The Eternal God Emperor and the Demon Ancestor

Chapter 15 Starfield Storm 1

The River of Three Crossings, the oldest river of the dead in the universe.

The river, a deathly inky black, flows through the cracks of countless realms, its source and end nowhere in sight. Floating on its surface are the remnants of vengeful spirits, eternally undying, and the rising steam carries a chilling, corrosive aura. This river is the lifeblood of the underworld, its tributaries spreading like a spiderweb, one of which meanders deep into the Burial Yin Mountains of the Kunlun Realm.

The Burial Yin Mountains, originally a desolate and eerie place, were now filled with a loud song, which shook the dark clouds and caused the wailing of vengeful spirits.

"Heaven and earth possess righteous energy, which manifests in various forms..."

The clear and melodious singing, carrying a magnificent and righteous spirit, was like the sun breaking through the long night, stirring up layers of golden waves on the surface of the Sanzu River tributary.

A figure in white robes walked on the waves; it was none other than Ru Shenlingche.

He held the sacred book of the Confucian patriarch, its pages fluttering, each character gleaming with golden light, transforming into righteous runes that fell into the water. The vengeful spirits, floating corpses, and yakshas lurking at the riverbed, once touched by the golden light, all screamed in agony, their souls instantly scattered, leaving not a trace. Ling Che strode upstream with unhurried steps, his spiritual power, cultivated as a divine master, radiating outwards. Wherever he passed, the inky blackness of the Three Crossings River faded, revealing a degree of clarity and brightness, completely erasing any trace of its eerie, deadly nature.

In the starry sky beyond Kunlun, war raged, with the armies of Heaven and Hell facing each other across the river, divine radiance colliding with ghostly fire, shaking the galaxy.

Deep within the hellish camp, atop a ghostly cloud formed from billions of vengeful spirits, a furious roar resounded, causing the eardrums of the surrounding ghostly deities to ache.

"How dare you!"

The voice belonged to the Soul Curse God of the Impermanent Ghost City. He was clad in a jet-black ghost robe, his face ashen, his ghostly eyes flashing with eerie green light. Tens of thousands of soul curse chains coiled around him, their ends binding countless struggling remnant souls. Just now, Ling Che's resounding song against the current, his righteous spirit soaring to the heavens, had actually shattered the million ghost soldiers he had deployed. Such actions were utterly disregard for the entire Hellish camp!

"Where did these Confucian scoundrels come from, daring to run wild in the River of Three Crossings!"

The Great God of Soul Curse roared, controlling the sea of ​​ghostly clouds, which resembled a towering, sunless mountain, carrying the wailing power of ten thousand ghosts, and pressed down upon Ling Che. Wherever the sea of ​​clouds passed, the space in the starry sky groaned in agony, even the light was swallowed up, and all that it passed became deathly silent.

Upon seeing this, the gods of the underworld all sneered. The Great God of Soul Curse was proficient in the divine ways of the ghost race and cultivated the clan's secret technique of the Impermanent Ghost City. His strength had already reached the Tai Xu Realm. This sea of ​​Yin Souls was forged from the remnants of the souls of billions of living beings. Even ordinary Tai Xu Realm Great Gods would have to temporarily avoid his sharp edge. How could a mere Confucian Taoist spiritual power master cultivator possibly withstand him?

However, Ling Che remained unmoved.

Without pausing, he held the sacred book of Confucianism in his left hand, and with his right hand, fingers held like a sword, he flicked his wrist, and a jade brush with sheep's hair flew out from his sleeve. The brush handle was warm and smooth, and the tip of the brush was as white as snow. It was a sacred artifact of Confucianism, forged from the blood of a divine beast and divine jade marrow.

Ling Che held his brush suspended in mid-air and wrote the poem with effortless strokes.

Just one word.

Break!

The moment the stroke fell, it seemed as if a deafening roar, as if the heavens and earth were created, resounded throughout the world.

The golden "Sever" character suddenly detached from the void and transformed into a majestic celestial blade that spanned the Milky Way. Engraved on the blade were the profound principles of Confucianism, and a river of righteous energy flowed within it. The moment it appeared, it stirred the rules of justice of all the heavens and myriad realms. Its majestic heavenly power suppressed the flow of the tributary of the River of Three Crossings.

"Pfft—"

A clash that was a foregone conclusion.

The celestial blade, formed from the character "一" (one), slashed down upon the sea of ​​ghostly spirits. There was no earth-shattering explosion, only a soft sound, like a sharp blade slicing through tofu. Billions of ghostly spirits let out mournful screams, melting away inch by inch under the scorching heat of the righteous energy. That ghostly cloud, capable of devouring even gods, was cleaved in two, along with the Soul Curse God at its center.

