Yuan’s Ascension

Chapter 1212: Entering The Holy Sect, The Number One Genius (3)

Spirit enslavement contracts were no secret in the Nine Megaverses Spacetime. Many powerhouses had employed them throughout history.

Their advantage was that, unlike soul-control, the controller remained unaffected. The disadvantage was that the controlled person’s spirit would be profoundly influenced, their future potential severely diminished.

For any cultivator aspiring to greatness, spirit was everything. Without an unfettered spirit, reaching the pinnacle became nearly impossible.

This blood contract essentially means becoming a slave to the Holy Emperor. Wu Yuan realized. No wonder Sageling Qi Duo suffered immediate backlash and perished.

Establishing such a contract was like planting a time bomb within oneself. Violating even the smallest aspect of the oath’s contents meant certain death for any being below the eternal level. Even eternal powerhouses might barely survive with grievous injuries.

Unfortunately, this trick won’t work on me. Wu Yuan’s heart remained tranquil, but outwardly he furrowed his brow, displaying convincing hesitation and inner struggle.

“Don’t worry!” Perennial Kou Bing noticed Wu Yuan’s apparent reluctance and smiled reassuringly. “It’s merely loyalty to the Holy Emperor. What kind of existence is the Holy Emperor? He stands high above all, invincible throughout the Nine Realms. Would he concern himself with a mere oath you make? It’s merely a formality.”

The Perennial’s voice grew more persuasive. “Since ancient times, the Holy Emperor has rarely appeared, let alone invoked the blood contract. There’s truly no need for concern.”

Wu Yuan laughed bitterly in his heart.

Formality? Not used? No need to worry? If it were truly not used, why require disciples to establish such contracts at all? Didn’t the Holy Emperor understand that establishing a blood contract would severely limit a cultivator’s potential? Of course he did.

This requirement must serve some crucial purpose for the Holy Emperor. It wasn’t that it wouldn’t be used—merely that it wasn’t the right time yet.

After another moment of apparent hesitation, Wu Yuan nodded decisively. “Very well, I’ll swear it.” He closed his eyes and began to cultivate in silence.

A full decade passed before Wu Yuan suddenly broke the stillness with agonized screams.

“Aaarrghh!” Countless blood-colored cryptic patterns appeared on his skin, his entire body thrashing wildly like a wounded beast, roaring in what seemed like both rage and unbearable pain.

“Endure it,” Perennial Kou Bing advised calmly. “Every disciple of the holy sect undergoes this trial.”

Eventually, the countless blood-colored patterns merged into Wu Yuan’s body. He curled up on the cold stone floor, appearing utterly drained of vitality.

This display greatly satisfied Perennial Kou Bing, who believed the blood contract had been successfully established. Meanwhile, in the distant Qian Yang Holy Sect headquarters within the Second Realm, confirmation had already been transmitted—the blood contract was established.

What a powerful blood contract, capable of causing even the Ancestral Pagoda’s projection to ripple. Thought Wu Yuan, outwardly writhing in agony while inwardly maintaining perfect calm.

Within his ether body, countless crimson cryptic patterns coalesced into blood mist, condensing to form a single perfect drop of blood. This droplet quivered, as if confronting some ancient nemesis.

A towering projection of a pagoda stood within Wu Yuan’s internal space, dominating all, including the trembling blood droplet. This was none other than the Ancestral Pagoda’s projection.

As an Ancestral Pagoda Archon, all binding oaths—even the Primordial Oath, blood contracts, samsara oaths, and similar bindings—are utterly ineffective against me. This was Wu Yuan’s greatest trump card.

While the identity of Ancestral Pagoda Archon didn’t directly enhance combat power, it occasionally yielded unexpected advantages in moments like this.

After resting for a considerable time, Wu Yuan finally rose from the ground. His eyes gleamed with convincing fervor as he intoned in a reverent voice, “Great Holy Emperor! Great holy sect! I, Wu Ji, shall serve faithfully till my dying breath.”

“Good.” Perennial Kou Bing nodded, thoroughly convinced. “Your talent and current strength rank you among our hereditary disciples. To possess such power without any assistance from us is truly remarkable. Once properly nurtured, you’ll likely undergo a rapid transformation. I hope you’ll dedicate yourself to cultivation upon entering the Second Realm, swiftly ascending to become a Sageling.”

His eyes glowed with genuine anticipation. “And perhaps even achieve eternity one day.

“Let me first impart to you some basic information about our sect.” With an elegant gesture, Perennial Kou Bing presented several divine slips to Wu Yuan, who began to study them with apparent eagerness.

The information contained within these slips was vast and comprehensive, far surpassing what the Vermilion Devil Master had known. It expanded Wu Yuan’s perspective immensely, providing a clearer understanding of the entire Nine Realms’ structure.

The disciples of the six holy sects were divided into four distinct tiers: nominal, inner, hereditary, and Sageling.

Nominal disciples, regardless of their strength, would never see an advancement in their status tiers, for they had refused the blood contract. Inner and hereditary disciples were distinguished primarily by talent and potential.

To become a Sageling required first being an inner or hereditary disciple and secondly, possessing the strength of a fourth-stage Overlord.

Nearly all disciples were Overlords, save for a few Sovereigns who were monstrous prodigies.

