Chapter 272: Supernatural Gathering, Mortal Saint

To Lu Yan, the Union was a critical part of his plan.

Directly establishing a church was too conspicuous and would easily provoke a siege from all sides. With his current strength, Lu Yan had no way of confronting the Seven True God Churches head-on.

Through the supernatural knowledge in Sain’s memory, as well as the information acquired from the Seven God Churches in the Great Collapse Version, Lu Yan had formed a rough understanding of the sequence system’s power.

Sequence Nine and Sequence Eight corresponded to the Qi Refining Stage and were considered low-sequence supernaturals.

Low-sequence supernaturals possessed various special methods, but most of the paths they followed were incomplete and unstable.

These flawed supernatural paths were not only prone to losing control, but also came with many negative effects. The vast majority of wild supernaturals, if lacking a fortuitous opportunity, would never advance beyond Sequence Eight.

Sequence Seven and Sequence Six were equivalent to the Foundation Establishment Stage and counted as mid-sequence supernaturals.

This was nearly the limit for wild supernaturals. Without an orthodox inheritance, most incomplete paths could only reach Sequence Six.

That said, reaching this level already placed one far beyond the realm of ordinary humans—enough to establish a medium-sized underground gang in a capital city or dominate a small town.

Once someone reached Sequence Five, their transformation would be overwhelming. Their strength would rival that of a Golden Core cultivator and they could act with near-total freedom.

If they had no criminal record, they could gain the title of Knight by pledging allegiance to a noble council.

Even if burdened with crimes, they could form large pirate fleets overseas and become overlords of the seas—or carve out territories in the colonies and reign as local emperors.

To reach Sequence Five meant that the path one followed was likely created by a being above demigod rank.

Sequence Four marked the threshold of a Mortal Saint—virtually the strongest existence known in the secular world.

Paths that reached Sequence Four typically had long, storied lineages. Many of the beings who once reached the end of those paths still existed in the world today.

In the Great Collapse Version, Lu Yan had encountered Saint Hien, a Sequence Four Mortal Saint who possessed strength equivalent to the peak of the Nascent Soul Stage.

Sequence Three was known as Demigod, or Mortal God, corresponding to the Soul Transformation Stage.

Supernatural paths that led to Sequence Three were almost always connected to True Gods.

Beyond that, Lu Yan only knew some vague rumors from Sain’s memories.

But one thing was certain—each of the Seven Great True God Churches had at least one Sequence Two powerhouse seated within.

Especially in Oranke, the city Lu Yan currently resided in, the grand cathedral of the Steam Church radiated a faint, dangerous aura that had not escaped Lu Yan’s notice.

Even if he pushed himself to his limits, Lu Yan could at best contend with a Soul Transformation cultivator. Purely in terms of strength, he couldn’t hope to compare with the Seven Churches.

In such a situation, building a church outright and inviting retaliation was the most foolish choice.

Establishing a church in some remote region and expanding slowly could work—but that would take far too long, and Lu Yan’s time in this version was limited.

That was why he chose to develop the Union—using the power of the workers to gain leverage against the churches.

If the Mystery Version were a purely strength-driven world where high-level supernaturals could trample the masses without consequence, the Union would be meaningless.

No matter how fiercely the workers resisted, they could never overcome the supernaturals above. Only absolute power could overturn such a world.

But in the Mystery Version, the Heavenly Dao was obscured, and the omnipresent fog made even gods and churches desperate for faith. And the source of faith? The vast, downtrodden masses.

Alone, a few among the lower classes couldn’t shake the established order.

But if the Union grew large enough—if it could influence the tides of faith—then the collective power of the working class would force the churches to take notice.

At that point, the Underworld Divine Court could descend under the name of the Great Emperor of Fengdu.

With the divine title of a present-world True God, plus Lu Yan’s own strength and the Union’s influence, forcing the churches to back down was no longer a fantasy.

Of course, this all hinged on the Union developing rapidly despite suppression from nobles and capitalists.

But with the lessons of history in mind and Lu Yan himself providing protection, he had confidence in its growth.

Human survival instincts were boundless. The workers had tolerated oppression only because they had no choice.

But now that they did have a choice—who would still willingly work themselves to death by their teens? Who would want their children working at two and dying at six?

As Lu Yan walked slowly down the streets of the industrial district, his black silhouette stood in stark contrast to the ashen background.

He listened to the roar of factory machines and the shouts of laborers, feeling the heartbeat of the era. Even the ever-present fog seemed to thin slightly, revealing glimpses of a sky full of potential.

