Chapter 523 - 293: Anger

The firmament shuddered under the immense, overlapping weight of two colossal battle lines.

Where there had once been empty sky, tens of thousands of figures now hung suspended in the freezing upper currents.

The wind itself had been strangled, trapped beneath layers of suffocating killing intent, celestial laws, and the raw kinetic heat of countless primed divine arts.

Chen Feng glared at Haoran and at the tens of thousands of Imperial Academy students that appeared, all looking at them mockingly.

His irises flared, tracking every streak of foreign light that had coalesced behind the arrogant young man.

The students had assembled with terrifying, disciplined synchronicity, draped in uniform robes of midnight-blue and gold celestial silk, each embroidered with the emblem of the upper realm’s Imperial cademy.

They floated atop clouds of condensed qi, astride tamed primeval beasts, and stepping on flying swords.

Yet, as they looked across the thousand-mile gap toward the native cultivators, their expressions held no solemnity, no respect for an opposing army, and not a shred of fear.

They laughed aloud, pointed their fingers with casual, insulting gestures, and traded jeers as though they were observing livestock gathered in an execution pen.

Chen Feng’s jaw clenched, his spine stiffening like a spear against the howling gale.

"Is this the grand army you summon to save your skin, Shen Haoran?!" Chen Feng’s voice boomed across the vast expanse, laced with heavy, disdainful mockery. "You summon an army of pampered disciples fresh from their lecture halls and expect me to tremble?! Look behind me! My friends alone counts thousands of battle-hardened Nirvana Rebirth masters! Even with your gathered dogs, we still hold the absolute advantage in numbers! I truly do not know where you get your boundless confidence from, you arrogant brat!"

And it was the truth.

Chen Feng’s sharp perception had pretty much dissected the enemy ranks in the span of a single breath.

The total number of academy students hovering behind Haoran was indeed vast—numbering in the tens of thousands—yet their cultivation tiers were wildly uneven.

A significant portion of them still lingered in the Nascent Soul realm and Spirit Ascension realm.

Of course, this is not because the academy lacks talent to cultivate Nirvana Rebirth Realm students.

But simply because most students who reached that level would immediately choose to graduate, either because they wanted to explore the world or because they have become too old to stay.

The Imperial Academy was an institution of refinement, not an eternal sanctuary.

Once a cultivator broke through that mortal-shedding threshold, the constraints of academic curricula became useless shackles; they departed to claim ancestral territories, manage ancient commercial veins across the star seas, or embark on solitary voyages through primeval ruins to seek their own personal Dao.

Only those who are truly talented and came from powerful background choose to stay, not only to learn but also to build more connections.

But those several hundred Nirvana Rebirth cultivators lingering in the academy ranks were the absolute cream of the crop—the prideful scions of ancient noble clans, the holy sons of top tier sects, and monstrous prodigies who possessed ancient sacred physiques.

They remained enrolled not out of necessity, but to access the forbidden imperial libraries, to duel against equals of identical pedigree, and, above all, to weave tight political webs with the heirs of supreme clans before stepping onto the grand stage of cosmic dominion.

Yet, despite their terrifying individual prowess, their total count at the Nirvana stage barely scraped three or four hundred—a fraction of the thousands of Nirvana experts arrayed behind Chen Feng!

Shen Haoran chuckled.

The sound was soft, clear, and maddeningly amused, carrying effortlessly over the tense, breathless silence of the heavens.

He tapped the flat side of the Black Imperial Sword against his palm, his pristine sleeves rustling gently.

He turned towards the students, his bright, golden pupils swept over the grand assembly.

Among the tens of thousands of gathered disciples, he saw the prodigies of noble clans, the top-tier genius of some sects, and those talented rogue cultivators who successfully enrolled.

However, he noticed that not one heir or heiress from Immortal Lineages were present from this group.

He hummed. Those scions were excessively proud.

They probably viewed this entire lower-realm trial as a private hunting game, unwilling to lower their heads or answer a general mobilization decree issued by a fellow student, regardless of his status.

Although, some were probably having a fortune encounter and couldn’t come.

After all, no matter what, they were all from Immortal Lineages, they wouldn’t let go of opportunity to improve even if it was Shen Haoran who ordered them to gather.

But he didn’t care.

To Haoran, the absence of those pampered, self-important heirs was utterly trivial.

