The Dao of Time was peerless in its mystery. Since ancient times, warriors who cultivated this path had been vanishingly few — even rarer than those who walked the Dao of Space.
Only the Dragon Clan, graced with the finest spiritual gifts of heaven and earth, counted Time as one of their innate Daos.
Back outside the Grand Sea Phenomenon, Yang Kai had once shattered a space-time seal with a single strike of his Sun Moon Divine Wheel, catching a fleeting glimpse of a future scene. What followed had proven that the future he witnessed truly came to pass.
That had been nothing more than a fortunate accident. Later, he had deliberately activated the Sun Moon Divine Wheel on multiple occasions, but never again managed to peer into the future.
That single experience had shown him, however, that if one could cultivate the Dao of Time to its absolute pinnacle, glimpsing the future was not impossible. Such a prophetic ability would be an unparalleled means of seeking advantage and avoiding calamity.
In truth, warriors who had attained a certain level of cultivation possessed some instinctive, quasi-prophetic faculty — a vague foreboding that often preceded certain crises. Without the Dao of Time as a foundation, however, they could not truly see what the future held. It was nothing more than a hazy sensation, which was precisely what people meant when they spoke of sudden premonitions.
If the Dao of Time could illuminate the future, then naturally it could also mirror the past. In the unseen and formless depths of existence, the invisible River of Time flowed from the primordial age straight through to the present, winding onward toward the farthest reaches of the vast cosmos. Looking forward along the River of Time revealed the future; looking backward along its course revealed the past.
Yang Kai's attainments in the Dao of Time were already far from modest. Across this entire boundless cosmos, apart from a handful of Dragon Clan members, there was likely no one else who had mastered this path to a greater degree.
Yet when it came to the past and the future — realms that touched upon the supreme mysteries of Time — he still understood only fragments.
Just as this time, he had no idea how it had happened, but somehow the flow of time within the Ancestral Land had begun to regress and reverse around him.
This regression was not a true reversal of time. The actual passage of time within the Ancestral Land had not changed at all. It was more akin to this: after merging his consciousness with the Ancestral Land, he had assumed the role of a detached observer, using the present moment as his vantage point from which to witness the Ancestral Land's history unfold in reverse.
This extraordinary experience was inextricably linked to his Dragon Clan bloodline — and equally tied to the Ancestral Land's deep affection for him. Only the combination of these two factors could have triggered such a wondrous transformation.
Encountering such a thing should have filled him with elation. Yet Yang Kai felt not the slightest stirring of emotion. In his present state, he had truly become one with the Ancestral Land — his will vast and majestic, his sentiments utterly still. The countless regressions of time were simply this stretch of sacred earth silently recalling its past.
But this did nothing to diminish the benefits he was deriving from it.
With each incremental regression of time, his understanding of the Dao of Time deepened another shade. This understanding differed subtly from the time he had refined the River of Time within the Grand Sea Phenomenon. The River of Time had been brimming with the Dao essence of temporal law, and refining and absorbing it into his own Small World had naturally elevated his attainment in the Dao of Time. But that, after all, had been the assimilation of an external force.
This experience — merging with the Ancestral Land and, along with this miraculous stretch of earth, recalling its days of former glory — felt more like excavating something that had always existed within him. Of course, this was merely an illusion. The true owner of these memories was the Sacred Spirit Ancestral Land. Yang Kai's current state was closer to borrowing another's body as his own, yet this did nothing to diminish the harvest he was reaping.
Yang Kai silently contemplated it all, his mind sinking into absolute stillness. He paid no attention to the passage of time or the shifting currents of the world beyond.
Inside the Ancestral Land, the extraordinarily dense Ancestral Spirit Power churned ceaselessly, converging and surging in a single direction.
Outside the Ancestral Land, a million-strong army of the Ink Clan lay in blockade. Twenty Innate Domain Lords and several Seventh-Order Ink Disciples stood in tight formation, maintaining the grand sealing array that locked down heaven and earth.
Time passed. Fully two years went by before a shockingly fierce aura came sweeping in from the depths of the void. Every Innate Domain Lord turned to look, their faces filled with astonishment.
Diwu had finally arrived.
He had needed to devour that Royal Lord-grade Ink Nest along with the power of the thirteen Domain Lords who had fallen before — and the time that required had been considerable.
Fortunately, the sealing array held firm here. Yang Kai had no wings with which to escape, so there had been no need to rush.
Diwu could be considered the first being in the entire history of the Ink Clan to have been born as a Pseudo Royal Lord through the Merger technique. All the Domain Lords were deeply curious about his current condition.
After a brief probing inspection, every one of them changed expression.
His aura was as deep and fathomless as the ocean. Judging by aura alone, Diwu now seemed even more powerful than a true Royal Lord of the Ink Clan. But every Domain Lord knew this was nothing more than appearance.
The stronger Diwu's aura, the more it revealed the instability of his state.
A true Royal Lord's aura remained restrained because he could perfectly control his own power. This kind of unchecked aura leakage was an unmistakable sign of someone who could not fully master the forces within him.
This was understandable. No matter how powerful an Innate Domain Lord might be, there was a ceiling. When one suddenly acquired power far surpassing one's own limits, even two years was insufficient to bring it fully under control — perhaps one could never master it in a lifetime. Otherwise, he would not be called a Pseudo Royal Lord but a true one.
Even so, every Innate Domain Lords looked upon him with envy. Their strength had been fixed from the moment of their birth, yet who would not wish to grow more powerful?
With the final, decisive war between humanity and the Ink Clan now unavoidable — a cataclysm that would sweep across the entire cosmos — every additional measure of strength meant an additional measure of survival.
The pity was that this was simply not something one could covet. The birth of a Pseudo Royal Lord meant the destruction of a Royal Lord-grade Ink Nest and the merger sacrifice of over a dozen Innate Domain Lords. Unless there was no other choice, the Ink Clan would never mass-produce Pseudo Royal Lords.
Moments later, a mass of fathomless darkness swept before them. Even the Innate Domain Lords could not make out Diwu's true form. He was entirely enveloped in dense Ink power, like a lump of living ink — and that staggering aura, completely unrestrained killing intent, made every Domain Lord's heart shudder.