“Hotpot... stoves?!”
Sword Emperor Bai Xinghe floated high above the shattered stone coffin, his silver hair standing straight up in the vacuum of space like millions of electrically charged needles.
For fifty thousand years, every blade stuck into the rock of the Galactic Core Sword-Tomb had been a sacred monument. Each sword belonged to a defeated rival, an ancient Star Lord, or a fallen Sword Saint who had challenged Bai Xinghe during his rise to supremacy across the Orion-Jade Spiral Arm. Young sword cultivators from ten thousand light-years away used to kneel outside the sector border for ten years just hoping to catch a single wisp of the tomb’s sharp aura.
And now, a fat golden Flood Dragon wearing a grease-stained red kitchen bandana wanted to melt his sacred monument into hotpot stoves?!
“Supreme Emperor! Do you hear how arrogant these country bumpkins are?!” Elder He shouted from the ground, pointing frantically at the halted Star-Train. “They did the exact same thing to our 108 Sects! They melted our ancestral bronze bells into soup pots, turned our sacred Diamond-Rune Blockade Wall into flat road bricks, and put our Patriarchs in yellow vests to sweep train platforms! If you show them even a shred of mercy, they will turn your tomb into a public toilet!”
