Não fale besteira, isto é a Bandeira do Imperador Humano

Shen Siyuan jolted awake from his dream, gasping for breath and feeling a wave of numbness and aching in his arm.

“Where am I?” he muttered.

His mind still reeled from the thunderous tribulation that had filled his dreams. His physical body had been destroyed, his soul damaged, and his spiritual sense sluggish, leaving him hazy and disoriented.

“Hey, Old Shen, what’s wrong? Are you still half-asleep?” his colleague Li Kang, sitting beside him, jabbed him with the tip of a pen.

Only then did Shen Siyuan snap back to reality, turning to look at the other man.

“Kang the Pockmarked?”

“You’re the one with pockmarks, damn it! Call me Brother Kang,” Li Kang said, tossing his pen onto the desk with a disgruntled look.

Shen Siyuan ignored him, glancing around. The familiar surroundings gradually brought his senses back into focus.

“Bad dream?” Li Kang asked again.

Shen Siyuan nodded.

He truly had just experienced a nightmare—he’d dreamed of a demonic cultivator from the Great Wilderness who, after failing to pass a heavenly tribulation, was reduced to a remnant soul. This soul traversed to this world, intending to devour his spirit and seize his body for rebirth. Unexpectedly, Shen Siyuan had reversed their fates and devoured the demon’s soul instead.

But the dream had felt too real, especially the memories he’d gained after absorbing the demon’s remnant soul—it was as if those things had truly happened.

Within those memories, the demon cultivator, known as the Lord of the Nine Netherworlds, had wrought chaos