Epitaph

There was no answer. The grotesque, mangled body twitched violently. On what remained of its face, shattered, dried pupils trembled as it thrashed in agony, emitting garbled noises. A curse, or a plea. It was unintelligible. Nor did it matter anymore. Ignoring Tong Shan's hesitant look, Ji Jue resolutely reached out his hand. He did not care about the shoddy materials, nor the impurities in the ingredients, much less the quality of the finished product. Empowered by Non-Offensive, barehanded transmuting began once more! Amid the blazing spiritus fire, the mangled wolf soon collapsed into a fist-sized, bone-white sphere. On its surface was a twisted, grotesque face frozen in a wailing grimace. Eroded and permeated by the Great Sins, it was reduced to a Spirit of Creation, condemned to eternal torment with no hope of escape. "Don't worry. I'm not like you pieces of trash—I won't shove my own kin into hell." Ji Jue studied its miserable state and told it, "As long as someone smashes this sphere for you one day, you'll naturally be freed. See? How simple." Then, before the eyes of that despairing face, he raised his hand. He tossed the sphere into the lake of surging springs. It splashed into the water and vanished. Soon, amid muffled, bubbling rumbles, the spectacle of the geysers came to an end. Driven by the shifting subterranean pressure, the lake water drained back into the fissures, receding rapidly and taking the wolf's urn with it, disappearing into the bottomless dark. Never to be seen again. "Let's go." Tong Shan sighed. Pretending he had seen nothing, he patted Ji Jue on the shoulder. Yet Ji Jue did not move. He stood in place. Tong Shan stiffened, witnessing the sight he had least wanted to see. Ji Jue turned his head. He looked upon everything he, as an artisan, had created. In the deathly stillness, no passing crowds were left to be seen. There was only a devastated land, a market burned to nothingness, and ash drifting down from the sky like snowflakes, swirling as it settled in his hair. "...Turns out the ash looks the same everywhere." Ji Jue murmured, nearly laughing. Laughing at his childishness as an artisan and his foolishness as an ember—failing to discern even the most fundamental "value." Blinded by a single leaf, unwilling to face the truth right in front of him. Where could one find better raw material? Having lost their country, their homes, their past, and their future, the people of the White Nation had nothing left but hatred— Ji Jue had thought they would at least be left to perish on their own. After all, having fallen so low, what remaining value could they possibly hold? Yet he never imagined that even their last shred of freedom as living human beings would be cruelly stripped away. Even their dying struggles were exploited—hatred and despair serving as fuel to catalyze the blood oath, their souls and flesh reduced to bait to transform the wolves. After the Federation and the Empire had taken everything, the ones who delivered the final push into the abyss were their own kin. And the one who had thoroughly crushed their final remnants was himself. Ji Jue felt no regret, nor did he feel shame. No matter how many times he had to redo it, he would make the same choice. Yet for some reason, he suddenly remembered the storm not so long ago. In the muddy deluge of the slums, the woman clutching her child— Could he have saved her back then? He could have, couldn't he? Perhaps, if only he had been a little earlier, a little faster, he could have reached out— Again, and again, and again, as many times as it took. Yet facing the world before him, even if he poured out all his strength and time, how much could a single pair of hands grasp? How much could they truly change? "Let's go." He took one last look, leaving the ash and scorched earth behind. Tong Shan patted his shoulder and, in the end, said nothing. The car started up once more. *Crack—* Gritting her teeth, An Ning pulled the last needle-like remnant of wolf poison from her wound. Squinting beneath the dim light filtered through the clouds outside the window, she scrutinized it closely. Atop the congealed blood, a faint glimmer of eerie blue sheen played across the crimson, making her narrow her eyes. *As expected...* "Brother Ji Jue, that dead wolf wasn't right," she said suddenly. "Its lineage is completely different from the White Nation's wolf blood oath!" The differences between wolves were often far greater than outsiders imagined, and different wolf packs were by no means the same. The White Nation's Wolf Den had accepted the White King's wolf blood oath, and they did not mingle with other packs. The boundaries between them were distinct and stark, and they even waged war against one another. After all, a heretic was more detestable than an outright enemy! "Though outsiders see them all as wolves, their essence and manifestations differ. Because the White King never truly became a Wolf Sin, they fall a bit short. But this one was different." She held up the blood needle, then retrieved another one from her pocket that she had kept as a memento. Placing the two needles side by side, the contrast became immediately apparent. The first needle's color was noticeably darker and deeper, while the second was much more translucent. "See? The second one came from the one we killed back in the rally—it belongs to the Heart Wolf lineage, better at lurking and disguise," An Ning explained. "The one just now, however, had far more exaggerated speed and explosive power. Its fur was ash-gray, too. It should belong to the Mountain Wolf lineage." The Mountain Wolf, the Heart Wolf, and the White Nation wolves—whose lord had failed to become a Wolf Sin and thus fell short—served entirely different wolf lords. There was no reason for them to mix. The appearance of a Mountain Wolf now proved that the driving force behind