or beggar, even turning into a wisp of cooking smoke or a falling leaf drifting in the wind. Yet no matter what guise he took, Yang Cheng stayed right on his tail.
The soldiers stationed at Zhen Nan Pass had long gathered around. They could only watch, dumbfounded, as two figures flashed across the street—one fast, one faster—disappearing and reappearing like phantoms in the morning light.
When the chase reached the foot of the city wall, Night Owl suddenly stopped.
He had now transformed into an old fisherman in a straw raincoat, holding a short, sheathless knife in his hand. The blade was pitch black, as though it devoured the light around it.
Beads of dew seeped from the cracks between the bricks of the city wall and dripped onto the back of the knife—only to hiss and vanish instantly, turning into white mist that was drawn into the blade.
"Yang Cheng," the fisherman spoke, his voice carrying the echoes of thousands of men and women, old and young. "You think I have no killing move? This blade—'Thousand-Faced Shura Knife'—has drunk the heart's blood of 3,600 warriors. Even a golden-armored deity of Heaven would see his divine soul scattered if this blade cut him."
Yang Cheng stood with his hands behind his back, gazing calmly at the writhing black aura that coiled around the knife's edge. Then, faintly smiling, he said, "I don't like that nickname of yours."
Buzz!
A streak of sword qi ripped through the air, sharp and fierce.
The killing intent it carried was unmistakable—the aura of the Asura.
All around, the swords carried by nearby sword cultivators began to tremble, singing softly in resonance.
The "Thousand-Faced Shura Knife" in the fisherman's hand burst forth with a blinding black light. The black aura covering the blade twisted into countless grotesque faces, each howling in agony.
The blue bricks beneath the city wall began to crack. From within the fissures oozed foul, stinking black liquid that scorched the earth as it spread. The grass withered instantly, turning to gray ash wherever it touched.
But the next moment, that black miasma collided with Yang Cheng's Asura sword qi—and shattered completely.
"With such pathetic tricks, you dare call yourself Shura before me?"
Yang Cheng's tone was calm and cold as water.
The Asura Dao Sword in his hand shot forth. In an instant, it clashed with the Thousand-Faced Shura Knife.
The collision exploded like thunder. Sword qi and black mist tangled together, forming a massive vortex that swallowed dust, debris, and stone alike, tearing through the air with deafening force.
The fisherman's raincoat shredded into tatters under the shockwave. Several deep cuts appeared across his face, revealing the true form beneath—Night Owl.
"How can he be this strong?"
Fear flickered across Night Owl's face. He shot upward, trying to escape into the sky.
"Cut!"
Yang Cheng slashed diagonally, sending a sword strike blazing through the air like lightning.
Night Owl screeched sharply, the cry echoing like a hawk's.
From his back burst a pair of massive black wings. His body twisted in midair, spinning like a shadowed bird of prey as he narrowly dodged the strike.
At the same time, thick black mist erupted from his body, spreading in all directions until it blotted out the sky. Darkness enveloped the entire street; even stretching out a hand, one couldn't see their own fingers.
"Hiding my vision?"
Yang Cheng's voice was calm, almost amused.
This Night Owl truly had endless tricks—no wonder he had survived even after failing to assassinate a god.
"I know your spiritual power is strong," Night Owl's cold, rasping voice echoed from within the mist. "But this is my Chaos Soul-Confusing Fog. It not only blinds spiritual sense—it corrodes it."
A sinister laugh followed, echoing eerily through the dark haze.
"Impressive technique," Yang Cheng said softly, "but useless against me."
He opened his Supreme Dual Pupils.
In that instant, his eyes shone with divine light, piercing through the endless darkness. Every illusion, every shadow—it all turned transparent before his gaze.
Unseen by all, Night Owl had already crept close, moving like a ghost, ready to strike from behind.
He thought he was invisible.
But the next moment—
Shing!
Yang Cheng's sword flashed backward, piercing straight through Night Owl's chest.
Splurt!
Blood burst forth.
Night Owl froze, staring in disbelief. "Impossible…"
Then he met Yang Cheng's eyes—and his face twisted in terror.
"Supreme…!"
The word barely left his mouth before—
Swish!
