The surging backdraft whipped up a fierce gale, stirring the dust and smoke across the field and carrying Chen Chuan's words in all directions.
Not far away, Rossard and the many administrators in the White Rock Long Hall all heard it. They fell into an uneasy silence. Though those words were addressed to Covington, hearing them struck their ears with a strange, jarring discomfort.
Yet the staggering crater in the ground and the ground-up mass of flesh and blood scattered across it proved beyond doubt that there was nothing wrong with the question.
Meanwhile, several kilometers away at the temporary outpost where the tourists from the Blockade Hall had been evacuated, the former emperor, Capa, stood by a window holding a tall stem glass. He gazed out toward the battlefield as the bright red beverage swirled in his glass. Upon hearing those words, an expression of intrigued appreciation surfaced on his face.
As a Throne martial artist, he could naturally tell that Chen Chuan was still only a Secret Palace martial artist.
Yet what was he witnessing?
A Throne martial artist was actually being pinned down and beaten right from the opening clash. Even if Covington had not yet fully recovered his strength and had not had the chance to demonstrate his full might, a Throne was still a Throne. In his own era, such a thing would have been utterly unimaginable.
"Intriguing," he murmured, raising the glass to take an elegant sip.
Chen Chuan gazed down at his feet. Covington's performance had indeed been underwhelming; his strength and speed fell short of even the opponent Chen Chuan had faced that day.
This was not merely because imprisonment had left him weakened, but because there was a jarring sense of discord about him. His mind and body felt as though they had been forcibly cobbled together. Considering Rossard had said Covington had seized a portion of that entity's power, this was hardly surprising.
Beyond that, Chen Chuan had also sensed a subtle sluggishness when Covington exerted his power.
It felt as if some foreign object were lodged within his body, preventing smooth operation. He guessed that when Covington elevated his tier, he had not relied entirely on his own strength, but had borrowed some external aid. As a result, his mutated tissue was impure and could not fully obey his own will.
A flaw like that posed no problem against opponents weaker than himself, but when confronted by someone whose strength was sufficient to suppress him, the deficiency was laid bare.
Just then, he noticed that the scattered remnants of flesh and blood were burrowing into the soil beneath his feet, drilling deeper and deeper without pause.
He did not move to stop it, for this was not something Covington had only just begun; he had already started doing it before Chen Chuan arrived. Both his fight against Rossard and his clash with Chen Chuan seemed partly intended to buy time. In that case, let him see what tricks Covington had left up his sleeve.
If it were only what he had shown so far, it would only be a disappointment.
In just a few breaths, faint, continuous tremors rose beneath his feet. As the vibrations grew stronger, the ground began to undulate like rolling ocean waves.
Immediately following that, the surrounding perspective gradually rose—the entire expanse of ground was slowly being hoisted upward. A moment later, the sunken crater was actually shoved upward by some internal force.
Earth and bricks churned up from below, along with twisted, snapped pipes, shattered metal, and massive torrents of water surging outward. The surrounding buildings rattled incessantly. Clearly, something immense was about to emerge from below.
Detecting this from the rear, Rossard seemed to realize what was happening, his expression shifting drastically. He immediately leaped backward in retreat, pulling away several more kilometers before halting and hovering in midair, seemingly prepared to adjust his distance again at any moment.
The central area bulged higher and higher, gradually turning into a colossal earthen mound. Viewed from ground level, its height almost completely obstructed the Spiral Cross Holy Rood perched atop the Blockade Hall, casting all surrounding light into shadow.
And by now, it seemed to have reached the limits of its expansion. Following a violent shudder, the debris cloaking its exterior sloughed away rapidly in sheets and chunks.
Once the clinging debris fell away, what was finally revealed was an ash-white monstrosity. On the outside, it resembled a thick, oval cocoon of leathery membrane, lined along its edges with two rows of spiracles that rhythmically expanded and contracted, defying clear identification.
The entity stretched roughly forty to fifty meters from end to end. Its base sprouted thick appendages like tree roots that plunged deep into the soil; at least a portion of its lower half still appeared buried underground. It gave the distinct impression of breathing—swelling outward slowly, then contracting just as gently.
Watching this, Chen Chuan slowly raised the Xuejun Saber across his vision. With a gentle flick, the scabbard flew off, and he gave the blade a slight twist, revealing a glint of cold light.
Last time, he had felt a faint premonition of danger and had refrained from using his blade; this time, that sensation was gone. Whether it was due to the growth of his strength or some other reason, as long as he could wield a weapon, he would not leave it unused.
The moment he held the drawn blade in hand, it seemed to transmit some kind of signal. A violent thrum of spiritual dread suddenly radiated from the colossal creature.
Rossard felt his heart violently spasm. No longer able to maintain his suspension in midair, he plummeted from the sky and slammed into the ground with a dull thud. His chest felt excruciatingly constricted, as though his body could no longer sustain its normal functions.