the scenes was not as simple as the White Nation Restoration Front alone. Ji Jue realized. "So, outside wolf packs have gotten involved, right?" "Exactly." An Ning's tone grew grave. In the worst-case scenario, since the Mountain Wolf was here, the Heart Wolf might not just sit by idly either. Behind Shehri, there were very likely two wolf lords offering support. If they sought to resurrect the White King to make him the third Wolf Sin—accelerating the growth and completion of the wolves—then it was entirely possible for all three parties to temporarily converge. The current situation was perhaps even worse than anticipated! Ji Jue thought for a moment and slowly nodded. "...Then let's kill them all." It was as if, after losing his way, he had suddenly found his destination. Ji Jue gripped the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, having finally found the path toward the finish line. "We'll go and kill every last one of them. Leave none behind." It was impossible to tell whether it was reckless arrogance ignorant of the heavens or an absurd delusion born of a daydream. Yet at that moment, An Ning once more saw the color welling in his dark eyes—calm and serene, like distant moonlight shining over the wilderness. The cold gaze of the White Stag, governing life and death. And so, she let out a soft laugh. She nodded without hesitation. "Mm!" Hunter, press on. Across the overcast sky, the last trace of daylight faded away. A turbulent night descended. Beneath that same night sky, nestled among barren mountain ranges, the ruined, devastated former capital of the White Nation bore no trace of its past glory. A city wiped out by natural disasters more than two centuries ago was once again illuminated by the glow of fire. The dancing flames flickered contemptuously over broken walls and shattered bones. Across the cracked altar, crimson blood wound down, tracing its way past desolate streets and ruins, spreading outward in every direction. Like a spider's web. *BOOM!* Amid dark clouds hanging like an iron curtain, lightning suddenly flashed across the sky, illuminating the silhouettes at the altar's highest point. At the forefront stood the sole mortal bloodline left behind by the former Priest-King of the White Nation, the current Young Wolf Lord Ensur. Behind him were Shehri, Burhush, Razaz, and other high-ranking members of the Restoration Front, along with representatives of the wolf packs. At this moment, across the pool of blood at the center of the altar, two blurry projections on the opposite side gradually came into focus. One resembled a colossal mountain, vast, imposing, ferocious, and violent. The other seemed formless and shapeless, nearly impossible to perceive unless it chose to reveal itself. Now, the ethereal phantom reached out, and a gold-inlaid dagger materialized out of thin air in its hand, pointing toward Ensur. Without hesitation, Ensur took the dagger and drew it across his wrist. Instantly, blood tinged with faint black wound out from his wrist in thin threads. A brilliant gold faintly shone within it, dripping into the golden chalice at the center of the altar. Though only a few drops fell, it seemed to drain most of his vitality, leaving Ensur's face pale. Next, the colossal figure within the phantom took the dagger and slashed its own wrist. A stream of ash-gray blood trickled down, pooling into the cup. Lastly, the formless, shifting entity likewise slit its own wrist. Its blood was colorless and clear, like morning dew. Inside the golden chalice, the mixture hissed as though boiling. Three distinct types of wolf blood converged, their blood oaths colliding and agitating until they completely fused into one. At times it gleamed with radiant pure gold; at times it shifted into bizarre, dazzling rainbow hues; and at times it turned a violent, ferocious iron-gray. "Very well. We seal our alliance with blood and forge this covenant." The Mountain Wolf Lord's voice came from beneath the vortex, calm and detached. "You may begin." Another voice, like a soft whisper, chimed in: "Welcome back our third kin, welcome back our third companion, the third child of the wolf." Ensur's breathing grew rapid, a flush of feverish excitement rising on his pale face. "Shehri—" "At your command." Behind Ensur, Shehri bowed respectfully, stepping forward with lowered head to salute the two wolf lords. Yet when he reached out his hands, he hesitated for an instant for reasons unknown. As if dazed. It lasted only a single, insignificant breath. With both hands, he gripped the gold-inlaid dagger presented by the Mountain Wolf, then took the covenant chalice bestowed by the Heart Wolf. He clutched them tightly, as if pouring every ounce of strength into his grip. Just like that, he walked toward the altar. With his first step, he was fully focused, trembling with dread. Just like when he had first stepped onto the altar behind his teacher as an apprentice, his back drenched in sweat, his heart filled with terror. With his second step, his mind wandered despite himself, instinctively recalling the past—the high-spirited young man he was when he had first donned the white robes of a priest. Back then, the White Nation still existed— With his third step, he ceased his hesitation, crossing beyond his trivial past and casting everything behind him. The priest who had been slowly broken under the crushing weight of surrounding enemies had died long ago in the past, forgotten alongside this nation. When he took the fourth step, he stood atop the highest point of the altar. As he raised his head once more, the fire in his eyes was illuminated by the thunder in the sky. He looked down upon all creation with disdain. "...Supreme White King!" He murmured the words he had repeated countless times over the years, standing here once again. Just as the Sower had promised him. After overcoming