Chapter 471: Morning Star Level

How strong could a single person become?

No matter how powerful someone was, could they truly overcome a group? In low-tier worlds, even the mightiest individuals could be overwhelmed by numbers—like ants devouring an elephant. But what about mid or high magic realms? This classification wasn’t about raw destructive power but dimensions. Any plane-bound existence counted as low-tier—demon gods could slaughter entire worlds. In Zuo Meng’s memories, there was a tale called *Defying Heaven* where humans fought the heavens themselves… and lost. Another story told of an immortal visiting a modern city only to perish in a nuclear blast.

From a Creator’s perspective—or that of a transcendent “immortal”—Zuo Meng couldn’t fathom such pointless struggles. If he wanted to crush a rebel in his world, would he lower himself to a fistfight?

*Don’t be ridiculous.*

As a Creator, he’d simply rewrite reality from angles mortals couldn’t grasp.

In a Fighting World? Erase the concept of fighting energy. Let “Fighting Emperors” choke on their powerless rage. For cultivation realms? Sever the spiritual energy. Let magic-starved “immortals” wither. When the pond dries up, what can fish do to the fisherman? They’d never even glimpse his face. Zuo Meng had zero interest in playing hero inside his own creations.

But now he was the fish in someone else’s pond.

Though trapped, he knew the fisherman existed. His lost memories didn’t matter—the system he’d designed transcended this reality, its missions bypassing the world’s script. Why learn local cultivation methods when you could cheat?

Three-Day Restoration!

The task was blunt: topple the Divine Eagle Empire in three days and resurrect the Snow Wolf Empire from its ashes.

Valen had stopped arguing. Clearly, centuries underground had rotted his ancestor’s brain.

“Ancestor… we’re really charging straight to the capital?”

The young man suppressed a groan. Sure, Zuo Meng claimed to surpass Sword Saints, but where was the proof? Valen’s plan had been simple—test this “ancestor” on a minor lord first, gauge his strength, then escalate. But when your undead forefather orders you to storm the imperial seat day one, you obey. Especially when desertion meant getting hunted down by Divine Eagle hounds before sunset.

Following Valen’s directions, Zuo Meng led them out of the circular mountains.

The Aige Family’s tomb was cunningly hidden, requiring half a day’s trek through winding paths. They’d barely emerged when Zuo Meng froze.

“Ancestor?”

Valen’s hopeful smile died as Zuo Meng spoke:

“Your hunters are here.”

Right on schedule—Divine Eagle Guards appeared at the mountain’s edge. Efficient bastards.

“Divine Eagle Guards!” Valen paled.

He recognized the uniforms… and the squad leader who’d slaughtered his mentor Uncle Froy during their last escape.

“More Aige rats?” Commander Dos smirked. A fourth-level Sky Knight—one step below Sword Saint tier, the peak of ordinary people’s understanding. “Intelligence deserves flogging for missing this.”

Casually, he gestured. Archers nocked arrows. Shieldbearers advanced. Protocol demanded thoroughness, even against weaklings.

“Ancestor!” Valen whispered urgently. He’d last minutes against these killers. This gamble—restore the empire or die trying—hung on a deranged ancestor’s power.

Zuo Meng flexed his hand. Black orbs swirled around his fist.

Shieldbearers crashed knees-first into dirt, armor multiplying in weight. Archers screamed as bows burned through their grips.

Morning Star Level.

A realm beyond mortal comprehension.

“Sword Saint Domain?!” Dos drew his blade, aura flaring to resist the pressure—

*Thud.*

The commander collapsed mid-sentence, Zuo Meng’s palm casually lowered.

Valen gaped at the corpse pile. He’d imagined Sword Saint strength… but this? No wonder they were called national treasures. Quantity meant nothing against such quality.

“Wasted half a day.” Zuo Meng grabbed Valen’s collar and soared skyward toward the capital.