Chapter Twenty-Two: The Wrath of the Gods

Mount Epicure, Temple of Devouring.

A golden disk, spanning ten miles in diameter, hung high above the great hall. Blazing flames capable of incinerating all things swept across the heavens, fiercely assailing a black barrier below.

Under the assault of the Fire Qilin Divine Legion, the protective barrier of Mount Epicure—the Devouring Divine Realm—transformed from black to crimson, now riddled with countless scarlet fractures, teetering on the verge of shattering.

Thirteen God-Kings of the Divine Alliance sat loftily upon their thrones, gazes calm as they watched the impending collapse of the Devouring Divine Realm in the golden mirror, each lost in their own thoughts.

“So this is the might of a legion! With a hundred thousand Highgods, even a Divine Lord can be slain. Such words ring true!” A deep, impassioned voice broke the silence, echoing throughout the Devouring Temple.

The gods turned toward Wu Potian, the God of War, their eyes unruffled as still water.

Wu Potian, master of martial law and student of the art of war, was renowned for his belligerence—if Yuan Lu, God of Slaughter, was the bloodiest among gods, then Wu Potian was the most warlike.

He especially revered the art of legionary warfare, delighting in leading thousands to gallop across the battlefield. To satisfy his own martial cravings, Wu Potian had not only founded the Martial Hall but also established his own Martial God Legion.

Whenever grand clashes of legions arose, Wu Potian never failed to tout his doctrine of the supremacy of the legion to his fellow gods.

“Hah! Wu Potian, spare us your legion worship!” retorted Wen Yan, the God of Letters, Wu Potian’s perennial rival, without a shred of courtesy.

Wu Potian, fuming, glared at Wen Yan and countered, “Better that than your useless doctrines of letters.”

“Hmph! What makes your martial ways superior to my literary ones? All you know is senseless bloodshed.” Wen Yan waved his white fan lightly, sneering, “Do you think the strong are fools, standing still and letting your legions batter them?”

“You—!” Wu Potian’s battle aura surged unchecked, his wrath manifesting as a spear of blood that shot at Wen Yan.

With a contemptuous flick of his fan, Wen Yan summoned a breeze of azure, clashing against the bloody spear.

A resounding crash—

Spear and wind contended briefly, then perished together, dissolving into drifting dust.

Seeing his attack undone, Wu Potian exchanged a piercing look with Wen Yan; in that instant, their eyes became golden as the sun.

The force of their unleashed auras collided, twisting the very air between them!

Watching the two gods on the brink of war, a look of helplessness flickered across the fat man’s face.

The Divine Alliance was a scattered sandpile for many reasons. Certainly, the gods, having grown in power, now resisted restraint; but it was also their untamed natures, ever ready to erupt into violence at the slightest provocation.

The clear peals of the Divine Bell rang out once more, echoing without cease.

At the sound, Wu Potian and Wen Yan shot each other a final, venomous glare, reluctantly withdrawing their auras.

According to the rules of the Alliance, when the Chief Deliberator struck the bell during a council, all gods were to fall silent and await his words.

“Everyone, we are here to discuss the future of the gods. I ask that you restrain your tempers.” The fat man’s stern gaze swept over Wu Potian and Wen Yan as he spoke.

The gods all nodded in agreement.

Given the gravity of the moment, even Wu Potian and Wen Yan had no choice but to acquiesce.

The tense, volatile atmosphere in the hall finally eased.

“Shi Shi, do you know why the Fire Qilin Legion attacks your Temple of Epicure?” asked Bai Hua, God of Light, turning his gaze to the fat man.

The fat man pondered for a moment, then shook his head. “I do not know. Though I have some old grievances with the Qilin clan’s Grand Elder, they should not have led to open conflict.” A sharp glint flashed in his eyes as he recalled the young lord he had marked.

“Is that so? Then let Princess Miaoyan divine the truth for us,” said Hei An, God of Darkness, suddenly addressing Miaoyan, who sat with eyes closed in contemplation.

“Indeed! Well said!” the gods chimed in.

For Miaoyan, goddess of fate, to divine the cause and consequence of any event was a matter of ease.

At their urging, Miaoyan slowly opened her eyes and, with calm authority, declared, “Since you all ask, I shall not refuse.”

She closed her eyes once more, beginning to unravel the entwined fates behind the Fire Qilin Legion’s assault.

As she invoked the laws of destiny, a majestic, gentle golden light suffused her form, while above her head an ancient, primordial Book of Fate appeared.

Seeing the archaic tome, the gods’ eyes gleamed with shock—so Miaoyan’s mastery of fate had reached such a profound level!

A moment later, the radiance faded, and the book vanished.

“Well?” the gods asked all at once as Miaoyan stirred.

By rights, the matter at the Temple of Epicure should have been Shi Shi’s alone, of no concern to the others.

Yet if, when the fat man faced disaster, no one cared or aided him, who would come to the aid of the others when calamity struck them?

Thus, at least outwardly, the gods showed great concern for him.

Miaoyan nodded gently, signaling her understanding of the matter.

Meeting their expectant gazes, she smiled and said, “The assault on the Temple of Epicure by the Fire Qilin Legion stems from Nanluo.”

“Oh!” The gods were surprised, taken aback.

The fat man was even more astonished. “Nanluo has no connection to the Qilin clan. Why should he be the cause?”

“Nanluo wrought a bloody massacre in the North Sea, revealing his identity as a primordial god-demon. The Grand Elder of the Black Serpent clan sought to capture him, hoping to break through his own bounds by devouring Nanluo.” Miaoyan’s smile faded, her voice even.

“What? That accursed clan dares to hunt a primordial god-demon like us?” The gods, hearing this, erupted in fury.

Though fractured, the gods had not forgotten the Alliance’s sacred charge: to protect all primordial god-demons.

They knew well that the fate of the primordial gods was intertwined—prosperity or ruin would be shared by all.

For the Black Serpent clan to hunt one of their own was intolerable.

Hence their blazing, uncontrollable wrath.

“Peace, everyone!” Miaoyan’s soothing voice calmed the assembly.

“The Qilin clan attacked the Temple of Epicure upon hearing that Nanluo was hiding there,” Miaoyan continued.

“What? But Nanluo is not here!” the fat man interrupted in confusion.

“Let me finish,” Miaoyan replied. “The Black Serpent clan, to win the Qilin’s support, falsely claimed Nanluo was in the Temple of Epicure, luring the Fire Qilin Legion to attack, while they themselves led their army to Mount Buzhou to capture Nanluo.”

A wave of shock rippled through the gods—they had not expected such twists.

As they reeled, Miaoyan began to lay out her plan. “You all know how vital Nanluo is to our kind. Now that he is in grave peril, we must hasten to his rescue.”

The gods collected themselves and, hearing her counsel, nodded in agreement. “Indeed! Princess Miaoyan speaks truly. We must make haste for Mount Buzhou and save Nanluo.”