Perennial powerhouses served as sect elders, forming the backbone of leadership. Above them, Saints stood as the true pillars of the holy sects, representing the pinnacle of power in the Nine Realms.

“Now,” Perennial Kou Bing announced, “I shall escort you to the Saint Realm. Follow me to the passage.”

“Yes,” Wu Yuan nodded, having long sensed that a powerful spacetime passage leading to another world lay deep within this mountain range.

Soon after, accompanied by a fluctuation of energy, Wu Yuan entered the passage, beginning his journey to the Second Realm.

…

Time flowed like water, and over a hundred years went by.

In the Seventh Realm, outside the small city where Wu Yuan had first descended, two eternal powerhouses stood suspended in the void. Their imposing auras radiated outward as they gazed down at the dilapidated, nearly ruined city below.

“We’ve investigated thoroughly along the way,” the black-robed man said, his eyes cold as winter frost. “All clues point back to this place. Qi Duo must have died in this very area, along with Overlord Vermilion Devil and numerous Sovereigns under his command. According to our intelligence, they arrived here together.”

The purple-armored man frowned, his expression grave. “To kill Qi Duo silently without leaving a trace… That would require Perennial-level power. Moreover, when I attempted to scry the past, I failed completely. Clearly, whoever did this interfered with spacetime—their methods are extraordinarily sophisticated.

“Could another holy sect be responsible?” he asked in a low, troubled voice.

“Unclear,” the black-robed man shook his head, frustration evident in his gesture. “We have no concrete evidence at present, and the trail has grown cold. We’ve questioned some original inhabitants of this city, but they remember nothing of value.

“Most likely,” he continued, “their memories have been skillfully altered, erasing a specific period of their past experiences.”

Both Perennial powerhouses exchanged troubled glances. Interfering with spacetime? Altering living beings’ memories so perfectly? Such abilities were beyond common comprehension, chilling to contemplate even for eternal beings like themselves.

But as those responsible for investigating this matter, they had no choice but to press on.

“We must continue the investigation,” the purple-armored man said, a hint of ruthlessness flashing in his eyes. “I suggest we round up all the surviving Sovereigns who served under the Vermilion Devil and interrogate them one by one.”

“All of them?” the black-robed man was taken aback.

With the death of the Vermilion Devil Master and the accompanying demise of numerous Sovereigns, the remaining Sovereigns of the Vermilion Devil Sect were already terrified.

When the tree falls, the monkeys scatter – many of the former Sovereigns had long since dispersed. To capture them one by one now would be an enormous and arduous task.

“Precisely because it’s difficult, we must do it,” the purple-armored man said in a low voice. “If we do this and still find no leads, then the responsibility won’t fall on us. Even if a Saint comes to investigate later, they can’t blame us.”

The black-robed man’s eyes lit up as he instantly grasped the purple-armored man’s intention – to shift responsibility.

The culprit’s abilities were clearly formidable. The outcome wasn’t the goal; the process was.

“Alright, let’s do it,” the black-robed man agreed.

The two swiftly departed.

…

The Second Realm stretched across an unfathomable expanse, far larger than the Seventh Realm. Approximately sixty percent of this domain was under the firm control of the Qian Yang Holy Sect.

Beyond the sect’s headquarters, they had methodically established a network of grand cities throughout the realm to maintain their governance. One hundred cities dotted the landscape.

Within these cities, countless disciples maintained vigilant patrols, spreading the sect’s teachings to every corner of the realm while serving as its official representatives.

Time cascaded forward like an unstoppable river. In what seemed merely a moment’s passing, more than five million years had elapsed since Wu Yuan had first joined the Qian Yang Holy Sect. During this span of time, he had seamlessly integrated himself into the sect’s hierarchy.

Among the hundred grand cities stood Frost Island City, a frozen island fortress rising from the endless ocean. True to its name, the city existed in a perpetual state of ice and snow, home to a significant contingent of stationed sect disciples.

“Sageling Wu Ji.”

“Sageling.”

“Greetings, Sageling Wu Ji.”

As Wu Yuan travelled effortlessly through the void, disciples bowed deeply along his path. Every Overlord and the multitude of Sovereigns he passed greeted him with deference, their tones reverent and formal.

Wu Yuan maintained a frost-like countenance, acknowledging them with nothing more than curt nods. His expression remained utterly detached, exuding an aura of complete indifference. Yet to the assembled Overlords and Sovereigns, this cold demeanor seemed perfectly natural, even expected.

Under the watchful, admiring gazes of these powerhouses, Wu Yuan soared directly toward the city’s highest point—a mist-enshrouded glacier towering above all else.

“Sageling Wu Ji truly stands unmatched. They say he’s already reached the limit of the fourth-stage Overlord level, with Dao comprehension so deep that he stands at the threshold of Dao pioneering.”

“In a mere few million years since joining the holy sect, his reputation has blazed across the realms like wildfire. He’s defeated countless Sagelings and now stands unchallenged as the foremost among them.”

“Completely invincible!”

“I’ve heard numerous Perennial powerhouses proclaim that Sageling Wu Ji will inevitably ascend to Sainthood, eventually standing at the pinnacle of the Nine Realms.” The Overlords and Sovereigns continued their hushed discussions, voices tinged with awe.