Chapter 659: The First Performance of River of Stars and Dragon Bird

The atmosphere in the banquet hall was unbearably heavy, and it was deafeningly silent.

This was unmistakably a Hongmen Banquet[1]. Every attendee carried malicious intent. There were no hidden executioners, but that was not because no execution was intended; it was simply that no executioner was strong enough, and their presence would have only served to reveal their intent. The wine was laced with a potent poison, and those present lay waiting to strike the moment it took effect on Zhao Changhe.

No one anticipated, however, that even after he drank the wine, the poison had absolutely no effect. And it was not just any poison, but one crafted by a god!

Cui Wenwei instinctively stepped back from the table, his heart pounding in terror.

None of them had expected Zhao Changhe not only to attend the banquet but also to disregard decorum entirely. He did not bother easing into the conversation or pretending to play along. He simply walked in and, without hesitation, overturned the entire metaphorical table.

The brazen demeanor of a real man of the

jianghu

made the Cui Clan rather uneasy. The most absurd part was that he had walked into an obviously hostile banquet completely alone as if fully intending to flip the table from the start.

It was not just that he dismissed everyone in the room. He did not even seem to care about the gods and demons themselves.

For a moment, silence reigned in the hall, until a deep, low voice echoed through the air, “King Zhao, your decisiveness makes our secrecy seem almost petty.”

As the words faded, a cool breeze swept through the room, and a hooded figure appeared. The figure was emaciated and gaunt, its appearance beneath the hood terrifying, reminiscent of a desiccated corpse.

Indeed, many of the remaining gods and demons now existed only as souls or partially revived corpses. Incomplete resurrection often left them resembling desiccated remains. It was a logical consequence of their current state, and it explained their reliance on proxies. Directly engaging posed considerable risks, as demonstrated by the fall of the Sea Emperor.

While Xia Longyuan might no longer be around, the gods held no less malice for one another.

That did not mean, however, that they truly feared someone like Zhao Changhe. Even if he had slain a god, it was only by capitalizing on Xia Longyuan’s heavy damage to the Sea Emperor. Without Xia Longyuan weakening the god, what chance would Zhao Changhe have had? Even now, at the third layer of the Profound Mysteries, he was still far from the Profound Control Realm.

Zhao Changhe glanced at the figure, nonchalantly pouring himself another cup of poisoned wine. He took a sip as if it were nothing out of the ordinary and remarked, “Too ugly... But aside from choosing wives, I don’t judge anyone by their appearance. To you, I offer this toast as a gesture of goodwill.”

With a casual wave of his hand, he sent the wine flagon hurtling toward the figure.

Cui Wenwei and the other bystanders had expected at least some preamble, perhaps a verbal sparring match to set the stage. Instead, they realized the main act had barely begun before they were relegated to mere extras. The tension between the two was so palpable that there was no room for anyone else to interject, much less act.

The members of the Cui Clan exchanged glances, wordlessly retreating to the edges of the hall. The clever ones had already begun slipping away, leaving the confrontation to unfold on its own.

To the surprise of the onlookers, what seemed to be an aggressive throw of the wine flagon turned out to be nothing more than a casual toss. The hooded figure caught it effortlessly, raised it to his lips, and took a sip. With a chuckle, he said, “Wine offered by Zhao Changhe—indeed, it has a unique flavor.”

Zhao Changhe replied coolly, “Likewise. Without your poison, this wine wouldn’t be nearly as flavorful. But to my knowledge, aside from the Spirit Tribe, no ancient gods or demons are renowned for their expertise with poison. Would you care to reveal your identity?”

The figure chuckled again. “A nobody, lucky to have survived. I’m nothing compared to the likes of the Sea Emperor, whom you have slain.”

Zhao Changhe’s tone remained calm. “Let’s skip the wordplay. Do you seriously think that I’m actually interested in your name?”

The smile on the figure’s face vanished.

