What shook Tsunade the most wasn't the power or beauty—it was the second vision Orochimaru had shared.
A child knelt before a sacred altar.
The gods answered his prayer.
They reached into the river of souls and brought his loved one back to life—
as easily as if retrieving something from a stream.
The gods were noble.
The gods were supreme.
The gods were eternal.
When Tsunade opened her eyes, they were filled with awe and disbelief.
The divine vision had left a lasting impact.
Orochimaru smiled.
"Now you understand why Kirigakure and Amegakure have such unwavering belief in our God?"
"…Yes. I understand now."
Tsunade gave a wry smile.
"There was a miracle in Kirigakure, wasn't there?"
She couldn't deny it any longer.
It was her—and even Jiraiya—who had been naïve.
Sages?
What a joke.
They were just strong mutants at best.
Now she saw why Orochimaru and the others scoffed at the old teachings.
Anyone who had witnessed the presence of a god would be the same.
After a pause, Tsunade added, "There are a few young women in the village showing signs of talent. Kurenai Yuhi, for example—not a bad option."
Orochimaru tilted his head.
"And you? Don't you want to consider it?
Your brother Nawaki was pitiful. You could offer yourself as a sacrifice and perhaps meet him again."
Tsunade rolled her eyes.
She could see right through Orochimaru—he was clearly trying to win divine favor by recommending her.
How shameless.
But, on second thought, she felt a strange pride.
If the high priest of the Eternal Church wants to offer me as a divine gift...
Doesn't that mean I'm still as beautiful as ever?
After all, she was the most beautiful woman in the shinobi world.
Tsunade didn't hate compliments—especially about her looks.
With a sigh, she changed the subject.
"I'll go back and bring Naruto over. It doesn't matter if you extract the Nine-Tails. That kid has already suffered more than enough."
Just mentioning Naruto made her sigh deeply.
The son of a Hokage—treated like dirt.
Konoha's policies back then were disgusting.
Hiruzen had been indecisive, the elders manipulative, and Danzo a complete menace.
It was no wonder the village had rotted.
She honestly felt that if Naruto ever turned against Konoha, it would be their own fault.
Orochimaru smiled faintly.
"Let's go together. I chose Konoha as the site for the next sacrifice. After all, it's my hometown.
The other villages have already been aligned—faith has been consolidated elsewhere."
Tsunade smacked him on the shoulder.
"You and your schemes…"
She shook off her bitterness, ready to return with her attendants.
As for the fallen shinobi—especially the elders?
Long forgotten.
Most of them were from Root, anyway.
Only a few ANBU had died.
Heavenly Dragon Eight Realms – Kingdom of Dali
To prepare a worthy altar, Murong Fu had personally smelted gold and carved the structure by hand.
It had taken twenty full days.
But the results were magnificent.
He had missed the agreed date for the ritual—
But to him, that didn't matter.
What mattered was sincerity.
And it was that very sincerity that had caused his strength to increase dramatically.
Under the guidance of Yu Yan, Holy Queen, and others, the Kingdom of Dali had undergone a complete transformation.
All Buddhist temples had been torn down.
In their place stood Eternal Churches.
Unlike Buddhist temples, the Eternal Churches didn't demand incense, donations, or offerings.
All that was required was sincere worship:
Kneel. Pray. Believe.
Buddhist monks had demanded wealth, land, and constant tithes.
They spoke of detachment—but hoarded IOUs and wealth.
The Eternal Church?
They welcomed hard work. They preached self-discipline and ascension.
They did not forbid wealth, desire, or ambition.
Instead, they taught that:
"Those who strive shall ascend.
Those who believe shall rise to heaven."
It didn't take long for commoners to see the difference.
No one wanted to be fooled anymore.
Why offer incense to monks who did nothing—
when gods answered prayers?
At first, resistance had been fierce.
Had the Emperor not issued a national decree, conversion would've been slow.
But then—miracles happened.
A villager named Zhang San broke his leg while working.
He had no money for treatment.
In this era, a broken leg often meant a lifetime of disability.
But a priest of the Eternal Church happened to pass through.
He came to Zhang San's home, placed a finger on the injury—
And told him to stand.
