Chapter 303: Who Approves, and Who Objects?

Silence enveloped the ruined ancestral hall, so deep and absolute that even time seemed to lose its meaning within it.

Only when the brilliant yet annihilating sword light vanished—like it had never appeared at all—did the remaining six Angel Kings jolt awake, as if recovering from a momentary blackout. Their expressions carried a faint trace of confusion as they slowly regained clarity.

Their thoughts lingered on the moment just before that eternal sword descended.

There was a minuscule rupture in their memories—so subtle that even their divine cognition, imbued with immortality and vast knowledge, could not contain the memory of that sword which erased even a “Sole Existence” and severed all causality.

Instinctively, they wanted to resume their thoughts or conversations from before.

But when the words reached their lips, they suddenly stopped. An inexplicable sense of dissonance—like sand caught in the gears of a perfect mechanism—caused a jarring halt in their previously smooth thoughts.

Silence spread.

None of the Angel Kings spoke further. Instead, they began to exchange thoughts in secret, attempting to identify the source of this unsettling sensation.

“Just now… did something happen?” asked the Angel King of the Church of War. His instincts for combat were the sharpest, and his intuition seemed to detect a lingering shadow.

“There was a fleeting unease… like something dark passed over my heart,” whispered the Earth Angel King, the one most sensitive to the fluctuations of life and soul—yet unable to pinpoint the source of the disturbance.

“My authority over secrets was slightly stirred. I sensed a surge of some extremely high-level power, but when I probed into it, there was nothing,” said the Night Angel King, his voice tinged with bewilderment. His dominion was secrecy and the unknown, yet all divinations pointed to nothing abnormal.

“There’s definitely something wrong with this broken temple!” declared the Sun Angel King of the Eternal Sun Church, his tone grave. He instinctively glanced toward the altar, searching for a clue.

But all he saw… was a completely shattered memorial tablet. Nothing more.

While the Angel Kings exchanged thoughts at lightning speed, the Sun Angel King suddenly noticed something strange: the Knowledge Angel King—usually composed and scholarly—had his head bowed in silence, completely absent from the conversation.

“Knowledge, what’s wrong?” the Sun Angel King asked, unable to hold back.

Upon hearing the call, the Angel King veiled in starlight and runes slowly lifted his head.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled from his robes an ancient, intricately crafted silver pocket watch. Its hands were frozen, and its face was engraved with complex star charts and temporal runes.

“I wield the Clock of Stilled Time—the sole artifact of the Path of History,” the Knowledge Angel King said calmly, though his voice carried an imperceptible tremor. “It is supposed to observe the entire flow of time, monitoring past and future, and even influencing history and time itself.”

“In theory, any anomaly in the timeline of the world should be impossible to hide from the Clock of Stilled Time.”

“So, what did you find?” asked the Steam Angel King, who cared deeply about rule-level anomalies.

The Knowledge Angel King slowly shook his head, a deep helplessness in his voice. “That’s exactly the problem.

“Even with the Clock of Stilled Time, I could not detect a single fluctuation or anomaly in the temporal layer.

“Time flows normally. History’s threads are intact. No sign of tampering or interference.”

He paused, then continued in a lower, heavier voice:

“This means… either everything that just occurred truly was a mere illusion—or… the shift happened on a level so high, so transcendent, that we can’t even comprehend it. Perhaps… someone used a method beyond our understanding to erase that portion of history itself—so completely that even the Clock of Stilled Time cannot perceive its existence.”

Erase history?

Those words struck like a hammer in the hearts of the remaining Angel Kings.

With their status, erasing history wasn’t rare. But the significance of any erasure depended on the information it wiped away.

Now, with the Seven True Gods awakening and the Angel Kings already descending, history was more stabilized than ever. Even the Knowledge Angel King couldn’t easily shift major threads.

To erase a piece of history now, especially one linked to Angel Kings and the Seven True Gods, would require power beyond imagination.

The Sun Angel King furrowed his brows. He glanced at Lu Yan, still lazily sitting on his cushion with a playful smile. The unease in his heart intensified.

“Could it just be an illusion? A sensory trick caused by this eerie temple or that tablet?” he asked, clinging to a rational explanation.

“No.”

A cool, resolute voice answered—not from the Knowledge Angel King, but from the Night Angel King.

The only female among them, she wore a robe woven from pure night. Her face was hidden beneath her deep hood, even divine sight revealed only the glint of golden spectacles—her features forever tied to secrecy and forgetfulness.

She gracefully adjusted her glasses, her hidden eyes seemingly sweeping over them all.

Her voice, soft yet solemn, carried a gravity never before heard from her.

“Have you truly not noticed the real problem?”

She looked slowly across all six Angel Kings—herself included—and declared in a matter-of-fact tone:

“How many Angel Kings are there?”

That question exploded like thunder in a clear sky. The already uneasy Angel Kings were stunned.