so many obstacles and enduring countless torments and agony, he had returned here once more to begin anew! Yet it was no longer the same as before. The White Nation was gone, and so was the Shehri of old. Things had changed, people had passed, and the whole world was his enemy, but none of it mattered. This time, he would never let anyone dictate his fate again—not even the so-called White King! In that moment of thirst, the wolf forged by the White Nation could no longer hold back, revealing its ferocity and ambition. The Heart Wolf smiled without a word; the Mountain Wolf Lord looked down indifferently. Wasn't this precisely what wolves were like? As long as the third Wolf Sin could be completed, that was enough. Nothing else mattered. "Your sacrifices are all for the White Nation of tomorrow." Holding the dagger and the chalice, Shehri's perception rippled outward across the wilderness, looking down upon everything once more. His hoarse voice echoed in the ears of every sacrificial victim: "A glorious and solemn grand undertaking shall be forged from your devotion!" *Snap!* At that moment, amid the sound of shattering, countless wails erupted across the void. In the wilderness, in settlements, and in villages, one hollow husk after another drained by Bloodthirst Syndrome disintegrated, bursting into pieces out of thin air. The residual blood danced, staining the earth red. Dense clusters of blood droplets bloomed across the land of the White Nation. Thick and countless. As if seeking to dye the entire White Nation crimson. At this instant, under the Qi-gazing technique of the Mirror of Contained Forms, the calamity Qi across the entire White Nation suddenly boiled. Countless dormant disasters, nourished by this massive sacrifice, shuddered and slowly stirred from their slumber. Piercing, shrill roars resounded throughout heaven and earth. A rain of blood erupted across the wilderness, sweeping through like a tempest and claiming every life in its path. Thunder rumbled as countless arcs of lightning darted and gathered like living creatures, lashing the earth. The ground trembled, opening fissure after fissure like gaping maws, swallowing vast amounts of earth and rock to form deep chasms. Pale mist vented from the cracks in the ground, echoing with the shrieks of spirits. A flood surging like worms crawled out from the riverbeds, tens of thousands of viscous tentacles dancing with hunger once again. The rain of blood born of slaughter, the abyssal maws carved from earthquakes and blood sacrifices, the mist of death condensed from vast resentments of overlapping plagues, and the living water disaster granted life from the torrent of aberrations... In an instant, disaster after disaster emerged once more from dormancy at Shehri's call! Across the earth, countless ribbons of blood wound and squirmed, extending toward the old capital and ultimately fusing into one. In the span of a single breath, pulses of blood blanketed the White Nation, tangling with innumerable souls, taking root in the earth, and thoroughly merging with the entire wilderness. Cries, wails, roars, whispers... Countless voices echoed ceaselessly in the void, swirling around Shehri. Shehri laughed wildly, dancing in near delirium. The gold-inlaid dagger slashed down, opening a breach upon the altar. Immediately after, he raised the overflowing chalice of blood high into the air. With utter generosity, he poured every bit of bait into the fissure. "Today, I offer pain and blood-tears to the garden of supreme bliss!" He stared intently past the fissure, watching the brilliant glimmer of light rapidly sprouting as it absorbed the blood, chanting praise and calling out in ecstasy: "O Shambhala, I pray you take deep root and flourish once more!" With this wolf blood as the bond, this sacrifice as the proof, and the White King's buried remains as the foundation— Amid the raging natural disasters, the crimson blood blanketing the earth turned into true roots, and the withered seed sprouted anew. In an instant, the rift expanded rapidly. A colossal, pure-white tree grew out from the deepest darkness, spreading out tens of thousands of branches and leaves to blanket the sky and the earth. Dreamlike, ethereal, and so very distant. Yet atop the altar, across the entire altar, everyone saw it once again: beneath the colossal tree, pierced through by a blade, a skeleton hung suspended upon the trunk. Weathered by tens of thousands of years, its original features were long lost! The remains of the Priest-King! For a brief moment, as if sensing the summons from the mortal realm, the desiccated fingertips twitched slightly. At this moment, the relic of the kings far removed from the present world, the final trace left behind by the King of Universal Mercy—the so-called Shangri-La—finally cast its holy silhouette upon the mortal realm once more! No, from this day forward, it should be called— Shehri bared his teeth, laughing silently as he embraced the phantom that filled the world: "—[Kingdom of the Forest · Shangri-La]!" Encircled by endless natural disasters and nourished by streams of crimson blood, the phantom tree stood between heaven and earth, expanding, swelling, and growing at a speed visible to the naked eye! Brilliant radiance illuminated the White Nation. Yet within its ferocious posture, no trace of the Pure Land's former solemnity remained. Beneath the shine of that very same light, a fleeting illusion from countless ages past materialized for an instant in the desert. The gaunt monk sitting cross-legged beneath the colossal tree looked up once more, gazing upon the utterly unrecognizable world before him. In his expression, there was neither praise nor sorrow, neither hatred nor joy. Soon, those calm eyes gently closed. Fading without a trace. Leaving only a faint sigh to scatter into the howling wind, never to be heard again.