Zhang San stood.
His broken leg was healed.
The miracle spread like wildfire—through ten towns in a single day.
And that was just the beginning.
Elsewhere, similar miracles occurred.
Villagers began converting in droves.
Dali soon had 200 temples, and each was filled with believers—
all eagerly awaiting the Festival of Sacrifice.
The priests had already announced:
"God will descend here soon. Dali has been chosen as a sacred land."
"Hey, did you hear? That kid from Li Goudan's family made it into the priest's reserve team."
"Really? I heard he can punch through a tree three meters thick!"
"That's nothing. Old Zhang's daughter smashed through a ten-meter rock wall with one palm!"
"Man, I'm so jealous. If only I had joined the reserve team too... the strength they're getting is unreal."
"Right? Years of praying to those bald frauds did nothing. They bled us dry with incense fees!"
"Bald monks? Pfft. Always preaching compassion and equality—while we work the fields and they sit on golden cushions."
"And don't forget—when we were starving, they just told us to endure suffering for karma.
Now look at the Eternal Church—real miracles. Real strength."
"Compassion? I call it scamming."
"Buddha? Please. The real god has already descended."
———
In a tavern in Dali, patrons were drinking and gossiping about recent events.
Laughter, clinking cups, and stories of divine miracles filled the air.
But few noticed the group of strange individuals seated in a quiet corner.
They wore cloth wraps over their heads, dressed plainly, and only ate vegetarian food—steamed buns and boiled greens.
Unlike the others in the shop, they didn't drink or speak loudly.
One of the younger men leaned closer and whispered, "Master, these people are too much. How can they slander the Buddha like this?"
"Xu Zhu, stay calm," the elder beside him replied softly. "This is the work of dark forces. We're here to uncover the truth."
Another man nodded in agreement.
"My brother is right. This so-called 'Eternal Sect' is corrupting the people and insulting our Buddha. We must investigate."
"Hmph," another snorted. "If anyone's trying to steal the country, it's them. The emperor's nothing but a puppet now."
The group continued eating their modest meal, unaware that the tavern's waiter—Xiao Er—had been watching them intently from a distance.
The weather was sweltering, yet they wore head coverings.
Their food was plain, but their clothing was neat and free of patches.
They must be monks.
Xiao Er's eyes lit up in realization.
He picked up a pot of tea and walked toward their table, his curiosity piqued.
As he approached, the group suddenly fell silent and pretended to make casual conversation.
But their forced small talk only made them more suspicious.
Let's see if you're hiding bald heads under those cloths, Xiao Er thought to himself.
In the Eternal Church, monks—or "bald thieves," as they were now called—were banned.
If one absolutely had to remain in the country, they were required to wear criminal robes, register their residence monthly, and serve the local populace.
The punishment?
Forced agricultural labor for three years.
Atonement through sweat.
The result?
Being a monk had become one of the most despised "professions" in the land.
Many chose to conceal their identities, but once caught, their labor was doubled.
The Dali government had already announced: over 6,000 monks had been apprehended.
Each one was accused of:
"Draining the lifeblood of the people for years, contributing nothing, and reducing the population through their vows of celibacy."
In ancient times, population was power.
And these parasites, they claimed, had robbed the nation of future generations.
Suddenly, Xu Zhu felt a gust of cold wind on his scalp.
A moment later, a loud voice shouted:
"Aha! Bald thieves! Don't think we won't recognize you just because you're in disguise! Someone bang the gong! MONKS!!!"
The cry echoed across the street, catching everyone's attention.
The disguised monks froze in shock.
They had only come to rescue the royal family of Dali, but now it seemed even existing as a monk here was a crime.
If not for Master Huilun's foresight to suggest disguises, they might not have gotten in at all.
Now, just sitting down to eat, they were already exposed.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The warning gongs began to ring throughout the streets.
Master Xuan Nan's face turned pale.
"We've been discovered. Retreat!"
But just as they stood to flee, the entrance was blocked—
Not by soldiers, but by commoners.
Drunkards and passersby surged forward, trying to physically stop them from leaving.
"What in the world is this madness?" Xuan Nan gritted his teeth and used his internal energy to shove several people aside.
