Chapter 1447: Summoning the Supreme Treasure

Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation

With just one stroke, the world split, and a blanket of silence descended over the land, stretching for miles without a trace of snow.

Coen Stone’s face twisted in terror as he was cleaved into oblivion, his soul dissipating into nothingness.

“You and I belong to the same generation,” Braydon Neal murmured softly.

To slay peers of his own generation—could anyone fault Braydon?

Sensing imminent danger, Conan Yokley attempted to flee, his teeth clenched in desperation as he prepared to employ a forbidden technique for escape.

But Braydon turned, and with a mere thought, he collapsed the world and shattered space, leaving no route for escape.

Fleeing meant plunging into an abyss of eternal darkness, leaving behind not even a trace of remains.

“Braydon Neal!” Conan’s complexion drained of color. “I’m a direct disciple of the Golden Dragon Pavilion. My elder brother is—”

“From this day forth, there is no one in the Spirit Sea whom I dare not eliminate,” Braydon declared, raising his hand.

A gray sword light materialized between his fingers, piercing through Conan’s form.

Primordial chaos energy scattered his body and soul, extinguishing him in an instant.

Two down, five to go.

Braydon’s staggering prowess left everyone in awe.

With two of the seven paragons eliminated, even Lyndal Cadogan couldn’t match his feat.

Lorena Seymour’s eyes widened in astonishment; she hadn’t anticipated Braydon’s strength to be so formidable.

However, given Braydon’s previous victory over Malachi Zadroga, his formidable battle prowess wasn’t surprising.

Yet, there was a palpable sense that Braydon had become even more fearsome than before.

The two powerful bloodlines coursing through him had completely dissipated.

“Braydon, seize the Frost Grass and gather 1,000 of them. Then, you can summon the Heart of Frost,” Lorena instructed.

“Are you ordering me?” Braydon’s left hand rose, swirling with primordial chaos Qi, slowly materializing into a sword.

Primordial chaos sword!

“Brother,” Lyndal interjected with a grimace, “you previously stated you wouldn’t partake in the contest for the Heart of Frost. What changed?”

“Hand over the Frost Grass. If the treasure emerges, I’ll grant you a chance,” Braydon replied, his gaze indifferent.

“What do you mean?” Lyndal’s brow furrowed.

Whoosh!

The primordial chaos sword cleaved through the air, causing Lyndal’s complexion to pale as the sword sliced through the clouds.

Only when facing Braydon in combat could one truly grasp the terror of the primordial chaos sword.

Braydon didn’t aim to kill Lyndal but used the sword to convey his message.

He had been observing from a distant mountain peak, but these seven individuals had dragged him into the fray.

In such a scenario, none of them could expect to emerge unscathed.

“You’re offering me a chance?” Lyndal retrieved a storage pouch, his tone skeptical. “What kind of chance is that?”

“A chance to live,” Braydon responded coolly.

Lyndal’s complexion drained ashen, having never encountered someone as brazen as Braydon, hailing from the Elysium.

“And you four,” Braydon spoke softly, “present the Frost Grass. I’m intrigued by that treasure.”

It was a coveted prize, sparking the fervor of everyone present.

But what exactly was it?

Braydon himself had never laid eyes on such a treasure before, though he felt a sense of déjà vu, reminiscent of the Snow Demon Sword from Demon Saint Island.

Lorena hadn’t anticipated that bringing Braydon into the fold would be akin to inviting a wolf into the henhouse.

An impudent youth couldn’t contain his frustration any longer and shouted, “Braydon Neal, don’t you dare—”

Whoosh!

Braydon paid no heed, his Yin-Yang Eight Trigrams emblem on his back spinning slowly as he unleashed the nine strikes.

The five figures converged into one, wielding a primordial chaos sword, their combined might escalating exponentially.

The arrogant youth, shocked and furious, brandished a bronze rod and defiantly met the assault.

But in the blink of an eye, the staff shattered, and the assailant vanished into thin air, as the primordial chaos sword descended, poised to claim a life.

“Is this a battle among peers?”

Lorena’s expression darkened as she pondered aloud.

Regardless of the circumstances, those of the same generation were born under the same sky—yet they stood as adversaries.

Three down, four remained.

Lyndal’s features contorted in displeasure.

“Give him the item. If we can’t secure the opportunity in the frost world, we can explore other worlds!”

“Lyndal, we’ve invested decades in the frost world. Are we simply going to abandon it all?” protested some, still unwilling to relent.

“Braydon, do you realize the magnitude of the enemies you’ll make today?” Lyndal’s tone was cold as he tossed out a storage pouch.

“You utilized the frost bears as a foundation for refining and absorbing their power to bolster your own strength. If word of this spreads, you’ll earn the enmity of all the races in the Spirit Sea. There’ll be no sanctuary for you within its vast expanse,” Lyndal warned before vanishing from the frost world.

His words lingered in the air, casting a somber atmosphere.

With Lyndal’s departure, who dared to remain?

One by one, they departed, leaving behind the Frost Grass.

1009 Frost Grass—each a ten-thousand-year-old specimen.

When all 1,000 were amassed, the frost world plunged into utter darkness, save for the faint glow emitted by the thousand Frost Grass.

This ethereal luminescence held the essence of the Frost Grass, embodying the profound great ice path.

The chilling aura emitted by the 10,000-year-old Frost Grass combined, converging into a colossal, snow-white pillar of light that pierced through the heavens, dispelling the darkness shrouding the sky.

Above, a grand structure materialized—the Ice Palace—a sight to behold.

Hidden behind layers of dark clouds were thirty-six towering palaces, each standing ten thousand meters tall in a row, exuding an ancient and imposing aura.

“This is the Heart of Frost?” Braydon gasped in astonishment.

Was this the true nature of a treasure?

Unfortunately not!

The entire frost world bore witness to the celestial spectacle unfolding above.

“Someone has summoned the Heart of Frost!” echoed the collective shock of onlookers.

“This doesn’t make sense. Previous summonings of the Heart of Frost resulted in single ice palaces. Why are there 36?” puzzled murmurs rippled through the crowd.

Countless gazes turned skyward as the 36 ice palaces captured the attention of all present, prompting many to take flight toward them.

Within the secluded chamber of the Hall of Souls:

“Your Highness, your power is truly awe-inspiring. The 72 mighty frost figures left behind 72 palaces, yet you’ve summoned 36,” remarked Beckham Jovel.

“Every world holds potent legacies beyond mere treasures,” Issac Irwin remarked with a shake of his head.

They understood that in the eyes of those who established the Spirit Sea, supreme treasures paled in comparison to the invaluable legacies bestowed upon the chosen few.

Today, it seemed Braydon was that chosen one.

The allure of the ice palaces tempted all in the vicinity, yet as they approached, they were forcefully repelled by the palaces’ protective enchantments, revealing their lack of qualification to enter.

Only one person was deemed worthy: King Braydon, the summoner of the 36 palaces.

With a flutter of his white robe, Braydon ascended into the sky, hands clasped behind his back.

Thirty-six ice palaces stood in a solemn row, their imposing doors tightly shut.

Braydon effortlessly breached the invisible barrier, advancing toward the first ice palace on the left—a colossal structure standing ten thousand meters tall.

Its grand entrance, flanked by towering stone statues brandishing spears, exuded an aura of formidable intimidation.

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