The tens of thousands of capable, bloodthirsty academy disciples standing before him were more than enough to drown this lower world in a sea of ash.

He stepped forward onto the empty air, his hands resting naturally at his sides, his presence radiating an unyielding, imperial gravity that commanded the immediate, dead silence of the entire host.

"Fellow disciples of the Imperial Academy," Haoran spoke.

His voice was neither raised nor strained, yet it resonated with an ancient, soul-striking timbre that vibrated directly within the spiritual seas of every young master, maiden, and warrior present.

"I am Shen Haoran. Heir apparent of the Shen Immortal Clan."

The mere utterance of that name caused the tens of thousands of academy students to hold their collective breath, their spines tingling with instinctive awe.

In the vast firmament of the upper realms, the Shen Immortal Clan was an insurmountable titan—an archaic behemoth whose ancestral monarchs had shattered expectations and limits with their bare hands, whose divine armories held the weapons of fallen gods, and whose word was treated as absolute law across millions of planetary systems.

Even amongst the Immortal Lineages, they were comsidered the strongest and mosr powerful.

To hear the sole heir of such a terrifying bloodline formally address them directly was an honor that made the younger students tremble with reverence.

"Look across this empty sky," Haoran continued smoothly, his golden eyes casting a cool, leisurely glance over Chen Feng’s assembled legion. "What stands before you? A rabble of lower-realm insects. Stagnant, crude monkeys who have spent their entire miserable existences wallowing in the filthy, unrefined spiritual mud of this forgotten corner of the cosmos! They use the fragmented techniques that our ancestors didn’t like, assemble them into hollow, fragile foundations, and have the audacity to proclaim themselves ’Saints’ and ’Emperors’!"

A chorus of low, mocking chuckles rippled through the front ranks of the students, their eyes gleaming with growing, vicious condescension.

"They believe that because their numbers are vast, their words carry weight," Haoran’s voice rose, carrying a sharp, intoxicating resonance that stoked the flames of their innate imperial pride. "They believe that a mountain of dry straw can extinguish a star! They look upon you, the chosen elites of the heavens, the future sovereigns of the cosmos, and believe they have the right to bargain, to threaten, and to stand as our equals! Tell me, will you allow these mud-born beasts to bare their brittle teeth before our academy’s banner?! Will you permit these filthy monkeys to insult the divine bloodlines flowing within your veins?!"

"NO! NEVER!"

A thunderous, manic roar erupted from the front ranks as one student slammed his blood-stained ax against his chest, his eyes blazing with feral fury!

"Then let us educate them on the hierarchy of the universe," Haoran smiled, a cold, majestic curve of his lips that promised absolute, beautiful slaughter. "Rend their brittle bodies. Plunder their souls. Wash this barren sky clean with their blood, and carve the name of the Imperial Academy into the bedrock of their graves!"

The speech struck the hearts of the students like molten iron poured onto dry parchment!

The blood of the tens of thousands of young masters and proud maidens boiled over with wild, uncontainable excitement!

Their golden cores thrummed violently; the ancestral pride that had been suppressed by academic protocol detonated into an insatiable, ecstatic bloodlust!

To fight under the personal command of the Shen Clan’s heir, to bathe their weapons in the vital essence of an entire world—it was the ultimate glory!

Haoran slowly raised his right arm, the straight blade of the Black Imperial Sword pointing like an executioner’s finger directly at Chen Feng’s throat.

"Kill."

ROOOOOAAARRRRRR!

A deafening, apocalyptic battle cry detonated from the academy host!

Tens of thousands of cultivators surged forward like an uncontainable tidal wave of pure celestial destruction! Colossal war beasts tore through the clouds.

But, watching the monstrous, chaotic charge of the imperial host, Chen Feng did not panic.

A cold, calculating sneer twisted his lips. He had never intended to trade blows in the open air against an army backed by upper realm divine artifacts and ancient bloodlines.

"Fools! Fall back!" Chen Feng roared, his voice cutting through the panic of the players and the grim tension of the native elders. "All units, execute tactical withdrawal! Retreat behind the Great Dragon-Smiting Heaven-Lock Array! Let their arrogant momentum break against our ancestral meat-grinder!"

"Fall back! Fall back to the perimeter!" the Four Sacred Grounds leaders yelled frantically, and everyone started activating their high-speed movement skills and diving toward the city below.

