Chapter 199

Chapter 199: Demon God

A monumental incident had unfolded.

The Seventh Prince had rallied formidable forces to besiege Ye Kuanglan, intending to eliminate Zhang Yang’s most powerful ally in a single decisive strike.

This was the intelligence Flower Phantom had obtained.

She couldn’t fathom who might save Ye Kuanglan without Zhang Yang’s intervention, forcing her to interrupt their seclusion.

"The ambush site—Falling Phoenix Valley!"

"Confirmed attackers include the Seventh Prince, Ghost King Fulong, and Yu Yihang. Others remain under investigation."

"Falling Phoenix Valley itself holds secrets, rumored to be linked to the fallen saint of the Daybreak Phoenix Luan tribe."

"After acquiring his serendipity, Ye Kuanglan ventured out alone while Lingxiao Sacred Place’s members remain in seclusion, lurking in the shadows."

"Our forces are similarly entangled—whether pursuing opportunities, confronting the Ghostly Divine Platform, or fending off troublemakers from the Demon Sword Forbidden Area and Burial Dragon Forbidden Ground."

After Flower Phantom outlined the situation, Zhang Yang commanded without hesitation: "To Falling Phoenix Valley."

The trio—one man and two women—departed swiftly.

Their capabilities were exceptional; even Flower Phantom’s unparalleled movement technique proved vital in keeping pace with Zhang Yang’s blistering speed.

They raced across the land.

An isolated basin encircled by jagged mountains that erupted violently from the earth.

From afar, the peaks resembled towering infernos.

Up close, actual flames danced within the valley’s depths.

As they reached the entrance, Zhang Yang frowned. "Deserted?"

Flower Phantom paled. "A trap! Withdraw!"

Zhang Yang and Yuluan leapt back—

Too late. Flame Forbidden Law Patterns ignited across the terrain, fiery pillars erupting to weave a colossal cage around them.

"Master, I—" Flower Phantom trembled, realizing she had been manipulated.

Zhang Yang raised a calming hand. "Victory and defeat are commonplace." His gaze pierced beyond the flames. "Show yourself."

A figure emerged in the distance.

Flower Phantom’s nails dug into her palms at the sight—Qiu Yuwan from Embrace Moon Tower, an intelligence prodigy rivaling Yi Ren Zui herself.

The woman’s mocking voice preceded her arrival:

"Such pains to ensnare you, Zhang Yang! Your little spy complicated matters, but ultimately…" Qiu Yuwan alighted before the fiery prison, lips curved in triumph. "Flower Phantom of the Underworld Assassin Organization? Pathetic."

Her haughty demeanor—born of status rather than merit—stood in stark contrast to Bing Yuyan’s grace, Qiu Yinong’s poise, Yaoruoxian’s cunning, or even Yuluan’s burgeoning brilliance. A pale imitation of true excellence.

Such arrogance deserved nothing but scorn.

Thus, Zhang Yang disregarded her entirely.

His dismissiveness ignited Qiu Yuwan’s fury. “Zhang Yang! What gives you the right to swagger? This trap was woven for you alone—your end has come!”

Zhang Yang merely narrowed his eyes, radiating contempt.

The man before them now bore no resemblance to his former self. Those who had once sneered at him—Liu Feijue, Long Luanshen, Qiu Yuwan—had long been stripped of their right to stand in his presence.

Unbeknownst to all, this too was pride.

Qiu Yuwan’s glacial stare promised annihilation, her fingers twitching as if craving to rend his flesh.

Of the trio from Mo City, Liu Feijue had fallen. Long Luanshen had perished. Only she remained, her subconscious dread morphing into frenzied hatred whenever facing Zhang Yang.

“You’re unworthy to address my master.” Flower Phantom steadied her breath, quelling the sting of defeat. “I shall be your executioner.”

“Worthless trash!” Qiu Yuwan spat. “A beaten cur dares bark? Crawl back to your kennel!”

“This humiliation,” Flower Phantom hissed, frost etching each syllable, “shall never repeat itself.”

The vow burned in her soul’s core.

Qiu Yuwan’s lips curled. “You’ll forever grovel at my feet.”

Abandoning words, Flower Phantom let cold resolve speak—her blade would carve truth from arrogance.

Qiu Yuwan’s theatrical snarls met only indifference, reducing her to a sputtering jester in the eyes of onlookers.

It Was Then the True Players Emerged.

The Seventh Prince.

Ghost King Fulong.

Yu Yihang.

Three names Flower Phantom had foreseen, three chess pieces Qiu Yuwan deliberately unmasked.

Gu Jianfeng materialized beside them, followed by Leng Jiu’ou’s spectral presence.

Six in total—prodigies from six Saint-level forces, their combined aura thickening the air. Behind them swarmed fifty elite warriors, each a lethal legend from their respective factions.

“Ye Kuanglan has been contained,” Qiu Yuwan crowed, drunk on imagined triumph. “No salvation comes for you now.”

Zhang Yang’s gaze never wavered from the Seventh Prince, confirming both Flower Phantom’s intelligence and Dark Phantom’s foresight.

The prince had transformed. Where once lurked bestial nobility, now coiled a Nine Nether Hell deity, his very essence steeped in carnage. This metamorphosis of power erased Zhang Yang’s last traces of contempt.

"When confidence falters," Zhang Yang mused, hands clasped behind his back like a grandmaster lecturing disciples, "men cloak schemes as wisdom. Little do they know—this cowardice blunts their martial edge, leaving their Dao path choked with thorns, never to touch heaven’s summit."

Mockery erupted from Qiu Yuwan and Ghost King Fulong’s faction.

“Death’s doorstep philosophy?” one jeered.

“Think we’ll duel you honorably?” another snarled. “We’ll crush you like insects!”

Zhang Yang let their barbs fall empty. These so-called geniuses of the Saint-level forces, these luminaries of the Southern Region—they weren’t even specters in his martial vision.

Only the Seventh Prince mattered.

This demon-god incarnation radiated battle-worthy might. Each previous encounter had seen both ascend—Zhang Yang’s victories never culminating in finality, the prince always resurrecting stronger.

Would this be their fourth clash?

Or the prince’s first descent into pack tactics?

The choice belonged solely to royalty.

Hands still calmly folded, Zhang Yang stood unfazed within the crackling flames—his poise rendering the rabble’s clamor vulgar.

The Seventh Prince stared at the architect of his life’s greatest shame. “Begin,” he coldly decreed.

The infernal cage exploded, giving rise to a massive fire phoenix that consumed the trio. Zhang Yang’s smirk grew even sharper. If they dreaded facing him one-on-one, he was more than happy to take them all on at once.