Zhao Changhe’s voice turned cold as he continued, “The reason I ask for your name is simple. I don’t kill nameless foes. When people ask in the future who was the first person slain by the reforged Dragon Bird, I need a name. Otherwise, it’d be embarrassing. Dragon Bird would definitely scold me about it, at least.”

The hall fell silent.

Dragon Bird was delighted.

“If you won’t say it, then don’t! Hiding like a coward, how can you call yourself a god?” Zhao Changhe suddenly slammed the table and launched himself into the air. Dragon Bird appeared in his empty hand as though summoned from thin air, descending in a violent arc toward the hooded figure’s head.

Many onlookers felt something was off.

It was not necessarily that the figure was unwilling to reveal his name; rather, it was customary to make light conversation first. However, Zhao Changhe had deliberately cut the other party off, denying him that opportunity.

The natural order of such encounters dictated that the god or demon should stand above, delivering cold and overpowering strikes to suppress the insolent Zhao Changhe. The figure likely calculated this outcome as part of his entrance—a display meant to subdue Zhao Changhe and, by extension, cow the Cui Clan.

Instead, Zhao Changhe dominated the confrontation entirely. He stood tall as though he were the divine figure, while the hooded opponent seemed no more than a nameless assassin; his presence was almost negligible.

If Zhao Changhe had orchestrated this dynamic intentionally, then it was clear that the concept of momentum had become an intrinsic part of his martial path. His words, actions, and control of the battlefield all served to bolster his martial presence.

This was the essence of his third layer of the Profound Mysteries: the blood-soaked might of a godslayer, the grandeur of the mountains and rivers, and the momentum to challenge gods and demons alike.

Clang!

The figure’s desiccated hand shot up, blocking the descending blade. The sound was not the sickening sound of metal cutting flesh, but the sharp sound of metal striking metal.

An immense force surged through the saber. Zhao Changhe nearly lost his grip as his palm tingled with pain and his blood and qi churned wildly within him.

This was the power of the Profound Control Realm. Even if the figure had not fully recovered, his strength was still on that level. For Zhao Changhe, the gap in their cultivation levels was vast—an insurmountable threshold at this moment.

Yet, none of this showed on Zhao Changhe’s face. He flipped backward and, before he even landed, swept his saber horizontally to preempt a follow-up attack. To the onlookers, the exchange seemed like a standard clash between equals, with Zhao Changhe perhaps at a slight disadvantage at most.

The onlookers could not discern the full exchange, but the hooded figure certainly could. His steel-like hand batted aside Dragon Bird as it swept toward him, then shot straight for Zhao Changhe’s heart. A sinister laugh escaped his lips as he said, “You may have all the clever tactics in the world, but raw strength speaks for itself. If you don’t have enough, you don’t have enough. My name isn’t something I need to conceal. You may call me Desolate Calamity, as they did in ancient times. When you meet the King of Hell in the underworld, don’t forget it.”

Clang!

Dragon Bird intercepted the attack, deflecting the hand that sought Zhao Changhe’s heart. Using the force to propel himself backward, Zhao Changhe laughed aloud. “So it’s you. You’ve been siphoning energy from the earth to sustain yourself, leaving desolation in your wake. I was wondering who would dare boast about reforging one of the four divine swords of the mountains and rivers. If it’s you, I suppose it makes sense... But you’re nothing more than a star of calamity cast out by the Azure Dragon, a defeated, hunted wretch. Now, in this new era, you call yourself a demon god? How laughable!”

No one knew that Zhao Changhe’s knowledge of this ancient figure came from just several days earlier, when he had been punished by his wife and forced to copy the texts of the Four Idols Cult. Before that, he had not even heard the name.

It turns out copying texts really is the best source of knowledge.

Desolate Calamity was visibly shaken by how much Zhao Changhe knew. Having his past exposed in front of the Cui Clan was a clear humiliation. His expression darkened further, and he sneered. “I know your tricks now... But if I’m unworthy, what makes you any more worthy? Die!”