The strategy was flawless. The formation protecting the Rising Dragon Sect was an impenetrable fortress capable of pulverizing Nirvana experts within seconds.

Drawing the hot-headed, arrogant academy students directly into the array’s kill-zone would turn the battle into a glorious, one-sided massacre for the defenders.

Thousands of figures plummeted toward the mountain gates like falling raindrops, scrambling to pass beneath the protective runic veil.

Chen Feng lingered at the rear, preparing to act as the rearguard.

But, at that moment, as Chen Feng was about to turn and return as well, he suddenly heard a moaning sound.

It was faint. Pathetic. A weak, wet whimper that was almost drowned out by the roaring thunder of the approaching academy army and the whistling gales of the high sky.

Yet, to Chen Feng’s senses, that tiny sound struck his eardrums like the shattering of a soul.

It was a timbre he had held in his arms during cold winter nights, a voice that had whispered sweet lovings into his ears in bed.

His heart was suddenly seized with an icy, suffocating dread.

Turning around, his eyes widened in shock.

Every drop of blood in Chen Feng’s body froze solid in his veins, the air in his lungs escaped in a sharp, strangled gasp.

There, hovering casually in the open air where the monochrome shadows lingered, was a figure.

It was the limbless body of his second wife Bing Wuxian.

The peerless, proud Ice Queen, the celestial beauty whose cold, untouchable grace had captivated the entire world, the woman whom he loved the most, was mow utterly broken.

Her limbs were completely gone. Her slender arms had been severed cleanly at the shoulders, and her long, shapely legs had been lopped off at the upper thighs.

Her exquisite robes were reduced to blood-stained, filthy tatters that barely clung to her mutilated torso.

Her head hung limply, tilting at an unnatural, hollow angle.

Her long hair was matted with dried blood, dirt, and clotted spiritual marrow.

The brilliant, sharp intelligence that had once illuminated her cold eyes had vanished entirely.

Her pupils were now milky, glazed, and completely blown out, staring blankly at the empty void without registering light, sound, or reality.

Drool leaked unchecked from the corner of her swollen, chapped lips, pooling on her chin before dripping into the empty land below.

A soft, incoherent whimper, a mindless, broken groan coming escaped her throat every few seconds, the clear sign of a cultivator whose spiritual sea and soul had been mercilessly dismantled, scrambled, and left to rot as a hollow, living corpse.

Shen Haoran hovered weightlessly in the sky behind her, his right hand gripping a fistful of her blood-matted hair, casually dangling her mutilated, limbless body in mid-air like a hunter displaying a half-eaten rabbit.

His robes remained immaculate, without a single speck of dust or gore to mar his untouchable elegance.

Catching Chen Feng’s horrified, petrified gaze, Haoran’s lips curled into a slow, sharp smile of pure, sadistic amusement.

He lightly jiggled his wrist, letting the limp, mutilated torso of the Ice Saintess swing back and forth like a pendulum in the freezing mountain wind.

His golden eyes gleamed with a silent, taunting message.

"Here is the family you demanded. Come and take her."

The world seemed to stop spinning.

The sounds of war, the battle cries of the academy students, the hum of the protective formations below—everything died away into an absolute, ringing void.

CRACK!

A sound like the shattering of the cosmic firmament violently ripped through Chen Feng’s chest!

The final tether of his rationality, his composure, and his sanity snapped into dust!

His pupils turned completely, violently blood-red, veined with incandescent crimson fire!

A roar—not of a man, not of an emperor, but of a wounded, maddened primeval beast watching its world burn—tore from his throat with such catastrophic velocity that the sonic boom instantly pulverized the clouds across three thousand miles!

"SHEN HAORAN! I WILL TEAR YOUR FLESH TO PIECES! I WILL GRIND YOUR SOUL TO ASH! I WILL MASSACRE YOUR NINE GENERATIONS!"

Burning silver flames detonated from every pore of Chen Feng’s body, instantly incinerating his outer robes and twisting the surrounding space into a roaring, apocalyptic vortex!

Ignoring the formation below, ignoring the thousands of incoming academy students, and abandoning all thoughts of survival, Chen Feng transformed into a blazing, suicidal meteor of unadulterated hatred, charging straight across the sky to rip the devil apart with his bare hands!