Chapter Six: The Nine Realms of the Warrior (Third Update—Please Add to Favorites)

Uncle Fu’s expression instantly became much more dramatic, shifting from scornful concern to utter shock.

Hu Mo couldn’t help but give a bitter chuckle. “Uncle Fu, there’s no need to be so surprised. I’m just a little curious, that’s all. Grandfather recently put me under house arrest; I’m like a bird in a cage now. Sigh, just treat this as telling me a story, help me pass the time.”

Uncle Fu glanced at Hu Mo with suspicion, then seemed to realize something and said, “Ah, so that’s it. It’s rare for you to suddenly be interested, young master, so this old servant will share with you. You should know some of this already: our Continent of War has always honored martial prowess. Nearly everyone cultivates battle power—battle power is the only measure of strength. As soon as an infant is born, the aura of war begins to stir within them, and it grows as they mature. Through later cultivation, it can be steadily increased and broken through. There are nine stages of war aura; once someone breaks through the ninth bottleneck, they are considered a true warrior.”

He paused, his gaze settling deeply on Hu Mo, as if seeing straight through him.

“Alas, your war aura hasn’t even reached the fourth stage yet. It seems a bit premature to talk further…”

“No, Uncle Fu, don’t judge me too quickly! Who knows, maybe one day I’ll become a peerless master! Heh, I was just getting interested—please don’t keep me in suspense. What comes after becoming a true warrior? What more can be achieved?” Hu Mo’s excitement was palpable as he grabbed Uncle Fu’s sleeve, eager for knowledge in this area.

Startled, Uncle Fu slipped from his grasp like a fish, and in the blink of an eye, appeared ten feet away.

“What remarkable movement! Even the legendary Ripple Step is nothing compared to this!” Hu Mo swallowed, as if he saw a dancer twisting and turning before him, alluring and enticing.

Uncle Fu shivered in disgust, cleared his throat, and said, “Young master is quite spirited today—be careful not to stir your blood and reopen old wounds. Still, since you have this resolve, I am comforted. Let me explain simply: in our Continent of War, those who cultivate battle power are called warriors. After breaking through the nine stages of war aura, one becomes a warrior. Warrior is the lowest rank among warriors, but it’s also the first step away from mediocrity.”

Hu Mo licked his lips, his mind wild with imagination, eyes locked on Uncle Fu.

Uncle Fu avoided his burning gaze, frowned slightly, paced a few steps, and continued, “Warrior is the first realm, known as the First Heaven. Above the warrior, there are eight greater realms, called the Eight Heavens of Warriors. Surpassing them is like ascending to the heavens. The eight stages are: Berserker, Battle Master, Rage Master, Battle King, Slaughter King, Battle Emperor, Battle Saint, and Battle God. I can tell you responsibly, cultivating battle power is not easy. Many people spend their lives stuck at the warrior stage, while even more remain ordinary people below that.”

“Ordinary folks may muddle through life safely, but if you climb the path of cultivation, danger is inevitable. Each realm has nine levels—the so-called Nine Heavens, the ultimate unity. It’s said that if someone breaks through the ninth level of the Battle God realm, they can shatter the skies, transcend space, and grasp the supreme Dao. But that’s only legend; so far, only a handful of people are said to have achieved it. Alas, legends are legends; mostly, they’re not to be believed.” Uncle Fu sighed softly, his eyes shining with brilliance yet shadowed with resignation.

Battle God—this is the pinnacle of the continent, let alone breaking through the ninth level, which would completely transcend humanity.

Hu Mo’s interest soared tenfold, and he hurriedly asked, “Uncle Fu, who are those legendary few? How incredible are they?”

“Incredible? What does that mean?” Uncle Fu was puzzled.

“Uh… I mean impressive, powerful—just awesome. Heh, Uncle Fu, how powerful are they really?” Hu Mo stammered, chuckling.

Uncle Fu shot him a glance. “Those are just legends, too long to recount. If you’re interested, go look it up in the library yourself.”

“Alright, I’ll find it myself later. Uncle Fu, you mentioned the dangers of cultivation—what is that about?” Hu Mo was like a three-year-old, brimming with curiosity, wanting to stuff everything into his mind.

Uncle Fu’s face darkened, his aura growing restless. Hu Mo could clearly sense Uncle Fu’s body trembling as if struck by lightning, his once-straight figure now swaying like a leaf in autumn wind.

But he quickly suppressed the agitation and said solemnly, “There are three particularly dangerous stages in battle power cultivation. Those are times when battle power is most unstable, and many warriors fall in those periods. They are: Berserker, Rage Master, and Slaughter King. Warriors at these stages are most prone to losing reason and going astray. If something goes wrong, at best, they suffer severe injury and lose cultivation; at worst, their mind collapses, their battle power turns against them, and they die mad!”

Uncle Fu’s mood suddenly grew intense. His right hand clenched tightly, his empty sleeve fluttering in the wind, radiating deep grief and fury.

Hu Mo immediately grew solemn, unsure why Uncle Fu’s emotions had become so turbulent—it was nearly a sign of inner chaos.

He could distinctly feel his own three treasures warning him, ready once again to seize control and carry him away.

“Damn it! What are you three up to now?!” Hu Mo suppressed the powerful urge, his face flushed deeply.

Uncle Fu’s skin gleamed as if coated in metal, shining brilliantly in the sunlight. A powerful pressure emanated from him, making it hard for Hu Mo to breathe. He realized the situation was truly perilous.

“If it weren’t for those damned beasts back then, how could I have ended up like this? Why! Damn you, heavens, why must you torment me so! Why!”

Uncle Fu let out a howl toward the sky, unleashing battle power at the low-flying sparrows. In an instant, feathers and blood rained down into the courtyard, splattering Hu Mo’s clothes with glaring crimson stains.

Hu Mo knew trouble was coming and stepped forward, grabbing Uncle Fu’s shoulder.

Uncle Fu’s frame was gaunt, but at the moment of contact, Hu Mo felt a powerful shock at the point of touch, like a sharp blade piercing his hand and stirring within his meridians. The pain surpassed even the ordeal of the fiery tempering he had undergone before.

But now, Hu Mo could not let go. Uncle Fu’s battle power was in utter chaos, boiling like a pot of hot porridge. His right hand was glued in place by that force, unable to lift it.

The sharpness released by this “hot porridge” was overwhelming, the pain of battle power entering his body made Hu Mo cry out in agony. If not for his three treasures protecting him, he would have already had his meridians destroyed, his flesh erased.

“Is this what they call a deviation? It’s terrifying! Is this cultivation or suicide?” Hu Mo screamed internally.

At this moment, a huge sense of danger swept over him. He turned to see Uncle Fu’s blood-red eyes, the terrifying aura as if Hu Mo had murdered his entire family.

“You bastard, you killed my family! I’ll have your life!” Uncle Fu roared, raising his hand to strike.

“Damn it, your family really was killed! But what does that have to do with me?” Hu Mo shouted in panic, frantically trying to shake his hand loose, but it was futile.

“Again! Are you always out to ruin me? I barely catch my breath and you hit me with this!” Hu Mo cursed the heavens yet again. Why did such absurd and painful events always surround him?

“Ah Fu, stop!” A thunderous shout rang out as the deadly palm descended, unstoppable.