Rumble!

The ground began to tremble violently as an overwhelming surge of earth energy erupted from below, aimed directly at Zhao Changhe. At the same time, Desolate Calamity’s hand extended unnaturally, lightning-fast and spear-like, stretching toward Zhao Changhe’s heart.

His profound control—his dominion—seemed to be over the power of the earth itself!

In an instant, the banquet hall collapsed. The crushing force unleashed caused the members of the Cui Clan to collectively vomit blood and scatter in terror.

All the earlier exchanges had been mere probes. This was the real deal—the power of a god, an unstoppable pressure against which mere mortals had no defense.

How could Zhao Changhe, caught in the eye of the storm, possibly defend against it?

Yet, even as he retreated, a faint smile curled at the corner of his lips. His left hand flicked, and a dark, unassuming divine sword plunged into the ground. The erupting energy of the earth was instantly suppressed, silenced completely under the blade’s influence. At the same time, the Dragon Bird in his right hand swept backward, intercepting Desolate Calamity’s outstretched hand.

Where previous clashes had resulted in metallic ringing, with Dragon Bird seemingly unable to pierce Desolate Calamity’s hardened flesh, this time the saber gleamed faintly with a blood-red light. It cleaved into the extended limb effortlessly, drawing forth green blood.

What had seemed like an unstoppable onslaught—a god’s apocalyptic strike—was neutralized entirely by a single sword and saber. Only the scattering dust remained as evidence of the attack.

Desolate Calamity recoiled in pain, his expression one of shock and disbelief. “What sword is that?!”

“Its name is River of Stars, the Night Emperor’s sword. Its power is beyond the understanding of a small fry like yourself.” Zhao Changhe said as he raised Dragon Bird, charging forward with renewed ferocity. “Using an ancient divine sword to deal with you is no accomplishment. Let’s see how today’s mortal blade compares to the relics of old!”

Clang!

Desolate Calamity struck heavily against the side of Zhao Changhe’s saber, attempting to deflect it as before. But instead of the expected result, it felt as though his hand had plunged into an endless expanse of barren sand. All it stirred was invisible dust, the force within the saber vast and inexhaustible. His strike bore no effect at all.

Desolate Calamity, having slept for an entire era, could not comprehend what was going on with this saber. Alarmed, he frantically tried to pull away.

Suddenly, the sword embedded in the ground—the one suppressing the earth’s energy—flew into the air, hurtling directly toward his back.

There was nowhere left to retreat!

He glanced up, only to see Zhao Changhe’s eyes glowing a vivid, blood-red hue. The man surged through the billowing dust, descending with an earth-shattering slash that seemed to eclipse the sun and moon.

Scattering the Gods and Buddhas!

Clang!

Desolate Calamity’s figure disappeared in a blur, a sound echoing through the air as his voice, tinged with pain, lingered in the space he had vacated, “Godslayer... Asura King... This blade of the mortal world. I have been humbled!”

Zhao Changhe did not pursue him. In truth, he was utterly drained.

The seemingly straightforward strikes and thrusts had pushed him to his limits. His body lacked the raw strength to match the Profound Control Realm, and his victory was entirely reliant on the transcendent power of River of Stars and Dragon Bird. To say he had defeated Desolate Calamity would be inaccurate—it was more that Desolate Calamity had failed to comprehend the unprecedented might of these two divine weapons.

But that did not matter, because no one else knew.

Zhao Changhe stood motionless, forcibly suppressing the blood threatening to rise to his throat. With his saber pointed forward, his voice rang out, cold and commanding. “Second Lord Cui, perhaps you’ve misunderstood something all along. I am not here to discuss terms; I am here to give you

orders

. Submit... or face execution.”

1. As explained in the previous chapter, this is a gathering where every participant has nefarious motives. ☜