Chapter 17: If I Claim Second Place, Who Dares Claim First?

The Netherworld Secret Realm lay within the Southern Barbarian Territory, a remnant of ancient times, and was called a secret realm solely because of its mysterious nature. It had nothing to do with pocket dimensions or folding spaces; its allure stemmed from the deep enigma that surrounded it. After all, it was this very mystery that allowed a tenth-rate Netherworld Hall to rise in barely a century to become a first-rate power.

Such was the wonder of the place. Rumor had it that countless treasures slumbered within, some said to be capable of elevating an entire sect to prominence. As a result, hundreds of sects, noble families, and clans from the surrounding regions of the Southern Barbarians sent their disciples to undergo trials within. However, once the Netherworld Hall asserted its dominance, it claimed territory for itself.

Another great family in the Southern Barbarians, the Jiang clan, also staked out its own sphere of influence. Yet in recent years, the Jiang clan’s strength had been increasingly overshadowed by the Netherworld Hall, and so the secret realm gradually came to be known simply as "Netherworld."

“Your Majesty, where are we headed now?”

“Wherever the crowds are, of course. Where there are people, there is excitement; where it’s lively, there are treasures; and where there are treasures, we—well, we can keep the peace in the world.”

The group rolled their eyes as one. As if you’d ever be so selfless—just slipped out, didn’t it? Yet none of them bothered to protest; instead, they followed Nightshade Nine’s lead toward the busiest spot.

“Do you think anyone can truly comprehend the martial technique on this stone wall?”

“Don’t you remember the Netherworld Hall’s Holy Son, Ming Yinyang?”

“I heard Ming Yinyang has already grasped seventy percent of the technique from the stone, and might succeed any day now…”

“The Jiang clan’s young master, Jiang Shaoyang, isn’t bad either! He’s already mastered eighty percent. That so-called Yinyang only got lucky—he’s nothing compared to our young master!”

“Rubbish—Ming Yinyang is invincible!”

A crowd had gathered around an ancient, weathered stone wall, hurling insults at each other. Clearly, their allegiances lay on opposite sides—one group supporting the Netherworld Hall, the other, the Jiang clan. Different interests led to different loyalties.

Yet, in Nightshade Nine’s ears, it all sounded different.

“They don’t even know my name! This is intolerable!” A spark of anger flashed through Nightshade Nine. He had thought his fame would be widespread by now; apparently, all that talk was just hype from his own people in Great Zhou.

One could hardly blame him for thinking so. After all, it was only in Great Zhou that his destruction of the Eastern Emperor clan was sung as a great feat. The rest of the realms had pinned the deed on him, but only the people of Great Zhou actually spread his fame.

Thus, it wasn’t surprising that those in the other four realms knew nothing of him, and how much less so these people at the far southern edge of the world. One was in the central realm of the newborn world, the other in the far south—ignorance was understandable.

Even so, Nightshade Nine could not accept it. He was already so powerful—how dare they say his posturing was insufficient, and that others stood above him? He would have to step up and keep the peace himself.

“Bah! What’s so great about this martial technique? It’s trash! I could master it with a few glances. As for those two you’re praising—they’ve spent so long and still haven’t got it? Are they even human? Not even pigs would be so slow…”

Nightshade Nine suddenly shouted, drawing every gaze from the stone wall toward him. They saw a youth—handsome, debonair, with a scornful look—staring at the stone.

“Who’s this brat, daring to boast like that?”

“How dare you insult our young master? Do you have a death wish?”

The crowd erupted in a storm of angry shouts, but Nightshade Nine paid them no heed. Under their stares, he strode straight up to the stone wall.

“It really is simple, don’t you think?”

“Yes, yes, it is…” murmured his loyal followers, faces bitter but unable to protest. Nightshade Nine’s strength was undeniable—when he said he could learn something with a glance, it wasn’t empty talk.

“He’s out! The young master is out!” Suddenly, someone shouted in delight. The surface of the stone wall rippled like water, and a young man brimming with masculine energy stepped out, visibly exhausted.

“Young master, did you succeed?”

“Alas, this martial technique is too difficult. I’ve studied it for years, and though I finally entered, I’ve only grasped ninety percent. It may take months more…” This was none other than Jiang Shaoyang, young master of the Jiang clan, regret etched across his face.

“Young man, you’re already impressive, but you’re still a notch below me…” Nightshade Nine’s voice rang out, and only then did the crowd remember the brash youth spouting wild claims.

“And you are?” Jiang Shaoyang, rather than angered, turned to study Nightshade Nine carefully.

“Young master, he’s just an arrogant brat—he said both you and Ming Yinyang aren’t even as good as swine.”

Nightshade Nine didn’t reply to Jiang Shaoyang; instead, it was one of the latter’s followers who answered, and the others all nodded their agreement.

“There’s a black shadow in that stone wall, dancing madly like a lunatic. That’s the martial technique you’re all after,” Nightshade Nine said offhandedly. To others it sounded like sheer nonsense, but to Jiang Shaoyang, it was like a thunderclap.

“Hahaha! A little shadow dancing madly? Has he lost his mind? If he wants to show off, he should at least be more believable!”

The crowd burst into laughter, mocking Nightshade Nine’s wild imagination. The loyalists from Great Zhou, however, were less certain; after all, their proxy emperor had plenty of tricks up his sleeve. They dared not speak out of turn, fearing punishment later.

“Silence!” Jiang Shaoyang suddenly barked, cutting through the laughter. The crowd looked at him in confusion.

“You… you can see it?”

“Only a fool couldn’t see it. From the moment I got here, that little black shadow inside the stone was putting on a frantic show for me. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to,” Nightshade Nine replied, pressing a hand to his forehead in feigned distress at the sorrow of seeing the technique within.

The crowd felt a strange sense of helplessness toward this youth.

“Young master, don’t let him trick you.”

“Yes, he could have just read it in a book. How do you explain that?”

“Oh? I haven’t read much—I might fool a pig, but not people.”

This left everyone speechless. Wasn’t he admitting he was lying, just in a roundabout way?

Even the loyalists from Great Zhou felt a chill run down their spines, sensing the predatory gazes settling on them from all sides.

Nightshade Nine snorted inwardly: “When it comes to showing off, I bow only to myself. If I’m second, who dares claim first?”

With that, he walked up to the stone wall, extending his right hand slowly. Every gaze followed his movement.

In an instant, a black shadow leapt from the stone, whipping up a violent wind, and before their eyes began to dance wildly in front of Nightshade Nine.

“Impossible! There really is a black shadow—did the martial technique’s legacy truly reveal itself?”

“Tell me this is fake—please, tell me it’s not real…”

Some cried out in near-madness, while Jiang Shaoyang stood dumbstruck. The Great Zhou loyalists fared a little better; after a month in Nightshade Nine’s company, they were already familiar with his monstrous talents.

You could compare yourselves with others, but not with him—otherwise, you were just asking for humiliation.

“Humph! If I’m second, is there anyone who dares claim first?” Nightshade Nine scoffed at the stunned, disordered assembly, his face full of pride.