At the same time, an exceptionally intense field rolled over him, subjecting his skin to a corrosive assault. On his exposed face and the backs of his hands, dead flakes of skin began to shed and drift into the air.
Chen Chuan cast a glance over. His second self was showing pronounced signs of blurring and destabilization. This erosive field had to be originating from the psychic entity parasitizing Covington. One could feel that this psychic presence was gradually being digested, no longer forcibly crammed together as it had been moments ago.
Just then, the cocoon suddenly bulged outward and tore open from within with a ripping sound. That suffocating aura magnified several times over. Under the field's encroachment, even the esoteric ritual barrier encompassing the surroundings developed hairline fractures.
Pushing its way out of the hard cocoon, a massive beast revealed its full form. Resembling a headless, giant crab, its entire body was an ashen white. Broad flipper-like appendages supported its bloated carcass, while countless writhing, whip-like tentacles dangled from its perimeter.
"What is that thing?!"
A wave of horror gripped the administrators in the White Rock Long Hall. At this moment, their fields flickered and jumped erratically, sharp stabs of pain throbbing through their eyes and brains. A'lu's warning chimed right on cue: "Psychic transmission infection detected. Esoteric ritual defenses engaged."
Their hearts turned cold, and they involuntarily stepped back several paces.
Faces began surfacing across the monster's back. Every single one was Covington himself, yet each displayed a distinct emotion—joy, anger, sorrow, delight.
Suddenly, these numerous faces turned in unison, staring straight down at Chen Chuan. After fixing their gaze upon him for a moment, the creature's immense body slowly pulled itself higher out of the soil.
Standing alone with saber in hand, Chen Chuan faced the mountain-like monstrosity rising from the earth. Even at a distance, he could feel the violent gusts of wind stirred up by its sheer bulk. The long red ribbon attached to his saber fluttered wildly.
Gazing upward, he recalled his earlier contemplation about which path this man walked. Now, he could be certain.
The Visage of the Aberrant!
Others might not recognize this thing, but he did. Having studied the esoteric ritual manuscripts given to him by Elder Gale, he knew this was unquestionably Sowaquil, the soul-devourer of First People legend. In the worldview of certain First People tribes, it was the final resting place for the souls of all living things in the world.
If it was the Visage of the Aberrant, he had to beware of aberrant power. That sort of power defied conventional logic—especially in the hands of a Dongxuan View martial artist...
Even as the thought crossed his mind, glowing whip-tentacles lashed out toward him in a barrage.
This time, he did not take them head-on, flashing aside to evade. The ground was instantly whipped into deep furrows, shuddering violently. Having forced him back, the monster suddenly leaned forward, lowering its center of gravity, while the faces on its back made a deep, collective inhaling motion.
In that instant, Rossard in the distance suddenly felt lightheaded and thoroughly drained of strength. He was forced to prop himself up with an arm just to keep from collapsing. He could clearly see his flesh-and-blood vital essence condensing into wisps of vapor, drifting toward the monster.
Not only him—across a radius of over a dozen kilometers, all armed personnel and civilians simultaneously felt a bone-deep lethargy wash over them, their minds turning dazed and muddy.
Even as Chen Chuan leapt backward, he could clearly feel that power attempting to tear away and draw out the energy stored within his body. Standing at the forefront, he bore by far the greatest pull, and the blurring of his second self grew ever more severe.
*So it really is aberrant power...*
Such attacks were generally not something mere physical constitution could resist; they involved deeper, more fundamental dimensions. Setting aside raw strength, the opponent's life tier was unequivocally superior to his own.
This meant that relying purely on himself, he could not resist this kind of power indefinitely. However, he also noticed that this force did not drain someone completely in a single instant; it was a sustained process. Perhaps this was due to some inherent limitation, or perhaps because Covington had not yet fully recovered.
If he could defeat it within this short window of time, then even without relying on his second self, he could still win this battle.
Raising a hand, light flared from his palm, and a spiritual impact struck Covington in an instant. Only after the blinding flash had passed did a low, rolling boom rumble through the air.
Yet although this blast tore open a massive laceration across its body, the sickly pale spiritual flame on its surface quickly sealed the breach, and beneath that protection, the wound healed at rapid speed.
This was the advantage of immense size: its physical resilience was completely incomparable to before, and even its fire of spirituality seemed to have become vastly more abundant and dense. It could no longer be shattered by his fists as easily as before. This was likely the adaptation the creature had made after being pummeled by him earlier.
Still, if that was all it had, it was far from enough!
Chen Chuan's eyes glinted. Bringing his other hand up, he gripped the hilt of the Xuejun Saber with both hands. The fire of spirituality around his body surged, flowing like liquid water toward the blade.
Chapter 1152