The world didn't just stir now—it convulsed.
Zairon's territories, once a single city, had grown into a vast sovereign dominion stretching across continents. Cities glowed under his banners, their people thriving under harsh but clear rule. Crime was nearly extinct, weak rulers had been purged or exiled, and cultivators trained under the relentless pace set by the Mad Sovereign's doctrines.
"Only the strong shall lead. Only the mad shall rise."
Southern Campaign: Wrath Beneath the Sky
Zairon's southern generals—Wei Lian the Flame Reaper, Zhao Hu the Windbreaker, and Han Bo the Soulpiercer—each led a battalion to the outskirts of the Azure Sky Sect's floating territories.
The clouds themselves shivered when the first warhorns blew.
The enemy laughed from above.
But laughter turned to horror when massive spiritual cannons, reverse-engineered by Zairon's own hands, were unveiled—each powered by condensed Aether Crystals and imbued with his Mad Crescent Will.
BOOM.
The Fifth Sky Island cracked. BOOM.
The Sixth split in half.
Screams echoed. The Azure Sky Sect, long believing themselves untouchable, was now exposed. One of their elders, a SS-rank cultivator, tried to retaliate—unleashing a Heavenly Tribulation Flame.
But Zairon appeared on the battlefield personally.
In his left hand was chaos. In his right, oblivion.
He smiled at the incoming flame.
"Cute."
And with a wave, he swallowed it. Not deflected—absorbed.
"Is that it? I've seen hotter things come from my cookpot."
Then, with one Crimson Crescent Slash, he cut the sky.
The elder was torn in half—soul and all.
Azure Sky surrendered in silence.
Zairon's Path: Madder, Deeper, Stronger
Back in his personal sanctum—an obsidian tower suspended in the air—Zairon sat cross-legged on a floating slab of black jade, meditating. But his "meditation" wasn't peaceful.
It was madness incarnate.
Visions of universes. Screams of defeated foes. Laughter echoing in endless chambers.
He wasn't just cultivating.
He was becoming.
Power surged through him like waves crashing against a dam barely holding.
His spirit beast, the colossal Roc, circled above, absorbing and releasing waves of Raur energy into the sky.
Zairon opened his eyes after five days.
"SS Rank," he muttered. "Still not enough. No... not even close."
He walked out to the balcony and looked at the stars.
"This world? Too small. My ambition?" His voice cracked with insanity.
"Boundless."
All across the world, his generals continued to sweep the lands. Territories were assimilated, guilds dissolved or subjugated, and sovereign flags replaced old regimes.
The Age of Sovereignty had begun.
But deep beneath it all, whispers stirred.
From the deepest abyss of the Raur Realm, from the places where even SSS-Ranks fear to tread, something… was watching.
A gaze ancient and cold.
A presence unfathomable.