“Is that even a question?” The Steam Angel King answered without hesitation. “Since the mythic era, there have always been six Angel Kings. Isn’t that common knowledge?”

The others nodded instinctively.

In their minds—deep, ancient, and divine—there had always been only six Angel Kings.

But the Night Angel King did not relent. Her voice remained calm, icy:

“Then why… did the Seven True Gods establish seven divine churches?

“And why, during the Gods’ slumber, were Angel Kings appointed to carry their authority—but only six?”

Those words silenced them.

Indeed. Seven gods. Seven churches. But only six Angel Kings?

That gaping logical flaw had been completely overlooked—until now. It was as if the idea itself had been blocked from their minds.

Their thoughts raced, trying to rationalize. Perhaps one Angel King had fallen long ago? Perhaps one god never found a proper vessel?

But after combing through their divine memories—memories spanning the entire mythic age—they were horrified to realize…

They had nothing.

Not a name. Not a church. Not even the idea that there had ever been a seventh Angel King.

It was as if—since the mythic age—there had only ever been six Angel Kings, and the Storm God had never even intended to create a seventh.

How could that be?

A bone-chilling fear flooded the six remaining Angel Kings.

They looked around for answers… and saw one more cushion, placed neatly in the ruined ancestral hall.

As if waiting for someone.

All six looked up, their gazes converging on Lu Yan—still seated on his cushion, that same smirk dancing on his lips.

And in that moment, a soul-shaking possibility took hold in their minds.

“Just now… in that unrememberable instant… was there truly a seventh Angel King who was utterly erased?

“Erased so completely that even history and memory hold no trace?”

Seeing the stunned horror etched across their faces, Lu Yan knew they had pieced it together.

They might not even recall who the Storm Angel King was—but that didn’t matter anymore.

The Eternal Sword—the Changshi Slash—was never designed to slay mere Angel Kings.

It was forged to annihilate a Sole Existence standing at the pinnacle of reality.

A Sole Existence cannot be truly killed unless every trace of them—past, present, future—is cut from time, erased from cause and effect.

Lu Yan had once been marked as a cause by Immortal Taiyi—so the Changshi Sword had to leap forward seven centuries to sever that link. The sword’s essence is to utterly destroy every thread of a being’s existence.

Even catching a fragment of its echo was enough to erase a Sequence One Angel King—body, concept, history, and all.

Lu Yan was certain: not even the Seven True Gods could retain direct memories of the Storm Angel King now. At most, they could infer from indirect clues that someone had once existed.

That sword—its rank—surpassed the concept of Sole Existence. It was the only known method that could truly slay one.

Now, as the six surviving Angel Kings looked at him—not with suspicion or scorn, but dread, reverence, and awe—Lu Yan knew his goal had been achieved.

Compared to the Seven Divine Churches, with their vast networks and deeply rooted followers, the Underworld was still just a hollow shell with little real foundation.

No amount of diplomacy or shows of strength could force the Seven Churches to accept the Underworld’s rise—let alone allow it to spread belief.

Only through overwhelming, unfathomable intimidation.

Normal power wouldn’t work. These Angel Kings had seen too much.

So Lu Yan had taken a gamble—invoking a power beyond reason, beyond this world.

From his deepest memory, he revived the moment in the Taiyi Sect’s ancestral hall where Jiang Zhiwei slew Immortal Taiyi—and with the Grand Art of Fate Reversal, brought it into reality.

To harness the might of slaying an Immortal—to kill an Angel King.

That was the price of true fear.

But it wasn’t without risk.

This memory involved both Immortal Taiyi and Jiang Zhiwei—genuine Sole Existences. The power involved and the causal entanglements far exceeded Lu Yan’s control. A single misstep could mean death—or worse.

Jiang Zhiwei could’ve easily turned his sword on Lu Yan if he disapproved.

But judging from that momentary, teasing smile and soft chuckle… Jiang Zhiwei clearly knew what Lu Yan had done—and allowed it.

Maybe he even found it amusing.

Thus, the Eternal Sword only struck the Storm Angel King—leaving Lu Yan untouched.

Had Jiang Zhiwei disapproved, the one cleaved by that sword… would have been Lu Yan himself.

Now, with the unspoken favor of a great figure on his side, Lu Yan had no need to hesitate.

Still seated in the center cushion, his aura had ascended beyond measure—unchanging in posture, but overwhelming in presence.

He raised his eyes, gaze calm yet heavy with authority, sweeping over the six stunned Angel Kings like a sovereign above all.

“The Underworld shall establish a Hall in this world—Hall Five of the Ten Yama Halls.

“It shall be named… the Hall of Yama.

“I shall open the Netherworld, appoint a Yama King, and govern the cause and effect of all living beings before and after death.

“To reward the good. To punish the wicked.”

He paused.

Outside the ancestral hall, the Yellow Springs surged skyward like a tidal wave.

The entire world trembled beneath the weight of the Underworld’s divine might.

“Now then…

Who approves, and who objects?”

(End of Chapter)