“The seeds have been sown. Now, I just have to wait for them to grow.”

“But before they bloom, I still have a few pressing matters to handle.”

Lu Yan quickened his pace and disappeared into the mist.

Leaving the industrial district behind, he stepped into a different world—a bustling, wide avenue lined with carriages. The contrast was jarring.

Here, there was no coal smoke, no shouting workers, no suffocating gloom.

Neat rows of white poplar trees lined the streets, offering a rare touch of green.

Well-dressed gentlemen in tailored tailcoats and top hats exchanged polite greetings, while ladies in layered gowns held delicate parasols and wore practiced smiles.

Though separated by only a street, the two areas were like different worlds.

And indeed, they were. This was the Central District of Oranke, home to the true upper class—where any brick you threw might hit a baron or a rising capitalist magnate.

The architectural style here differed completely from the industrial zone.

Most buildings were constructed from creamy limestone, adorned with classical columns and intricate carvings. Wide, spotless glass windows gleamed in the sunlight.

Children in ornate clothes played in fountain plazas, their faces carefree and untouched by the early maturity and weariness seen in industrial slums.

Following the directions in his memory, Lu Yan approached a row of carriages.

He chose a sleek black four-wheeled coach, drawn by two powerful chestnut horses. Its side bore elegant golden patterns, and the door was set with a gleaming brass plate.

As he approached, the middle-aged driver in a dark blue uniform immediately noticed him. The man was tall and thin, with neatly trimmed silver-templed hair and a professional smile.

“Where to, sir?” the driver asked, bowing politely.

Lu Yan flipped a shining gold sovereign between his fingers, its luster catching the sun. He handed it over and said calmly, “Violet Manor.”

The driver’s eyes flashed with surprise but quickly returned to professionalism. He bowed again and opened the carriage door. “Please board, sir. It’s a bit of a journey, but I’ll get you there as quickly as possible.”

Lu Yan stepped into the velvet-lined interior, its crimson cushions soft and elegant, the carved wooden panels exquisite.

With a sharp whistle from the driver, the carriage rolled forward onto the broad Oranke streets, heading for the city outskirts.

Gazing out the window, Lu Yan watched the divided city and pondered deeply.

In the Mystery Version, supernatural power was strictly forbidden by the churches.

Though stability was a factor, the real reason was the uncontrollable nature of supernatural power.

As the text of the version itself explained, from the moment one stepped onto a supernatural path, madness and loss of control would constantly linger.

Even a mere Sequence Nine going berserk could endanger hundreds of civilians.

Especially those flawed paths created through crude methods—they carried immense risk.

And the more something was forbidden, the more people desired it.

Among those drawn to the supernatural were commoners, scholars, and nobles alike.

The ancient noble families held complete supernatural inheritances. But the nouveau riche of the industrial age struggled to gain access.

Old nobles deliberately limited their access, and the churches would never allow these upstarts to meddle in faith-based power.

Left with no options, the rising elites began collecting supernatural resources from the black market. Over time, this led to the formation of supernatural gatherings.

Violet Manor belonged to the famed banker, Earl Violet, and was one of the known locations for such gatherings—according to Sain’s memory.

However, with the Earl’s status so high, only supernaturals of considerable level could attend. A mere Sequence Seven with a flawed path like Sain had no right to enter.

But Lu Yan was headed straight there—for that very gathering.

The carriage rumbled to a halt before the manor, its wheels grinding softly against the cobbled drive. Lu Yan stepped out, sunlight streaming through towering oak trees and casting speckled shadows on the ground.

Violet Manor was grand, built of soft purple stone. Gothic spires pierced the clouds, and elegant wings extended from the main structure. Manicured hedges and blooming gardens surrounded the estate, with a shimmering man-made lake in the distance.

Numerous carriages were already parked outside, some even more lavish than the one Lu Yan had arrived in, emblazoned with family crests that screamed nobility.

Coachmen clustered nearby, eyeing newcomers with mild curiosity.

It was already noon, and the gates were shut tight. Several uniformed guards stood watch, their expressions stern.

The closed gates meant the gathering had begun. No interruptions allowed.

As Lu Yan disembarked, a butler in a purple tailcoat and white gloves quickly approached.

Polite yet distant, he said, “Sir, the banquet has already begun. Please arrive on time next time.”

Lu Yan didn’t speak. He simply reached into the air.

His fingers traced a motion in the void, tapping into Sain’s memories. With the power of Creation Reversal, a formal invitation appeared in his hand—materializing from nothing.

