Chapter Sixty-Nine: Barbarian Lord, Your Misdeeds Know No Bounds

After the barbarian invasion, the population of the mortal world within the Jar of Heaven surpassed ten million with remarkable ease. Although the most formidable human masters suffered grave losses in this war, the price was the annihilation of the majority of the Barbarian Lord’s elite, forcing the survivors to flee deep into the wilds, laying low and no longer daring to stretch their claws toward the Central Lands.

However, the Supreme Commander of the Northern Pacification Army, Rong, perished as well, choosing mutual destruction with the Barbarian Lord. In the aftermath, De Wan, the True Man—once stripped of his titles by the Grand Commander—unexpectedly reemerged. He persuaded the remaining supreme masters to nominate the True Monarch of the Five Viscera as the new Tai.

He declared, “Since the dawn of Cang, the fledgling nation has always had a Tai, but the title is not inherited through blood; it passes to the worthy. Now, the True Monarch of the Five Viscera has rendered great service to all beings, his virtue and wisdom benefiting the people and the state. Thus, he is the rightful successor.”

From then on, the True Monarch of the Five Viscera adopted the name Tai. The method of Sacrificial Refinement of the Viscera Deities became the preeminent doctrine of the First Nation, while the once-glorious art of Qi Refinement gradually slipped into the status of a minor school.

Faced with this change, the Ancestor Luo chose not to intervene. Instead, the Ancient Armorer returned to the world of men. For ten years, the Armorer wandered among mortals, forging thirty-two new divine weapons.

During these years, Ancestor Luo had yet to obtain the fragment of the magical artifact. He was focused on deducing the advancement of his own artifact. Still, his efforts yielded little; he managed only to add one more magical prohibition to his mighty sword, Juque, making it a weapon with two prohibitions.

Yet how could Luo be content with this? He experimented for ten years within the Jar of Heaven, but to no avail. Even when drawing upon the collective wisdom of the people, no solution emerged.

He understood that the grading of magical artifacts—upper, middle, and lower—could not merely depend on the number of prohibitions. If so, would stacking ten thousand prohibitions suffice? Clearly, after a certain threshold, some form of structural integration was required to ascend to a higher tier.

Perhaps the “industrial” foundation for refining artifacts was simply too weak. Luo realized he needed to cultivate the skills of this world’s people before progress could be made.

Thus, for the next century, he laid the groundwork for the art of artifact creation and the application of talismans. Slowly and steadily, the foundation was solidified. Fortunately, the following hundred years were peaceful for the First Nation. After the True Monarch of the Five Viscera became Tai, he showed little interest in governing and soon abdicated in favor of the True Man of Virtuous Speech. It seemed likely this had been arranged long before.

Regardless, the True Monarch of the Five Viscera ruled for only ten years, then relinquished the title to the True Man of Virtuous Speech, who held it for a century.

Once the True Man of Virtuous Speech became Tai, the art of Qi Refinement regained its place as orthodox practice, though Sacrificial Refinement of the Viscera Deities remained predominant.

There appeared to be a tacit agreement: the True Man of Virtuous Speech did not abolish the Sacrificial Refinement, allowing it to flourish both in the court and among the people.

Ancestor Luo also observed that the True Man seemed intent on merging the two paths, seeking to extend the road of Qi Refinement.

After all, the art of Qi Refinement now led only to the cultivation of the Yang Spirit. It seemed little different from other methods, and its future remained shrouded, leaving practitioners with empty joy.

Luo offered no resistance, permitting them to pursue their course. He sowed his ideas and let his innovative concepts spread. The people joined him in pondering and perfecting these notions, and when the time was ripe, he gathered the fruits of their collective wisdom.

As Luo disseminated his philosophies and established the groundwork for refinement arts, the two major “sects” of this land broke into open conflict, and a localized war between shamans and demons erupted.

It was then that Luo obtained the mysterious fragment.

Such a gain delighted him beyond measure. Yet, joy alone was not enough; he had to analyze it, extract its secrets, and turn them to his advantage.

But the fragment provided only a glimpse, like peering at a leopard through a tube. For Luo, at his current stage, even this was precious.

Still, possessing this treasure brought a sense of frustration. The prohibition-like patterns on the fragment were blurry and fleeting, evidently badly damaged. The composition of the fragment was difficult to decipher—its alloy structure unknown and containing elements Luo could not name. He had to invent new terminology and painstakingly analyze its makeup and purpose.

Moreover, the fragment was small. Luo had to chip away at it bit by bit, like breaking off pieces of a biscuit, then scrutinize each morsel.

Yet, over the past three months, the fragments Luo extracted were used to forge three weapons that surpassed even divine arms.

The emergence of these three super-divine weapons stirred up waves in the mortal world.

Some enthusiasts compiled a new catalogue of legendary weapons, listing these as the Three Divine Weapons, placing the once-dreaded Barbarian God Hammer just below them.

Unlike the Barbarian God Hammer, the Three Divine Weapons had yet to acquire such fearsome reputations, but their owners were no ordinary figures—they were the most powerful individuals under heaven.

How could any dead hero compare to such living titans? Furthermore, the Barbarian Lord was a foreigner, reviled for a century, mocked and derided in countless stories.

No one bothered to vindicate him. By now, the Barbarian Lord’s infamy rivaled that of the notorious “Granny Kicker”—every wicked deed was attributed to him.

Life for the barbarians within the First Nation grew dire. They were strictly forbidden from practicing any cultivation arts or learning too much of the human script. Any violators—barbarian or human—faced severe punishment, even death.

Half-breeds were ruthlessly exterminated; not a single one was spared. All associated were purged, no matter their backing.

Moreover, the law that had once made barbarians permanent house servants was abolished. They were reclassified as livestock—whether servant or slave mattered little now, for they were treated as beasts of burden, worked even harder than oxen.

Who, under such circumstances, would dare speak for the Barbarian Lord? All tales of the past were buried.

Yet the power of the Barbarian God Hammer remained formidable. Every subsequent owner found themselves endowed with a strange force; even those ignorant of cultivation could wield it, becoming as mighty as Yang Spirit masters, and the hammer could not be destroyed.

Attempts to melt and recast it failed; it emerged from the furnace unscathed, its handle cool to the touch, adding to its mystique.

Thus, the Barbarian God Hammer continued to cause upheaval in the world.

To address this, the authorities strove to suppress it.

Meanwhile, the three newly forged divine weapons stood apart, transcending all other arms, including the Barbarian God Hammer.

Who possessed these three extraordinary weapons?

One belonged to the enigmatic Ghost Immortal of Mount Mang, the True Man Weiyang: the Celestial Crane Needle.

One belonged to the former Tai King, now the foremost under heaven, the True Monarch of the Five Viscera: the Violet-Gold Hammer of Heaven’s Collapse and Earth’s Sundering.

And one belonged to the current Tai King, the True Man of Virtuous Speech: the Limitless Golden Elixir.

Yet these were but byproducts of Luo’s research into the artifact fragment.

Now, his studies had shifted focus. No longer content with mere fragments, he sought to orchestrate the convergence of shamanic and demonic arts.