He burst through the blockade with his disciples behind him.
Just as they reached the exit, a figure descended from the sky.
Boom.
The figure crashed down in front of them, knocking them all to the ground in one strike.
"Praise the Eternal God! We've caught a group of bald thieves!"
"They must've been planning something. Why else would they run and attack people?"
"I bet they're from the Shaolin Temple!"
"Only monks from Tianlong Temple and Shaolin can fight like that!"
The surrounding crowd grew larger, angry murmurs spreading.
The fallen monks groaned on the ground, dumbfounded.
Martial arts masters, reduced to rags in front of common villagers.
Wasn't Master Xuan Nan one of the top masters of the Bodhidharma Academy?
And he was one-punched by a divine envoy?!
"Shameless," someone muttered.
"These people dared to call themselves heroes of the martial world?"
At the end of the street, two men were watching.
One was a beggar, and beside him stood a tall man with a square jaw and fierce eyes—Qiao Feng.
The beggar asked, "Helper, what do we do?"
"Wait," Qiao Feng replied calmly.
He watched as the divine envoy dragged Xuan Nan away like a stray dog.
His eyes were calm, but his heart was heavy.
"To think Xuan Nan's martial arts were this easily crushed…" he murmured.
"It seems the Eternal God Church truly has power."
"If I fought him now… I'd probably lose too."
Even Qiao Feng, known for his unmatched strength, had to admit the truth.
The Eternal Sect wasn't a hoax—it was the real deal.
The changes in Dali were plain for all to see.
Even the Song Dynasty had tried sending reinforcements—
Only to get beaten back so badly, they didn't recognize their own soldiers.
Troubled times indeed.
As the divine envoy vanished down the street with his captured prey, Qiao Feng let out a long sigh.
———
Inside the palace...
"Master Priest," a messenger reported, bowing. "Half an hour ago, word came from Feiye Town. Six monks were apprehended. One of them is said to be Xuan Nan, the head of the Bodhidharma Academy at Shaolin Temple."
Murong Fu, robed in white, gave a solemn nod.
"Good. Continue rounding up martial artists who resist or cause trouble. The state ceremony is about to begin—there can be no room for failure."
Originally, Murong Fu had planned to imitate Li Shimin: build a basic altar and bluff his way into divine favor.
But once he saw what happened to that lying old fraud in the Caribbean Realm, he immediately changed his mind.
He scrapped the entire plan.
Now, he was building a proper altar. Preparing real offerings. Offering real sincerity.
What is sincerity?
To give everything you have.
Fortunately, the region around Dali had no shortage of young women. Many had already been rounded up. Combined with the blood of captured martial arts masters, and now a national-level sacrifice...
This festival would reflect true devotion.
Let it be late—what mattered was the quality.
When it came to faith, Murong Fu now surpassed them all.
Days passed in a flash.
All over the region, martial artists were captured and brought to Dali in chains.
And at last, the grand state festival was ready to begin.
On that day, the skies were clear and warm.
A proclamation was made: no one was to work. All citizens were to gather at their nearest temple to offer prayer. Priests would guide them.
The streets were filled. Every alley overflowed with people.
In front of the royal palace, crowds gathered like waves.
The former Dali royal family, now dressed in commoners' garb, sat kneeling on either side of the palace gates. Faces sullen. Eyes downcast.
Hate was buried in their hearts. But Eternal God's fist had taught them the new order.
Once, Duan Zhengming had been skeptical. But ever since he began practicing meditation, even he had converted completely.
Not only that—he'd become a zealous recruiter.
Now, all his children were believers too...
Except for Duan Zhengchun's family. They resisted. They were imprisoned.
His son Duan Yu, who once dared to pursue the Saintess?
Castrated and locked away.
Boom.
A bell tolled deep and low.
The palace gates slowly opened.
Dozens of believers emerged, carrying the golden altar on their shoulders.
Behind them came a hundred-man priest team, robed and solemn.
Then the twin guardians of Righteousness and Sin followed.
Finally, at the rear, came the Saintess and Chief Priest Murong Fu.
As the altar was set atop the grand stone steps, Murong Fu surveyed the crowd from above.
