God-Tier Fishing System

Bram hurled himself into the air, spear raised high, a golden dragon roaring along its length—a tempest of spiritual power rushing down in a wave that could crush worlds. His eyes, filled with bitter arrogance, narrowed on Ethan below.

"Ethan, you will pay a heavy price for what you have done!" His decree, given from above, thundered down in tandem with the spear's impending strike.​

The golden dragon's breath surged, fierce and wild, spear intent multiplying, cascading across the sky like a hurricane. The ground trembled beneath its pressure; the very air grew heavy as Bram unleashed the culmination of his years of dominance.

But Ethan did not move. His eyes flickered with something deeper—unyielding, ancient, unspoken.

A Scythe appeared in his grip; its blue curves gleamed coldly against the gold.

The Moonflood Scythe, origin and even grade unknown, came to life beneath his fingers.

He caressed the blade with his left hand, thumb moving in a loose circle, feeling for the spirit within. His right hand held steady on the handle—Ethan's stance calm as winter, unmoved by the fury above.

He spoke softly, a promise colder than ice: "Today, I'll show you the higher realm of mind!"

His pupils shrank, sharpening into razor slits.

In that instant, ripples of scythe intent—silent, deadly, everywhere—began to radiate out. There was no chanting, no grand display—only a profound, suffocating quiet.

"The intent will transform into a realm, open!" Ethan's voice dropped an octave, humming with resolve.

Like the falling curtain before dawn, the infinite sharpness condensed, filling the world and shaping a battlefield invisible yet complete.

Bram, mid-leap, felt the invisible scythe intent wrap around him—sharp edges scraping at spirit, blood, and bone, invisible wounds streaking across his form.

"This... is the realm of consciousness!" Lyralei gasped, her mask of imperial calm giving way to genuine, wide-eyed shock.

For the first time, the Empress looked shaken. Nearby, Mahayana peak masters leaned forward, expressions twisted in awe and disbelief. Mr. Willow's face darkened into something close to fear.

Not one of them could recall witnessing such mastery.

The 'consciousness' realm stood above mere intent—a transformation requiring monstrous talent and comprehension, a feat supposedly reserved for Mahayana cultivators.

That Ethan—physique cultivator, branded "freak"—had reached this height shattered everything they understood of cultivation.

Bram hovered, spear's golden edge mere inches from Ethan's heart, yet time itself seemed to freeze. His entire body was wrapped in the stifling grip of the realm; scythe intent like a thousand blades cutting him at once. Each breath drawn left trails of blood wherever the air touched skin.

He roared in defiance, channeling spear intent to shield his soul—but it was hopeless.

The perfect spear intent, his pride, was cut apart like tofu by the sharpness in the void. For the first time, Bram tasted the sour tang of fear.

Then, temperature dipped—moisture shimmering in the scythe intent. Water and fire mingled in ethereal unity, each blade carried immense power, burning and freezing Bram's defenses at once.

"Impossible! Is this... perfect scythe intent? No, higher... consciousness!" Bram's mind raced. He had crossed swords with all the geniuses of Skyreach—never had he faced such strength.

But it was too late.

Ethan exhaled; the scythe flashed. Red blood climbed the blade, water and fire mixed till droplets of crimson condensed on steel.

"Crescent Moon Scythe technique, chilling!" he announced.

Ethan sliced through the air—a stroke so silent and swift it seemed plain, unremarkable, yet it cut the world open. Blood converged in a sickle-shaped arc, crescent moon hanging briefly in the sky, wind scattering leaves, all motion faded. Space itself yielded; a single sharp arc cleaved Bram mid-air.

The world froze for three breaths.

Then, the realm dispersed with a whisper.

A crisp clang echoed—Bram's spear knocked aside, slipping uselessly from his grasp.

Bram gritted his teeth, blood spurting from his lips as he dropped heavily to earth. Crimson splashed in his wake.

He staggered upright, hands pressed desperately against gravel.

A hideous wound gaped on his chest, yet the damage did not reach his organs—a piece of luminous armor pulsed at his heart, heavenly-grade spiritual defense, battered and now streaked with blood. Even the armor had been breached.

Ethan swung the scythe, a flick of azure flame lighting the blade—burning away the blood, drawing every eye in shock and awe.

Silence reigned. Seraphina stared, broken; her faith in talent and superiority crumbled.

All her life, she'd lived as the proud genius of Skyreach. But she'd seen it now—seen realms beyond genius, seen Ethan, called trash, stand as the true outlier.

She gasped for breath, doubts strangling pride—her worldview upended in one instant.

Under the weight of their gazes, Ethan walked forward, scythe glinting in chill air—each step a challenge.

"With such strength, you dare to bet with me? Sixth Prince, you are bringing shame on yourself," he said quietly.

Bram's pride ignited. Fury drowned pain; he swallowed elixirs, his chest rising as aura surged back into place.

"Haha, I don't know how you mastered the Scythe consciousness. I was just careless just now. The real fight begins now!" Bram spat, eyes sharp.

"How many times can you use this realm?" he demanded.

Ethan's gaze narrowed, measuring the prince's aura as it grew heavier—a true unleashing of potential.

Quietly, Ethan put away the scythe.

Bram sneered. "I knew it! You can't do it again!"

He beckoned his Golden Dragon Spear back, grip tightening as lightning arced around his fist.

"Take the move!" Bram roared, lunging again.

Spearlight flickered as strikes fell—Ethan, calm, dodged with ease. His movement was as light as a fading leaf, steps unpredictable, gliding between strikes.

Swish, swish, swish—within seconds, a dozen thrusts flashed like golden comets.

Yet not a single one touched Ethan.

Bram's teeth ground together in rage. "You… trash can only dodge?"

A/N:

Extra chapters

100 power stones - 1 Extra chapters

200 power stones - 2 Extra chapters

Capsule - 1 Extra chapters

Massage Chair - 3 Extra chapters

Luxury Car - 5 Extra Chapters

Magic Castle - 15 Extra Chapters