The world went black, but only for a heartbeat. When the light returned, I wasn't standing in a crater or a ruin. I was standing atop the jagged, obsidian peak of the Frozen Volcano, the highest point in the North. Below me, the Secret Realm hummed with the frantic energy of a million displaced souls. Above me, the sky was no longer blue; it was a swirling tapestry of violet aurora, the permanent signature of my sovereignty. I wasn't alone for long. The spatial tremors began within minutes. High-level cultivators don't miss it when a capital city vanishes and a new god claims the sky. They arrived in flashes of gold, jade, and crimson light—the "great" leaders of the remaining world. "Ling Feng!" a voice boomed, vibrating with the authority of the Azure Heaven Sect. I didn't turn. I kept my back to them, looking out over the new world I had archived. I felt them land: the King of the Southern Marches, the Grand Marshal of the Iron Legion, and four Sect Leaders whose names used to