Blood and skeletal remains splattered, falling like stars across the Milky Way.

The upper body of the Soul Curse God was still in the void, his eyes wide open, filled with disbelief. He had died before he could even activate his protective divine treasure.

one move!

The Soul Curse Master of the Taixu Realm has fallen!

On the banks of the Sanzu River, deathly silence fell in an instant.

Whether they were gods from the underworld or cultivators from the heavenly realm, they were all dumbfounded, staring at the white-robed scholar walking on the waves, their hearts filled with turbulent waves.

Within the hellish camp, malevolent energy soared to the heavens.

More than a dozen powerful divine senses locked onto Ling Che. Immediately afterwards, more than a dozen figures broke through the air. Among them were a divine lord from the Earthly Fiend Ghost City and a judge from the Five Directions Ghost Mansion. All of them were great god-level experts. Their faces were ashen and they blocked Ling Che's path with murderous intent.

"How dare you, you brat!"

"You who slew my great god of the demon race, today I will surely annihilate you, your soul scattered and forever condemned to eternal damnation!"

More than ten powerful figures attacked simultaneously, unleashing ghostly flames that scorched the sky, ghostly curses that locked souls, and ghostly blades that ripped through the air. These attacks, all at the level of powerful figures, intertwined to form a net that enveloped Ling Che.

At that very moment, several figures also soared into the sky from within the Heavenly Court's main camp.

The two leaders, one clad in dragon-patterned armor and the other wielding an eight-foot-long golden sword, were none other than the great gods of the Feng and Li families of the Pangu Realm. Seeing Ling Che surrounded, they both showed alarm and were about to lend a helping hand when a golden light blocked their path.

Within the golden light stood an old man clad in golden armor, his face dignified, surrounded by the power of light—none other than Yuan Gang, the Divine Lord of the Temple of Light in the Heavenly Realm.

"Lord Yuan Gang, that Confucian and Taoist deity is Lord Mingde of the Painting Realm under my Pangu Realm. I hope that you will intervene to save Lord Mingde."

Holding a golden whip, he spoke calmly, his voice echoing across the starry sky: "Fellow Daoists, please be patient. Trust me, since Lord Mingde dared to act rashly, fearing trouble, he must be confident in his plans."

"Moreover, he came up from a tributary of the River of Three Crossings, which, if I remember correctly, leads to the Kunlun Realm. It seems that Lord Mingde must have obtained some kind of opportunity in the Kunlun Realm to dare to provoke the gods of the Hell Realm. We would like to see what Lord Mingde is capable of."

As he spoke, the divine laws around Yuan Gang God Venerable circulated, and he subtly set up a restriction, which actually stopped all the great gods of the Feng family and the Li family from their original positions.

The Feng family's great deity's face darkened, and he roared, "Yuan Gang, what do you mean by this?"

Yuan Gang, the Divine Venerable, stroked his beard and smiled, his gaze sweeping over the white-robed figure on the banks of the River of Three Crossings. A cold, calculating glint flashed in his eyes, and he said nothing more.

At this moment, Ling Che looked at the dozen or so fierce Hell Gods in front of him and slowly raised the Confucian Ancestor's Holy Book in his hand.

A brilliant golden light shone forth, and the pages of the Confucian Ancestor's sacred book fluttered like butterfly wings. Each character was like the rising sun born from chaos, carrying an inviolable and righteous aura, condensing into a golden canopy above the Sanzu River.

"True character is revealed in times of adversity, and its deeds are recorded in history!"

Before the song had even faded, Ling Che, with a flick of his wrist, wielded his jade brush, the strokes piercing the void. The flowing ink was no longer simple characters of battle, but lines of exquisite prose. Each word, a gem, transformed into golden chains, upon which were engraved the profound truths of Confucianism and Taoism, weaving together a righteous net covering vast expanses of land.

As the net descended, the ghostly flames, soul curses, and ghostly blades that rushed towards it dissipated like melting snow the moment they touched the golden light. The great god of the Earthly Fiend Ghost City roared and summoned his innate divine rule—a jet-black soul-severing hook, its tip gleaming with a ghostly light that devoured divine souls—and slashed fiercely at the net.

"clang--"

With a deafening roar, the Soul-Severing Hook was flung away by the Heavenly Net, its body now covered in countless cracks. The ghost general felt an overwhelming surge of righteous energy flow into his body through the hook, like a sharp sword rampaging through his ghostly form, causing him to spit out a mouthful of black ghostly blood and fly backward.

