Stubborn

Zhang Yuanqing followed closely behind Shanhe Yongcun, continuing to guide the dreamscape and stir the memories buried in his mind for decades. It was this disaster that had consumed every single member of the Same Boat Society's North China Branch. To this day, the killer had never been brought to justice. Soon, Shanhe Yongcun plunged into the sea of flames. He took out a black pearl and held it in his mouth; instantly, a layer of water vapor enveloped his body, warding off the blistering heat. Shanhe Yongcun sprinted through the village. Along the way lay collapsed, crude houses, with no trace of the villagers on the paths—not even a single corpse to be seen. Yet the pungent, burning stench served as a grim reminder that the villagers had not fled; they had burned to death silently inside their homes. At last, Shanhe Yongcun came to a halt before a rammed-earth building with an open courtyard. This was the village's ancestral hall. It was also the North China Branch's stronghold. The villagers had staunchly supported the North China Branch's war of resistance, scrimping and saving to provide them with provisions and giving up their most imposing ancestral hall to serve as the branch stronghold. Shanhe Yongcun dashed beneath the half-collapsed lintel into the ancestral hall. Its main hall had already caved in, broken roof tiles scattered across the ground amid sprawling, blazing rafters. Charred corpses lay haphazardly amidst the sea of fire—some slumped against the walls, some piled atop one another, others splayed under the verandas. Every one of his former comrades had perished in the inferno. Shanhe Yongcun stood dazed in the blaze, his fury and grief seeming to catch fire as well. The veins bulged on his hand gripping the Type 38 rifle. Suddenly, his body froze. Goosebumps broke out across his back, and a chill crawled up his spine like an icy serpent all the way to the crown of his skull. Zhang Yuanqing whipped his head around and saw a terrifying ghostly silhouette standing five meters behind Shanhe Yongcun. It seemed made of pure shadow, baring fangs and brandishing claws. Zhang Yuanqing scrutinized the ghostly figure intently, trying to make out its features and deduce its class. But it was pure shadow, devoid of any discernible attributes. Realization dawned on him: this ghostly silhouette was merely Shanhe Yongcun's perception and imagination of the killer, not the culprit's true face. Decades ago, on the night the North China Branch was annihilated, Shanhe Yongcun had encountered the true murderer, yet he had not turned around. As a result, the murderer had become a shadow etched into his heart. "Leave this place..." the ghostly silhouette uttered in a low, raspy voice. Shanhe Yongcun stood frozen, seemingly frightened out of his wits. "Leave this place," the figure repeated, its voice hoarse, as though enduring some agonizing torment. "Before I... completely lose control..." The terror inside Shanhe Yongcun exploded. Fury, hatred, and sorrow were overwhelmed by his raw instinct for survival. He wheeled around and fled, stumbling and panicked, as though an evil ghost were hot on his heels. The entire dream began to tremble and collapse. Zhang Yuanqing knew Shanhe Yongcun was about to wake up. By stirring the shadow buried in the man's heart for decades, his intense survival instinct would jolt him free from the dreamscape. Just like someone waking from a nightmare with a start. Zhang Yuanqing immediately withdrew from the dream and returned to the villa's front yard. *Alas, Shanhe Yongcun never saw the culprit's face or class features. Then again, if he had seen the killer's face, he would have been silenced long ago. He only survived precisely because he knew nothing...* *The killer's mental state seemed to have deteriorated, losing control and slaughtering them. Was he bewitched by an evil class? Spiritually manipulated? Whoever did this was formidable—at least at the peak Saint stage. Otherwise, how could they have wiped out the entire North China Branch? Even through an ambush, they would have to be exceptionally powerful...* Zhang Yuanqing felt a pang of regret, though it was not unexpected. Just then, the slumbering Shanhe Yongcun's brows twitched; he was on the verge of waking. Zhang Yuanqing produced a Mutton Fat Jade Pure Bottle, tilted its opening toward the black-robed centenarian, and murmured softly, "Contain!" A vortex spun out from the bottle's mouth, drawing Shanhe Yongcun inside. The Mutton Fat Jade Pure Bottle was borrowed from Patriarch Xiahou, and its function was sealing! Any items or living beings absorbed into the Pure Bottle would have their spiritual power sealed, rendering them unable to open their inventory, enter the Spirit Realm, or undergo astral projection. In order to borrow this item, Zhang Yuanqing had pledged the Heaven Swallowing Beast as collateral to Patriarch Xiahou. Patriarch Xiahou had been thrilled, dropping endless hints: "It doesn't matter if it gets damaged! Not a problem at all if it's broken!" If the Pure Bottle was damaged, the Heaven Swallowing Beast would be his. Zhang Yuanqing stowed the Pure Bottle away and turned to Zhai Cai, who was toying with his dark sword, saying, "I have two more targets, but we probably won't have time today. Stay at Fujia Bay for the next few days. I'll need your help setting up barrier fields for the subsequent battles." The Dark Night Rose still had two Day Wanderers. One was the Third Protector, "Surgeon," the one who had attacked him on the private jet. The other was called Shaman, the Seventh Protector. Their operational areas were recorded in the dossier, but his supply of teleportation jade talismans and the proxies to operate the Eye of the Sky were insufficient. The former required borrowing from Vice President Panxi, while the latter required mobilizing Dominators from the organization. At any rate, Xiahou Aotian had not yet emerged from his dungeon, so there was no one to help refine the Sancai Pill anyway. *There are still nine days left before the thirty-five-day deadline. In these nine days, all I need to do is capture the three Day Wanderers and wait for Xiahou Aotian to return to reality.