The following day, at eleven thirty in the morning. Across the vast, endless western Gobi, undulating bare rock, tinged yellow with a hint of red, stretched all the way to the horizon. Behind a concealed dune, a few small poplar trees stood listlessly, receiving the sun's intense heat. The Mage-Eyed King, his forehead wrapped in a sports headband, walked across the soft, barren, nutrient-poor ground, reaching the dune's shadow and spotting the Master of the Stop-Killing Palace and Fu Qingyang. The Mage-Eyed King glanced at Qian Gongzi's neat, clean white boots, then at the Master of the Stop-Killing Palace's pristine skirt, and a dangerous smile curled at the corner of his mouth. "I've told you before, haven't I? There are hunting eagles trained by the Commander of the Army patrolling the skies above the Gobi. Any motor vehicles or aircraft will be spotted by them. You two have simply ignored my words, haven't you? If we delay the resurrection of the Primordial Sovereign, I'll have you both accompany me to the afterlife!" Fu Qingyang replied coldly: "We were transported here "The transmission artifact is mine, not related to the Five Elements Alliance," said the Master of Zhishi. Opening her inventory, she pulled out a compact bronze pot forged from deep blue jade. She lifted the lid and gently shook it. Instantly, a bare, lifeless body "plinked" down onto the dune, covered in a pale golden, viscous liquid. This liquid seeped into the ground, causing the hard, exposed rock to instantly sprout clusters of saxaul trees. A vibrant sense of life enveloped the surroundings, and several nearby camel thorns trembled and visibly grew several centimeters taller. "For the Night Wanderer and the Illusionist, having a shared, ancestral body is enough to revive them right where they stand. Subsequently, the two exchanged essential items. The Magi Eye received a duplicate of the Primordial Sovereign, along with a sheepskin scroll (a transportation item), while Fu Qingyang obtained the phone numbers of the Ghost Blade King and the Silver Moon General. ... After lunch, as customary, the Silver Moon General made his way to the Ghost Blade King's secluded quarters to issue a challenge. The Enchanted Beast, a combat-oriented profession, much like a Scout in the Lawful alignment, requires ongoing cultivation to grow stronger over time. The Ghost Blade King's abode consists of two simple cottages and a small courtyard, exposed to strong northwest winds and sandy gusts, with grayish glass and grayish walls and gate. 'Ghost Blade, go out and fight!' the Silver Moon General pounded on the courtyard gate. Inside, the Ghost Blade King's impatient voice echoed: 'I don't want to go!' The Ghost Blade Emperor wasn't eager to fight against Silver Moon. As a seasoned eighth-tier ancient war god, he could easily contain her with just seven-tenths of his strength and dispatch her with eight-tenths. In his eyes, fighting Silver Moon was merely like training—routine, almost ceremonial. As a fellow commander of the Army of Sovereigns, he couldn't afford to truly engage in decisive combat. ——For a spirit that thrives on persuasion, the inability to kill becomes a form of torment. Each time their battle spirit peaked, he had to suppress his killing intent, rendering the fight meaningless, even burdensome. Upon hearing this, Silver Moon reflected: her magical eyes had undergone a complete transformation now—just a glare could incapacitate him, and her killing intensity was profound. If she truly unleashed her power, she’d dare to cut down even the War Lord, let alone him. To fall at her hands would be a great injustice. Fearing the Emperor, a warrior capable of challenging a half-divine being, seemed like a rather uneventful match. After much thought, it truly came down to Ghost Blade being the better choice as a training partner. So he raised his broad hand, like a fan, and gave two sharp "DuangDuang" thuds on the gate, bellowing, "Ghost Blade, I'm here to issue a challenge! If you're not here, you're just a coward—some sickly northwest man!" As soon as he finished speaking, the air within the courtyard surged with martial intensity, and the two wooden doors burst open with a loud "clang!" Ghost Blade the King stepped forth. He was an ordinary-height middle-aged man with an unremarkable appearance, dark and lustrous skin, dressed in deep brown cotton robes, his legs tied neatly—exactly the image of a typical northwest elder. Yet he carried a curved black iron blade with a red edge, and his eyes seemed perpetually filled with the spirit of battle. Ghost Blade the King glanced sideways, saying, "Today, I'm going to beat you—so much that you'll have to call me Dad." Silver Moon Commander stood firm, exclaiming, "That's a real winner for you." Ghost Blade the King had already removed his curved blade and now held it firmly in his hands As the Silver Moon General was about to mention the old spot, the Ghost Blade Emperor's phone in his pants pocket rang. An unknown caller, with the number showing as from Songhai. The Emperor answered coldly, "Who?" They used the most ordinary phone cards—no data plan, no monthly subscription—cards so basic that even advertising salespeople would have looked down upon them. On the other end, a similarly composed voice spoke: "I'm Fu Qingyang! Ghost Blade, I issue you a challenge—offer your head as a sacrifice to the banner. If you're willing, come!" The location is sixty li southeast of the Saint's Mountain of the General's Command. The Ghost Blade Emperor's eyes instantly brightened, his body trembling with a surge of passionate resolve, the intensity of his determination manifesting as a tangible gale that stirred the sand and dust beneath. The Silver Moon General steadied the Emperor's shoulder, chuckling coldly, "Fu Qingyang, what new scheme are you concocting? Your cunning scouts—we won't be fooled. I intend to dispatch my trained eagles to investigate whether you're truly in the northwest." The Silver Moon Divine General tends to favor the steward, administrative officer, and matronly staff in the position of the military commander. Each of the Four Heavenly Kings is a capable talent, especially in combat, yet lacks strong administrative skills. As a result, the Silver Moon Divine General shoulders the internal management responsibilities of the commander. His experience as a slave has honed his patience, his ability to handle interpersonal relations and daily affairs, and his intelligence