Most lowered their eyes, but a few among the martial world glared defiantly.
Hmph. You dare to challenge the Eternal?
You'll make fine sacrifices.
He raised his voice.
"I am Murong Fu, Chief Priest of the Eternal Church."
"Today, Dali stands as the sacred host for a national-level ceremony in honor of our Eternal God."
"This world is blinded by ignorance—too arrogant to recognize divine truth. They invent systems, create false doctrines, add unattainable conditions to salvation…"
"Take Buddhism, for example. They say we'll ascend to the Western Paradise after death. Yet where is their divine manifestation?"
"None! Not a single one. No sacred signs. No miracles.
Instead, their monks do nothing. They produce nothing. They drain the nation's energy."
"If all men became monks, who would bear children? Who would farm? Who would build?"
"The monk's dogma speaks of 'rebirth,' but rejects one's own father and mother.
Tell me—how can a man who abandons his family become enlightened?"
Far away, monks from Tianlong Temple knelt in silence.
They'd heard such accusations before.
But now, after so many sermons, some of them had begun to doubt too.
No meat. No killing. No family. No creation.
And not a single monk in a thousand years had become a Buddha.
It really was starting to sound like a scam.
Murong Fu's voice rang out again:
"But our God... our God heard the cries of mankind.
And so, He awakened from His slumber to bring us salvation."
He turned to the twin guardians beside him and gave a nod.
The sacrifice was ready.
In an instant, hundreds of martial artists were dragged out in chains.
Screaming. Cursing. Spitting blood.
This was the first step of the ceremony:
Blood Sacrifice.
Their blood would call down the Eternal God from above.
"Murong Fu!! You'll die for this!! Even in death, we'll haunt you!!"
"We'll wait for you in hell!"
"I curse you—may you rot in the streets!"
But their screams were silenced.
The Guardian of Sin drew his long blade—
And in one swift strike, dozens of heads fell.
Scarlet blood spilled across the steps.
Yet strangely, not a single drop seeped into the ground.
Instead, it flowed… toward the golden altar.
Murong Fu began chanting softly.
And all the statues of the Eternal God across Dali began to glow.
They lit up—reflecting his image.
Then he opened his eyes and shouted:
"Begin the second phase of the sacrifice."
His voice echoed through every altar across the kingdom.
People trembled in awe.
He was in the capital—yet his voice rang out everywhere.
Was this divine power?
One by one, the people knelt and prayed.
In the Divine Realm…
Liu Che was in the middle of a sparring session.
His opponent? The once-arrogant god, Chen Dao.
Suddenly—
"Ding! Your follower has sacrificed a martial artist.
A 10,000x multiplier has been triggered. You have received the divine technique: Ziwei Star Art."
"Ding! Another martial artist offered.
1,000x multiplier activated. You have received the immortal skill: Sky-Piercing Hand."
"Ding! National-level sacrifice detected.
Multi-million-fold multiplier activated. You have obtained the Supreme Divine Art of Light: Nine-Colored Divine Radiance."
A dozen more notifications followed.
Liu Che paused his sparring. Chen Dao noticed and smiled.
"Go on. I'll rest."
They had trained for over thirty minutes. And Chen Dao knew:
In another month, this kid might surpass even me…
Damn. Gods shouldn't compete.
Liu Che was ecstatic.
"So they've finally realized the power of blood sacrifice!"
Martial arts techniques, once so hard to come by, were now flooding in by the hundreds.
In the Divine Realm, techniques were ranked:
Common Grade – Used in low-tier martial worlds
Spirit Grade – Cultivation-level skills
Immortal Grade – From the Immortal Realms
Divine Grade – Reserved for gods
Divine Abilities – Powers tied to natural laws
Supreme Divine Arts – Taboo-level god techniques
And now, thanks to Murong Fu's national sacrifice, Liu Che had acquired a Supreme Divine Art of Light.
He paused.
"This isn't from the Sui Dynasty… It's coming from a martial arts world."
"There's only one possibility—Heavenly Dragon Eight Worlds."
"…Didn't think Murong Fu had it in him," Liu Che grinned.
"Well then—let me return the favor. Time to send a divine revelation and shake the entire group chat!"