Innocent and Dignified

Among the cultivators soaring through the skies, many were women, their elegant flight resembling the graceful dance of celestial fairies.

Thanks to the inherited bloodline of the Apollo Clan, Fanmuir possessed an exceptional ability to perceive demonic and spectral entities. With just a glance, he discerned that among the crowd were a few divine beasts and spirit avians who had taken human form—though their numbers were scarce, their very presence was enough to astonish him. He had not expected the Mysteries of the Gods to draw such a diverse gathering, including powerful non-human beings.

His casual attire soon attracted the attention of a few passersby. However, upon sensing that he was merely at the intermediate level of Martial Lord, they quickly lost interest.

In the world of cultivation, strength was the sole currency of respect.

The vast majority of those heading toward the Mysteries of the Gods were at least of the War God level. With Fanmuir appearing to be merely a mid-tier Martial Lord, he naturally failed to command even a flicker of regard.

Just then, a delicate yet noble fragrance drifted toward him from behind, carrying with it a voice as soft and timid as a celestial melody.

"Excuse me... are you also heading to the Mysteries of the Gods?"

Fanmuir turned his head and found himself gazing at a girl clad in flowing white robes. Her presence was as fluid as water—elegant and intelligent, pure yet regal. A faint blush dusted her cheeks as she spoke, her luminous eyes brimming with an indescribable sweetness.

His Angelic Inferno vision activated instinctively, revealing her true form—a female unicorn in human guise. Atop her forehead, her single horn shimmered with seven interwoven colors.

Legends spoke of the unicorn's sacred horn, stating that when it reached the ninth level of chromatic radiance, her beauty and grace would be so profound that even the gods themselves would be enraptured.

"A unicorn's human form... truly living up to the legends—elegant and wise, pure and noble," Fanmuir mused, momentarily lost in thought. He stared, utterly entranced, and completely forgot to answer her question.

Seeing him remain silent, only staring at her with an unwavering gaze, the girl's already fair cheeks turned an even deeper shade of crimson.

"So the elders were right after all," she thought to herself. "Humans truly are as ruthless and lustful as my kin have always warned. Even this seemingly honest one is staring at me so foolishly."

"Are you going to the Mysteries of the Gods?" the young maiden asked again, her voice carrying a trace of impatience.

"Ah—yes, I am!" The celestial melody of her voice, now tinged with mild annoyance, jolted Fanmuir back to his senses. Though she was a noble unicorn in human form, she was still, after all, a maiden. Staring at her so intently had likely been rather impolite. Feeling a twinge of embarrassment, he hurried to respond.

Noticing that Fanmuir had finally averted his gaze and even seemed a bit flustered, the noble girl's lips curved into a slight smile. She now understood that his earlier behavior had not been intentional rudeness, and any lingering displeasure in her heart quickly faded.

"That's great! I'm heading to the Mysteries of the Gods as well. Traveling alone is dreadfully boring. You seem to be on your own too—shall we go together?" she asked cheerfully.

"Of course!" Fanmuir had just been lamenting his solitude; he hadn't expected to find a companion so soon. Though he knew she was a high-born unicorn in disguise, he felt no sense of distance or discrimination. From a young age, he had always harbored a natural fondness for divine beasts and spirit creatures.

Seeing Fanmuir readily agree, the young girl beamed, her smile blooming like a flower. With delight, she introduced herself. "I'm Ke'er Sephira. And you?"

Fanmuir, seeing her innocence and sincerity, felt an immediate sense of warmth toward her. Smiling, he replied, "I'm Fanmuir. This must be your first time going to the Mysteries of the Gods, right?"

"Oh! So it's your first time too!" Ke'er Sephira's excitement grew upon learning they were both newcomers. "What brings you there?"

"I've heard of its reputation and wanted to see it for myself," Fanmuir answered smoothly, telling another half-truth. "What about you?"

"I'm searching for a divine elixir," she said, her ever-present smile dimming slightly, replaced by a trace of worry.

Fanmuir caught the fleeting concern in her expression, but knowing little about divine medicines, he doubted he could be of any real help. He chose not to press for details.

"Is this your first time venturing beyond your home?" he asked, changing the subject.

Unexpectedly, this question struck a deeper chord in Ke'er Sephira than he had anticipated. She had already been away for over half a month—how was her ailing mother faring back home? A wave of unease washed over her, and for a moment, she stood in silent daze, lost in thought.

Just then, three dazzling streaks of light tore through the distant sky. In the blink of an eye, three men in resplendent toga-like robes, who should have been soaring high above, suddenly swooped dangerously low, recklessly charging toward Fanmuir's direction.

Shouts of alarm rang out as the surrounding cultivators swiftly scattered, their expressions filled with shock. Yet the three robe-clad men paid no heed to the panic they caused. Instead, they roared with laughter, reveling in their own audacity as they shot past, utterly indifferent to the chaos left in their wake.

Fanmuir was stunned. He had never imagined that even in the world of cultivation, there could be people so brazenly arrogant. Rage surged within him.

Kerr Sephira, too, seemed taken aback by the three lavishly robed men hurtling toward them. Having never witnessed such an aggressive display before, she stood frozen in shock, utterly at a loss for how to react. She didn't even think to dodge—danger loomed imminent. In an instant, Fanmuir stepped in front of her, shielding her with his own body. His gaze darkened with fury as he glared at the three men approaching at breakneck speed.

Though he knew that anyone who could act so recklessly within the Pantheon must be no ordinary figure, Fanmuir's fingers had already formed a sword seal. At his command, the Ziga Sword—pulsing with an eerie violet glow—shot forth into the air, radiating a murderous intent as it hovered before him, its tip aimed directly at the approaching trio.