and emotional quotient—though he falls short when it comes to being direct or sharp. The silver moon deity was stunned, his face instantly flushing red as the hidden scars within him were exposed, an endless surge of fury filling his chest. Fu Qingyang’s words were like a bucket of filth splashed upon him—contaminating not only his body and mind, but also his very character. "Fu—right now, I’m going to cut you down!" With a mighty roar, the two ancient war gods bowed slightly, and the ground beneath them groaned as if collapsing. In an instant, their forms leapt skyward like monkeys leaping into the clouds. She strode confidently toward the distant sacred mountain, its base dotted with gray, northwestern-style cottages arranged along the slopes, built with a blend of stone and yellow mud bricks. The Master of the Zheng Sha Palace arrived swiftly at the complex near the mountain's base, with a clear destination—heading directly toward the abode of the King of Extinction. Along the way, the enchanting spirits and the Mist Lord bowed and greeted her; sometimes she nodded with cold composure, at other times she launched sharp outbursts, criticizing the monastic community for their indolence and heavy drinking habits. The recipients of her scolding stood trembling, yet accustomed to such treatment. No one noticed that the Silver Moon General was, in fact, a fraud. At last, the Master stopped before the door of a courtyard halfway up the mountain, naturally raising her hand and forcefully knocking on the gate. A moment later, the gate opened, revealing a thin, gaunt woman inside, who regarded the Master with a cold, piercing gaze. "Silver Moon," she said, her voice sharp, "have you come to die here?" She was thin and pale, with hair like dried grass flowing loosely over her shoulders, dark circles under her eyes, bloodshot pupils that fixed upon them with a hostile gaze. She looked like a woman suffering from chronic sleep deprivation and mental distress. "Here I am to take on work," the Lady of Zhishi Palace declared with equal composure, speaking in a low, steady tone. "The hunters have reported that fifty li to the southwest, a small force of troops has been moving stealthily—likely official scouts. You're to handle that matter." It was entirely reasonable for the official dispatch scouts to gather intelligence after the military commander's recent offensive on the capital. Upon hearing that she could carry out a sweeping campaign of slaughter, the King of the Heavenly Realm grew excited, licking her lips with anticipation. Yet, she suddenly frowned, her expression skeptical. "Didn't you always handle these matters before?" The Lady of Zhishi Palace snapped back immediately. "I'm fighting the Ghost Blade—how am I supposed to manage these minor tasks? If you want to, go ahead!" With that, she turned and adopted a posture of self-assurance, as though she were entirely in charge of her own affairs. "Get out of The King of Extinction surged out of the courtyard, his figure vanishing in a flash, sweeping a gale of wind with him as he disappeared. Meanwhile, the Master of Stillness turned in the opposite direction, and upon leaving the gathering place of the Commander-in-Chief, she peeled off the human skin, pulled out her phone, and dialed the King of the Magical Eyes: "Done! You can now revive the Primordial Sovereign. But remember—first, draw blood from him. Do not simply place him directly into the Mother Goddess's womb. Make sure to keep that in mind." The Mage-Eye King drew his dagger, slicing through the membrane covering the flesh chamber, then tore the entire membrane open. Next, he set down the sack and pulled out the Prime Sovereign: "The Mother Goddess's womb can only revive once. After that, even the immortals will be unable to bring you back should you return to the spiritual realm." As he lifted the Prime Sovereign, ready to cast him into the chamber, he suddenly remembered the instructions from the Master of the Stop-Death Palace. "We must first draw blood..." The Mage-Eye King furrowed his brow. In his view, the duplicate was both flesh and blood relative—fully meeting the two conditions required to activate the Mother Goddess's womb—making the blood-drawing step unnecessary. He should simply cast the Prime Sovereign directly into the womb as a sacrifice. Yet the repeated emphasis from the Master of the Stop-Death Palace had left him puzzled. Then, a flash of insight sparked in his eyes. He realized a possibility: If he directly placed the Prime Sovereign into the Mother Goddess's womb, perhaps... others might be revived as well! If they skip the "bloodletting" step, it's equivalent to offering the Primordial Heavenly Sovereign as a blood relative to be sacrificed—so who will return as the Primordial Sovereign's blood relative?! As for the Primordial Sovereign's blood relatives, the Mage-Eyed King thought about it for a few seconds before setting it aside, as he didn't have much time left. Reviving the Primordial Heavenly Sovereign was now the most urgent matter. Matters concerning blood relatives were neither important to him nor something he needed to resolve at this moment. The sharp blade sliced through the artery in his thigh, and warm, vibrant, spiritually enriched blood gushed out, flowing in steady streams into the flesh chamber. The flesh walls contracted and rapidly absorbed the warm blood. Once the chamber had absorbed sufficient blood, the Mage-Eyed King lifted the Primordial Heavenly Sovereign's thick leg and tossed him inside, then stabbed through the heart of the duplicate, killing it. After completing these actions, the Mage-Eyed King sheathed his blade and stepped back, murmuring softly: "Let the Primordial Heavenly Sovereign rise again!" This world would be far less interesting without you—I need you by my side to clean up this dirty world together." His gaze was warm and bright, full of anticipation. The torn flesh membrane rapidly regenerated, covering the surface of the meat chamber. Through the membrane, King Mago's eyes saw the duplicates inside being slowly digested and absorbed. This process lasted for three minutes. It had happened—King Mago was overjoyed, his expression radiant, as if a young father eagerly awaiting the arrival of his child. Yet at that very moment, the meat chamber, symbolizing the "Mother Goddess's womb," suddenly sent out a message: ["Cannot revive!"] King Mago stared at the message, momentarily stunned, frozen in place.