* *It also gives me time to pick an S-rank dungeon...* Zhang Yuanqing calculated quietly in his mind. His current experience was at 11%. Even combining the spiritual essence of three Level 7 Day Wanderers might not be enough to push him to Level 9. The safest route was to clear another S-rank dungeon and consume the Sancai Pill the moment he passed it. With the Turtle Shell Diagram, his success rate for clearing an S-rank dungeon would increase dramatically, leaving little risk. Hearing that he would have to do more labor later, Zhai Cai promptly asked, "Is there pay?" "What pay between brothers? How crass!" Zhang Yuanqing scolded severely. "..." ... The Battle of the Gods dungeon. Amidst a vast, boundless desert, Fu Qingxuan held her sword before her, blocking the eight-armed hammering assault of the Fear Heavenly King. The impact sent her sliding back hundreds of zhang, throwing up a vast cloud of dust. At the center of this desert spanning six hundred square kilometers stood a pillar of light piercing the clouds. Within the pillar of light was a hundred-meter-tall black monolith with a metallic sheen, possessing an incomparably resilient and constantly self-bonding property. No matter how fierce the attack or how severely it cracked, it would rapidly regenerate. This was the Living Soil, a divine relic left behind by Empress Wa when mending the heavens in legend. It was a demigod-grade item and the very core upon which the Lord of the Central Court attained his path. Beyond its hardness and regenerative power, the Living Soil could connect to the earth's ley lines, providing an endless supply of spiritual power, and could even refine an entire small world into a domain. It was the hardest, most obstinate substance in the world. The demigods waged a fierce battle around the Living Soil. A crimson sea of fire melted the desert into magma, incinerating all matter under heaven. The magma dissolved into nothingness in the blink of an eye, and from that nothingness evolved myriad phenomena, only to be dispersed soon after by a resonant dragon roar and pure golden radiance. Surging seawater formed a flooded expanse, spawning bizarre sea beasts from its depths. In moments, the beasts mutated into monstrosities and turned on their master, only for their flesh to be torn apart by falling spores and converted into nutrients, sprouting into endless stretches of forest. The forest was then devoured by swarms of gu insects that drained every drop of nourishment, breeding and proliferating at terrifying speed into tens of thousands of swarms, before finally being burned clean by a raging conflagration. Throughout this clash, heaven and earth overturned periodically, and rules constantly shifted. The Ten Sons of the Demon God alternated between diverse forms, spewing poisonous fumes or calling out the names of the orthodox demigods to induce demigod-level mutations. Horns and tails sprouted from one orthodox demigod after another. Yet whenever that happened, the loud cry of an infant would ring out, causing the bellies of the evil faction demigods to swell, impregnated with unborn children. Again and again, the Spirit Realm reconstructed collapsed matter and neutralized residual demigod powers, straining to keep the dungeon functioning. When the battle for the Sun began, the demigods of the orthodox faction followed Fu Qingxuan's command. First, the most mobile Void demigod escorted the Lord of the Central Court and the God of Beauty toward the core of one grand array. —Each grand array in the dungeon covered 500 to 700 square kilometers, with a total area exceeding 3,000 square kilometers, comparable to a small country. The method to capture an array core was simple: bathe within the pillar of light for five minutes. Afterward, the remaining demigods would muster at another array to secure control over it. If the evil faction also concentrated their forces to clash head-on with the orthodox main army, Fu Qingxuan and the others were tasked with stalling them. Given the unique traits of the Lord of the Central Court and the God of Beauty, it was exceedingly difficult for one or two demigods combined to kill or repel them. The two could then smoothly secure control of two grand arrays. And if the evil faction divided their forces, the array core on the main army's side would be guaranteed first, after which the Void demigod would lead reinforcements to support the God of Beauty and the Lord of the Central Court based on enemy troop deployments. The Lord of the Stars and the Liu family patriarch performed deductions and divinations, arriving at an omen of supreme fortune. Who could have guessed that the orthodox demigods would be slapped in the face so quickly? The illusions conjured by two Illusion Gods deceived the Void demigod into believing that the evil faction's main army was attacking the orthodox main force for an immediate final showdown. In truth, under Ling Tuo's Taiyin concealment, the evil faction's main army had long split into two columns to assault the God of Beauty and the Lord of the Central Court. Left with no choice, the God of Beauty retreated and reported the situation to the orthodox main army. Fu Qingxuan made a snap decision: leaving behind the Xie family patriarch, the Liu family patriarch, and the Chairman of Heaven's Punishment to guard the array and capture the core, while everyone else went all out