Behind him, Kerr Sephira stared at his resolute figure, standing unyielding like an unshakable mountain. A warmth unlike anything she had ever known spread through her heart—a rare, intoxicating sense of safety.

The three men, still flying at full speed, immediately took notice of the floating Ziga Sword. Their expressions shifted in an instant. Within moments, they had landed before Fanmuir.

All three were strikingly handsome, yet their demeanor carried an air of arrogance and frivolity, lacking the noble composure expected of true cultivators. The one clad in a resplendent robe of seven colors possessed the strength of a mid-level True God, while the other two had only just entered the realm of True Gods. Fanmuir found it curious that, despite not having reached the Illusory God stage, they dared to fly so recklessly within the Pantheon. Still, he felt an undeniable sense of relief—so long as they were not beyond the Illusory God level, he had a fighting chance.

Moreover, as a Blood Angel of the Blood Clan, Fanmuir wielded not only the Ziga Sword, forged by the greatest weapon master in the world, but also the divine Lapis Armor. With such formidable artifacts in his possession, his confidence soared.

"Hah! Tell me, brothers, am I seeing things?" The man in the seven-colored robe scoffed, his voice dripping with mockery. "Here, in the Pantheon of all places, there's actually someone foolish enough to stand in my way?"

Fanmuir did not respond. He merely fixed the trio with an icy, unyielding stare, radiating an aura of aloof defiance. The Ziga Sword flickered menacingly in the air, its glow intensifying.

Noticing Fanmuir's expression and sensing that he was merely at the mid-level of the Martial Lord realm, the three men burst into laughter, as if they had just witnessed the most ridiculous joke in the world.

"I must admit, you've got guts, kid," the seven-robed man sneered. "In the Pantheon, you're the first to ever point a sword at me!" He then turned to his companions, his tone brimming with derision. "It's been days since we've had a good fight. And now, someone's walked right up to us looking for death! Though… a Martial Lord? That's a bit disappointing." His eyes gleamed with cruel amusement. "Brothers, let's have some fun!"

The moment he finished speaking, Mihail raised his own sword, summoning its power. His two companions followed suit, and in an instant, three swords—one yellow, one green, one red—soared into the sky. They spun in unison, bursting into hundreds of intertwining beams of light, forming a massive three-colored barrier that rapidly descended upon Fanmuir, threatening to engulf him whole.

Standing behind Fanmuir, Kerr Seffler had only cultivated to the level of a single-horned, seven-colored halo—equivalent to a Warlord in the world of cultivation. She had never witnessed three True Gods unleashing their spells before, let alone being enveloped in the brilliance of their divine swords. Her delicate face turned deathly pale with fright, and she gazed at Fanmuir helplessly.

The surrounding crowd naturally saw what was happening. Though they found Mihael and his companions' actions despicable, no one dared to speak up. Many had already begun mourning for Fanmuir in their hearts. After all, a mere mid-tier Martial Lord facing off against three True Gods—only a fool wouldn't know the inevitable outcome.

Fanmuir could hardly believe that the cultivation world harbored such darkness and shamelessness. Three True Gods had actually conspired to strike against a mid-tier Martial Lord. Rage burned fiercely within him, and he no longer held back his power. With a furious sweep of the Zika Divine Sword, dozens of sharp purple sword auras slashed toward the enormous canopy of sword light above him. A resounding clang of metal echoed through the air as the once-dazzling four-colored barrier dimmed significantly. The three wielders of these swords felt as if their hearts had been struck by a great bell, and blood trickled from the corners of their mouths. However, Fanmuir didn't emerge unscathed either.

After all, his cultivation level was roughly on par with the three opponents, and taking on all three simultaneously was already pushing his limits. Fortunately, the Zika Divine Sword gifted by Arkasius was extraordinarily powerful. Among the three, only the rainbow-robed Mihael's divine sword could match its might, while the other two swords were completely outclassed. Furthermore, the trio had underestimated Fanmuir and hadn't exerted their full strength, assuming he wasn't worth the effort. This misjudgment cost them dearly.

The onlookers were utterly stunned. No one could have imagined that the seemingly mid-tier Martial Lord Fanmuir would suddenly reveal himself to be a mid-tier True God—and not only that, but he was holding his ground against three True Gods, even gaining the upper hand.

Mihael and his two companions, having never suffered such humiliation before, flew into a rage. Roaring in fury, they channeled their divine power once more. Their sword radiance surged, and the three divine swords simultaneously unleashed the Pantheon's ultimate technique—Gods' Wrath Across Worlds. Thousands upon thousands of divine swords descended from the sky, whistling toward Fanmuir like an apocalyptic storm.

Fanmuir's expression turned solemn. He rapidly infused his own divine power into his sword, meeting the incoming assault head-on. Divine swords clashed, sparking countless glimmers of starlight in the air. Though his cultivation was on par with theirs, he single-handedly withstood their assault and even forced them back repeatedly.

Since the beginning of his cultivation journey, Fanmuir had never fought an enemy using his full strength. He was somewhat unfamiliar with this level of combat at first, and having only recently bonded with the Zika Divine Sword, his control over it was still rough. However, as the battle continued, he quickly adapted. The fusion of Blood Angel power and Alexandrian martial techniques within him became increasingly fluid, his attacks smoother and more devastating.

In contrast, his three opponents were beginning to falter. Their movements became frantic, their rhythm broken. Against all expectations, they found themselves struggling to keep up.

Their humiliation turned to seething hatred, and they wished nothing more than to see Fanmuir impaled by a thousand swords. But deep down, they knew they had already lost. Unwilling to admit defeat, they exchanged a glance before hastily retreating. As they fled, Mihael, clad in his seven-colored robe, bellowed furiously from the sky:

"You're dead, boy! I swear I'll make sure you never have a grave to rest in!"