MTL - Heaven-devouring Dragon Emperor - Chapter 7303 blood coercion

Emir, a 24-year-old man, finds himself reincarnated as a newborn into a post-apocalyptic world of peril and hardship, where monsters and humans fight an unending battle for survival.

He now resides within the very pages of a novel he once read—a narrative fated for a tragic conclusion, a narrative that granted him an early death.

Diving deeper into the realm of hunters, he unravels layers of the tale that far surpass what he once thought of as a simple novel.

He realizes the truth of the massive world he resides in and that he is but a speck of dust under its control.

However, he was at least acquainted with the rules of this captivating game before it fully consumed him.

Now, no longer content with mere survival, he seeks to dominate over the very fabric of this unforgiving universe.

Within its expanse, Ancient Clans, Galactic Federations, and Factions preside over colossal ruins that dwarf the concept of life itself.

He ascends through these entities’ diminished versions as they leave a mark on his journey.

This causes him to grow from the pawn he once was, as he drives himself relentlessly to unravel the boundaries of Aether—the essence that binds their reality—in his pursuit to seize his starless destiny at any cost, earning him the epithet “Prince Of The Fallen.”

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He is the master of six kingdoms. As long as he wanted, his cavalry is ready to wipe off any country.

The boundless universe is full of many wonders.

I, Chen Ping, only have one sword!

I can move mountains, overturn the seas upside down, suppress demons, slap the face of gods, pluck the stars, break rivers, destroy cities, and… open the heavenly abode!

***

The Midland world was full of wonders.

In the center of the world, there was a scholar who had once used a sword to slash out a waterfall of the Milky Way. This was the person he was the most proud of.

At the edge of East Sea’s cliffs, there was a nameless Daoist who was unwilling to ascend to the peak of a mountain. He only wished for a cool breeze to brush against his face.

In the Western Pure Land, there was an old monk who liked to treat people to chicken soup and tell stories.

In the southern border of the Wilderness, there was a blind painter who controlled golden-armored puppets that were as tall as mountains to move the hundred thousand mountains, creating an embroidered picture.

A impoverished youth who grew up in the north. One day, he saw tens of thousands of Sword Kinesis Immortals above him, like a swarm of locusts crossing the border.

He wanted to see for himself the scholar that the storyteller had mentioned, the surging tides of the East Sea, the vast swamps of sand in the west, and the majestic mountains of the Southern Wasteland.

Thus, one day, the youth picked up the wooden sword and began to descend south.

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