to reinforce the Lord of the Central Court. And thus began this demigod-level melee. ... The Battle of Zhuolu. Wild gales mingled with torrential rain lashed violently against his face. Dark clouds blotted out the sky, with bolts of lightning tearing through from time to time, illuminating the dim world. After the dense fog dispersed, floodwaters from an unknown source inundated Zhuolu, turning this vast land into a swampy realm of churning, muddy waves. Slain corpses, mutated monsters, ferocious beasts, and the warring combatants of both sides were all swept apart by the towering deluge, either sinking to the depths or struggling desperately on the surface. Demon Eye Heavenly King expanded his form, transforming into a giant more than ten zhang tall just to wade through the floodwaters with difficulty. By now, his left eye was gone, leaving only a mangled, hollow socket. Of his three heads and eight arms, only one head and three arms remained; the rest were severed. Flesh squirmed at the wounds, yet no new limbs could grow. Along this journey, an eagle had pecked out his eye, wooden arrows had pierced his chest, sword qi had severed his heads, and fire had blown his arms apart. All his enemies were dead, yet he pressed on. Multiple clashing powers collided inside his body, resisting eradication. The further inward he advanced, the fewer enemies and comrades there were; none dared interfere in a showdown between demigods. Consequently, his Bloodthirsty Frenzy found no outlet. His Life Source Fluid had long run dry, and he was now holding on by a thread with two healing items. The Kui ox drum booming in his ears made his heart twitch incessantly. Demon Eye Heavenly King felt his lamp was running out of oil. He could collapse dead at any moment. Yet the unyielding fighting spirit and fanatical ideals in his heart drove him forward, onward and onward. Today was the final day of the dungeon. Though dense clouds blocked out the sky and sun, and there was no timer in the dungeon, he had been calculating the time in his head. However, Demon Eye only knew the approximate time; he could not pinpoint the exact minutes and seconds. Perhaps in the very next second, his main quest would conclude, expelling him from the dungeon back to reality. Before then, he had to trigger the "hidden plot" and gain the favor of a supreme entity. Only then could he possess strength rivaling—or even surpassing—a peak Dominator. He never doubted Fear Heavenly King's intel, because the Battle of Zhuolu possessed a sufficiently high tier, involving the clash of demigod-level powers. Normally, in a Level 8 dungeon, demigods were mere background lore at best and unlikely to appear directly. Therefore, the Zhuolu dungeon truly held a hidden storyline. After an unknown span of time wading against the floodwaters, he rounded a mountain range. In the sudden flash of lightning, he caught sight of the central figures of the Battle of Zhuolu. A colossal figure stood as tall as the mountains. His skin was pitch-black as ink, covered in crimson runes—runes so potent that a single glance left Demon Eye, who had cultivated the Eye of Bewitchment to its zenith, dizzy, faint, and with his spiritual energy in disarray. Like the ancient War Gods, He possessed a dharma body with three heads and eight arms. Yet those manifested eight arms and three heads bore no trace of illusion; they seemed entirely real. Such a solidified, authentic-seeming dharma body was something Demon Eye had witnessed only on Asura. Yet the wild, transcendent, and majestic aura radiating from Him was something Demon Eye had never sensed even from Asura. At this moment, the Demon God Chiyou was covered in scorch marks and wounds. The weapons held in his eight arms were all shattered. Of his left and right heads, one was fractured and the other missing its skullcap; only the central head remained intact. To the left and right of Demon God Chiyou stood two giants. On the left was a flame colossus several hundred meters tall, its body forged of magma, with long beard and hair, draped in a robe of flames and wearing a deep-red crown. His facial features were distinct and upright, his eyes brimming with fury at every moment. On the right was a divine figure clad in an emerald robe, its body rolling like yellow sands, bearing a crown of a hundred crests upon its head and holding a miniature mountain peak in its palm. Tigers, leopards, jackals, and wolves surrounded Him; birds and eagles circled above His head. And in the clouds above the three demigods wheeled a golden dragon—with scales, claws, and a pair of massive membranous wings. Upon its forehead were not deer antlers, but bull horns. It was a Western dragon. The dragon plunged its head from the clouds, opening its maw to unleash a pillar of lightning unimaginable in girth. The blazing-white pillar of lightning engulfed the three-headed, eight-armed Chiyou, followed by a crushing pressure, while a fire dragon spiraled upward around the lightning pillar. Three forces combined in a joint onslaught. The lightning light then died down, revealing the Demon God's half-carbonized body. Immediately afterward came a piercing, mournful wail as an immense wind blade tore through the clouds, plunging straight toward the earth. Demon God Chiyou's head separated from his body and tumbled to the ground. Then the howling wind shrieked once more as terrifying wind blades severed His four limbs. Witnessing this scene, Demon Eye Heavenly King staggered toward Demon God Chiyou's broken remains. Defiantly, he charged toward a battlefield that did not belong to him. *Boom!* The instant he drew near, a bolt of lightning struck down, instantly carbonizing him. The radiance in his lone eye immediately dimmed. Demon Eye's body crashed down with a tremendous thud.