Chapter Sixty-Four: Gathering of the Mighty

In recent days, a rumor has been spreading outward in all directions as if along a straight line.

Countless people have sworn they witnessed a giant tiger shark and a majestic roc bird walking side by side.

Many claim that, suddenly, at a certain moment on some recent day, they felt a surge of dread in their hearts, their bodies stiffening as if a cat seized by the scruff.

If, at that instant, someone could break through their own limits—overcome that terror and raise their head to look upon the source of their fear—

Then, regardless of obstacles, regardless of distance, they would “see”—

See the deep-sea overlord capable of devouring and shredding all things, an incomparably ferocious great white shark.

If not for the roc bird accompanying it, that terror—capable of obliterating every living thing—would linger in their hearts.

This world has no legends of a roc; to them, this majestic bird they had never seen was merely a strange creature.

Yet, the moment they laid eyes on it, a name would emerge in their consciousness.

A name never before encountered: Roc.

Symbolizing soaring flight, climbing ninety thousand miles into the heavens, the roc would fill everyone with a sense of inferiority, an awareness of the vastness of earth, the immensity of the universe, and their own utter insignificance.

This feeling of shame and the terror of being stripped of everything would clash and meld in their minds, preventing either sensation from lasting too long—ensuring that this world would not produce too many mentally broken souls.

Yet, these circumstances would prompt the brain to protect itself, blurring the memory of what had been seen, leading countless people to question: Was what we saw real, or merely a collective hallucination?

It was not until much later, until that battle spread, that all would realize what those two phantoms—those things that so violently assaulted and degraded their spirits, as if a high-powered excavator had smashed the fields into utter ruin—truly represented.

For the first time in history, the King of the Century was no longer a mere legend, but a living myth walking the world for all to witness.

...

Black Smoke Island: a small isle lying between the New Continent and the Old, named for the perpetual plumes of black smoke rising from its volcano.

Driven by survival instincts, the island was rarely visited, and the presence of enormous creatures—quite real to the outside world—made it even more forbidding.

Thus, for thousands of years, never had there been so many visitors as today.

Seventy-two!

The strongest seventy-two, breaking through barriers and emerging from every corner of the globe.

Each of them possessed astonishing secret arts; each had mastered peerless martial skills. Among them were those who, through myriad means, had undergone multiple genetic enhancements to become formidable warriors.

Originally, Ming Yue, the Sacred Martial King, had intended to invite only ten among them.

But as these ten called friends and rivals, and as many reclusive masters learned of the event and arrived uninvited, their numbers grew. By the time all had gathered, there were seventy-two.

It could be said that everyone on this planet with the ability, the ambition, who wished to see the limits of personal martial prowess, had come.

On this planet, each of the seventy-two held lofty status, vast wealth, and legendary beauties; their fists were their power, their strength their standing.

Frankly, even without themselves, the private fleets that followed them would be enough to raze Black Smoke Island to the ground.

Truthfully, the prizes prepared by Ming Yue, the Sacred Martial King, were hardly enough to draw so many luminaries.

Neither the paltry gold, which could neither be eaten nor worn, nor the mysterious but dispensable Martialist Life Records could entice them.

There was only one thing that could bring them here, unbidden—being number one in the world!

Since ancient times, there has been no clear first in letters, but never a second in martial arts.

Yet this was the one time the world would recognize a true number one.

Of course, these people were not fools; they would not fight to the death merely for a hollow title.

Rather, each of them had studied the “Second Son’s Way” that swept the world, and understood the immense ambition lurking beneath this act.

Many were proud enough to believe that, given the right chance, the opportune moment, they could kill that White Second Son in a single strike.

Those who doubted their own ability sought only to observe whether White Second Son possessed strength equal to his unspoken ambition.

Ambition, the threat to their own status and fortunes, and the mysterious prismatic pillar collected desperately by Blue Dream Corporation, the former number one of Heaven’s Path, the once-mighty Scarlet Cloud Empire, and enigmatic martialists—

Countless reasons converged, bringing them together at this moment, in this place.

The instant they met, they knew: this would be a battle for the ages.

On the warships, swarms of camera-equipped drones surged forth, guided by experienced operators, recording every inch of Black Smoke Island.

Whatever the outcome, everything concerning this battle would be inscribed forever in human history, until humanity’s extinction.

For the next hundred years at least, the strongest—those with power, authority, wealth, status, and everything this world could offer—would be born today!

“They’re here!” cried someone in the crowd, skilled at observation. “In the sky!”

...

Everyone looked up at his words, witnessing a scene straight from legend.

Leading the way was Ming Yue, the Sacred King, exuding a certain divinity and sacred aura. Thousands of martialists capable of flying and carrying others formed a crescent in the air, drifting slowly forward.

Strong winds whipped their pure white coats, and beneath them, the words “Number One Under Heaven” were forged in gold atop the volcano, while a prism radiating seven colors circled Ming Yue.

This was the Martialist Alliance, blessed by heaven, dominating the world’s pinnacle for nearly five thousand years.

Even as humanity invented airplanes and narrowed the gap, the Morning Star Martialist Alliance’s supremacy remained unshaken.

Of course, this was also thanks to technological advancement and population growth.

In earlier times, despite mutual attraction and sensing among martialists, the alliance rarely exceeded a hundred in number.

In fact, due to the weakness of psychic power in its early stages, most martialists would scatter across the world, fading away in obscurity like ordinary folk.

Ming Yue and his party flew overhead, imprinting the words “Number One Under Heaven” onto the volcano.

Then, Ming Yue alone remained hovering before the golden characters, while the others formed a straight arrow, shooting into the clouds above.

“What’s this? So arrogant! What are they trying to do?”

A feeling of being ignored, insulted, rose in their hearts. Many cursed instinctively, but before they could act, a murderous intent gripped their throats.

A violent sonic boom tore through the sky, as a jet-black warplane, extraordinary in appearance, ripped the clouds overhead.

Its hatch opened slowly, and from nearly a thousand meters above, a small black figure was dropped unprotected, growing larger as it fell.

Boom!

Like the most advanced bunker-buster missile, it slammed straight into the ground, sending up earth waves dozens of meters high.

An unrestrained aura of dominance, a murderous intent swept over the battlefield.

As all watched, the dust settled, revealing the face of the White Second Son—recognized by most of the world—a birthmark vivid on each cheek, and jagged martialist battle lines marking his visage: unmistakably White Second Son himself.

After nearly three years of silence since that incident, White Second Son finally returned to the stage!