"Such a powerful aura of righteousness! This child is no ordinary Confucian or Taoist master!" The great god from the Five Directions Ghost Palace changed his expression drastically. The book-like rule artifact in his hand rustled and flipped, and countless Yin characters flew out, transforming into divine laws, trying to tear apart the Heavenly Net.

However, as soon as those gods approached, they were assimilated by the righteous energy of the Heavenly Net and vanished without a trace.

Ling Che stood with his hands behind his back, dressed in white, his gaze sweeping over the dozen or so great gods of the underworld before him. His voice was clear and melodious, resounding throughout the starry sky: "Is this all the great gods of the underworld have to offer? I am the Mingde of the Book World. Today, I will make friends through literature. Those with courage, please step forward."

As soon as he finished speaking, the spiritual power of the Confucian scholar, who had reached the peak of the eighty-fourth level, surged out. He pressed down on the Confucian Ancestor's Sacred Book with his left hand, and the jade pen in his right hand fell down again.

This time, he didn't write "断" (duàn, meaning "break"), but rather "镇" (zhèn, meaning "town").

The moment the word was uttered, heaven and earth trembled.

The character "镇" (zhen, meaning "to suppress") transformed into a golden mountain ten thousand feet high, its surface inscribed with the rules of Confucianism and Taoism. Carrying the power to suppress all ages, it crashed down upon the dozen or so great gods.

"not good!"

These demon gods turned pale and hurriedly activated the divine artifacts in their hands, trying to use escape techniques to flee. But before the golden mountain could land, an invisible pressure enveloped the surrounding area, causing their divine laws to stagnate and making it difficult for them to even expand their divine realm.

"Form the array! Form the Netherworld Ghost Prison Array!"

Someone roared, and more than ten great gods simultaneously unleashed their full divine power. Their ghostly aura surged, converging into a pitch-black ghost prison, attempting to resist the suppression of the golden mountain.

Within the Ghost Prison, countless evil spirits roared and countless soul incantations danced, faintly possessing a power that could devour the heavens and earth.

But all of this is nothing but a mantis trying to stop a chariot in the face of righteous indignation.

"Boom—"

The golden mountain crashed down, colliding with the Netherworld Prison array. There was no earth-shattering explosion, only a burst of blinding golden light. Wherever the golden light passed, the Netherworld Prison shattered inch by inch, and all the evil ghosts and curses were purified.

More than ten powerful beings were severely injured, spitting out blood and flying backward. Their divine bodies were covered with golden runes. The righteous energy entering their bodies caused their foundations to continuously crumble.

"This child... actually possesses such combat power!"

Deep within the Hell Realm camp, a collective gasp rippled through the air as several even stronger divine senses locked onto Ling Che, one of them even carrying a hint of divine pressure.

Meanwhile, in the Heavenly Court's main camp, the Feng family's great god, looking at the more than ten suppressed demon gods from the Hell Realm, and then glancing at the indifferent Yuan Gang God, was furious: "Yuan Gang! What are you still doing blocking us? Why aren't you rushing forward to help? Do you intend to just stand by and watch him be besieged by the powerful figures of the Hell Realm?"

Yuan Gang, the Divine Venerable, stroked his beard, his eyes filled with even more calculation. He said calmly, "Fellow Daoist Feng, please be patient. You see, he doesn't seem to need our help yet."

As soon as he finished speaking, Ling Che's figure suddenly rose into the sky above the River of Three Crossings, his white robes fluttering in the starlight. The Confucian Ancestor's Sacred Book in his hand shone even brighter, and on the pages, phantom figures appeared—the figures of Confucian and Taoist cultivators recorded in the Sacred Book of past generations, their cultivation levels varying. They were chanting, reciting, writing, or discussing the Dao, and each phantom figure carried an aura that shook the ages.

"Upright and righteous spirit sweeps away evil!"

With a long roar, Ling Che suddenly opened the Sacred Book of the Confucian Ancestor, and a golden torrent poured out from it. The dozen or so great gods of the Hell Realm, who were being pressed down by it, all let out painful howls under the impact of the golden torrent, and were about to be obliterated.

At that very moment, deep within the Hell Realm camp, a chilling voice resounded throughout the starry river: "What a magnificent spirit Lord Mingde has! How dare you slaughter the great gods of my Ghost Clan in front of all the gods of my Hell Realm!" A stream of mysterious and malevolent ghost energy transformed into a ghost dragon spanning hundreds of thousands of miles, sweeping across the eight wastelands and directly devouring all the righteous energy. The dragon coiled its body and brought the dozen or so great gods of the Ghost Clan back to the Hell Realm camp.