Yang Cheng's sword fell again, clean and sharp.
Night Owl's head flew into the air, rolling across the stone street.
Thunk… thunk… thunk…
It tumbled more than a dozen times before coming to a stop.
Even in death, the eyes on that severed head were wide open—still filled with horror.
The black fog faded.
Yang Cheng sheathed his sword and said lightly, "No matter how many tricks you possess, before the Supreme Dual Pupils—all is illusion."
Yang Cheng's eyes returned to normal, their divine glow fading. He gave a cold snort and said, "I'd like to see who else dares come for that reward of ten million top-grade spirit stones to assassinate me."
Seven Martial Sovereigns—along with Night Owl, a powerhouse on par with a demigod—all slain.
That alone, he believed, was enough to serve as a terrifying warning to anyone foolish enough to harbor such thoughts.
And indeed, it was.
When dawn finally broke, the corpses of the seven Martial Sovereigns and Night Owl were discovered one after another.
In an instant, the entire Wasteland Realm trembled.
The bounty the Qingming Sect had placed on Yang Cheng's head had already spread across the world, known to all.
Many had also known that numerous Martial Sovereigns had gathered in Zhen Nan Pass, waiting for an opportunity to claim that reward.
Even several great experts from Great Zhou had set out toward Zhen Nan Pass of their own accord, intending to protect the Crown Prince.
But before they even arrived, before any of them had time to act, an unbelievable event had already occurred in the span of a single night.
The seven Martial Sovereigns were all killed by the Blood Shadow Tower.
In that instant, the Blood Shadow Tower's name shook the world.
As for Night Owl—many had witnessed it firsthand—it was the Crown Prince himself who had slain him.
Following Su Lingchen's death, another peak Martial Sovereign had fallen at Yang Cheng's hand.
For a time, countless people began to regard him as the strongest being beneath the gods.
Before long, the Azure Jade Realm was also in an uproar.
Many there had thought it would be an easy task for so many assassins to go to the Wasteland Realm and kill the "mere" Crown Prince of Great Zhou.
No one had imagined that all eight top assassins would die instead—and among them was even a legendary figure like Night Owl.
The higher-ups of the Black Serpent Society could only grit their teeth and nearly vomit blood.
Night Owl had been their ace assassin, the pride of their organization. Losing him was a crippling blow.
And with his death, the Qingming Sect's reward of ten million top-grade spirit stones no longer seemed nearly as tempting in the eyes of assassins.
Sure, assassinating someone beneath the gods for ten million top-grade spirit stones was an enormous temptation.
But after seeing Yang Cheng's strength, every assassin now realized that killing him would be no easier than killing an actual god.
It wasn't that people truly believed Yang Cheng's power equaled that of the divine.
The problem was that, within the Wasteland Realm, their strength was severely limited—and Yang Cheng was still the Crown Prince of Great Zhou.
That status alone made him nearly untouchable.
Normally, an assassin could threaten their target by capturing family members or loved ones.
But that method was useless against Yang Cheng.
His father was Emperor Qian Yuan, his mother the Empress Yun Liyue—killing or even approaching them would be harder than assassinating Yang Cheng himself.
Meanwhile, in the Qingming Sect, the mood was grim.
Within the grand hall, the high elders were all gathered.
"It's been a long time since anyone has come to claim that bounty," one elder said with a frown.
"Should we increase the reward?" another suggested.
The Sect Master sighed. "Forget it. If we raise it any higher, it won't be worth the cost. Let's end this matter here."
The others exchanged glances but didn't object.
At this point, the bounty had become meaningless. For that price, they could hire someone to assassinate a god. Wasting that much on Yang Cheng was pure folly.
In the end, they all knew the truth—this wasn't the right time.
Once the gate of the Wasteland Realm fully opened and their strength was no longer suppressed, dealing with Yang Cheng would be child's play.
There was no need to waste their effort for now.
Back in the Wasteland Realm, inside the temporary royal palace, Yang Cheng was seated calmly when Yang Xi stormed in, her expression filled with anger.
"Your Highness the Crown Prince," she said sharply, "I would like to ask—what exactly do you think of the royal laws?"