The card was ornate, its edges trimmed with gold thread. At its center was the Violet family’s crest: a blooming violet encircling an ancient sword.

The butler took the card, surprise flashing in his eyes. Though the invitation was blank, his expression shifted as if he’d seen exactly what he needed to see.

“Ah, so it is Mr. Lu Yan of the Union, personally invited by the Earl.” The condescension in his tone vanished, replaced by genuine reverence. “This way, please.”

He promptly led Lu Yan into the estate.

Lined with exotic flowers—violets most prominent—the stone path led past a statue garden to the manor’s main hall.

Crystal chandeliers cast soft light on marble floors and walls adorned with portraits. Dozens of elegantly dressed young nobles and capitalists clustered around several supernaturals, engaging in lively yet refined conversations.

The supernaturals stood out. Some wore extravagant robes, others mysterious cloaks. Their gestures exuded power—glowing fingertips, strange auras, even eyes flickering with arcane color.

They chatted amongst themselves, discussing sequence ascensions and potion refinements—drawing envious looks from the young nobles.

Most of these aristocrats had access only to dangerous, low-potential paths. For them, choosing a supernatural path carried massive risk.

Thus, they preferred to observe and understand before selecting someone from their family to inherit the burden. Low-risk paths were coveted above all.

In the center stood Earl Violet—a graceful middle-aged man in purple-and-silver formalwear. His silver-gray hair was perfectly styled. Clearly satisfied, he beamed at the gathering.

But then, a butler hurried over and whispered something in his ear.

The Earl’s brow furrowed. “An invitation? Mr. Lu from the Union?”

“I don’t recall issuing such an invitation… could it be forged?”

At such a high-class event, impersonation was a serious offense.

Just then, the grand hall doors swung open.

A butler led a young man into the room.

He wore a tailored black tailcoat and carried an ebony cane topped with a silver lion’s head. Though dressed like any noble, the supernatural air around him was impossible to ignore—simultaneously approachable and awe-inspiring.

The hall fell silent.

Several nobles and supernaturals frowned, casting accusatory glances at the Earl—as if blaming him for poor arrangements.

The Earl stepped forward, demanding, “Who are you?”

Lu Yan smiled faintly as he swept his gaze across the hall.

“Let me introduce myself. I’m Lu Yan—from the Union.”

“The Union?” a young noble whispered. “Never heard of it.”

“Probably just some tiny group.”

A gray-robed supernatural nearby sneered, clearly irritated.

Moments ago, he’d nearly completed a deal with a noble regarding a supernatural sigil—but Lu Yan’s entrance had ruined it. The noble was now distracted.

Seeing that Lu Yan wasn’t a known guest, the gray-robed man struck without hesitation.

Silver light flashed in his eyes, his face twisting into a strange smile. Star-like motes danced from his fingertips, leaving bright trails in the air.

He raised his hand and chanted an arcane incantation. The temperature dropped.

A Soul-Dissolving Cold Wind swept through the hall—meant to rip Lu Yan’s spirit from his flesh. Where it passed, air froze into shimmering blue crystals.

Sequence Six power immediately caught everyone’s attention. The nobles retreated, eyes wide with a mix of fear and anticipation.

Many young nobles were seeing supernatural combat for the first time—it was far more terrifying than the books.

Earl Violet frowned but didn’t stop it. In the world of the supernatural, strength was everything. If Lu Yan couldn’t protect himself, it was his own fault.

But Lu Yan didn’t even blink.

He shook his head slightly and murmured, “How rude.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it echoed in every soul present.

No chants. No gestures. Not even a look.

The cold wind froze mid-air, as if halted by an invisible wall—then reversed direction and surged toward its caster.

The gray-robed man’s smile froze. Horror filled his eyes. He tried to cancel the spell, but it was too late.

In an instant, his soul scattered. His body locked in place, skin paling, frost spreading. In moments, he became an icy statue—frozen mid-cast.

Silence.

The hall fell utterly silent.

Even the other supernaturals who had looked on with disdain now stared at Lu Yan in terror.

There had been no supernatural fluctuation, no spell, no movement—yet their peer was dead.

Suddenly, a man in crimson formalwear—a veteran Sequence Five—gasped in realization.

His pupils quaked.

“Positional Backlash!” he cried.

The three words were like a bomb.

Other supernaturals went pale. Some even took a step back.

The Sequence Five man bowed deeply with trembling reverence. “You… are a Mortal Saint?”

(End of Chapter)