Parting

"So that's how it is. Gospel was warning me to leave Yaxiu right from the start." Igola retreated behind the human wall of Legendary Sorcerers. Hearing Annan's muttered whisper as she reloaded her magazine, he frowned and asked, "How did it warn you?" "Do you remember my rewards from the Art Board?" The coy Second Miss Donna flushed a delicate pink, demurely spitting metal bullets that grazed the Legendary Sorcerers' shoulders like a spring breeze, rippling across the Sanctuary barriers of her pursuers. Annan's voice mingled with the roaring gunfire, sounding like a student who had suddenly realized the correct solution after an exam had already ended: "One was the Discerning Eye of Calamity, and the other was the Tongue of Release." "You don't seem to have used either reward very much." Igola opened his Gospel Book, expending Gospel points to rapidly restore his sorcery power. To drive a three-winged sorcery spirit, he had even burned his silver and gold sorcery power as fuel, but that had merely been a desperate, cornered gamble. The rapid drain of sorcery power had left his head spinning, and his soul was weakened to the point where even a feeble thought like *I really want a hug* surfaced in his mind. "The Discerning Eye of Calamity can identify calamities upon others, while the Tongue of Release allows any contract to be verbally terminated as long as both parties are willing," Annan said briskly. "Combine that with the first-place piece on the Art Board, and Gospel's advice was actually glaringly obvious: *This person is trouble. Cut ties with him and leave immediately.*" "It was obvious, so why didn't you see it?" "I did see it," Annan replied. "I just refused Gospel's advice. The thing I love most in this world is going against Gospel." "Completely irrefutable," the Swindler scoffed. "Back in the Blood Moon, resolute dreamers like you are put on the emergency watchlist—or even granted a Blood Moon Trial all to yourself." "Still, on this point, Gospel truly is a more advanced nation than Blood Moon. They actually sent ten Sanctuary Sorcerers to corner us. This level of spectacle doesn't fall short of a Blood Moon Trial in the slightest." *Bang!* Even as they spoke, a bullet blasted Alice's head apart. Eerie green flames erupted from her severed neck, congealing into the visage of Harvey. *Though this body is cold flowing fire, it still longs for the hour it burns away.* Bones, nerves, muscles, skin... Like a tailor improvising a masterpiece, Alice was restored to her original form in an instant—skin so delicate it seemed breakable at a breath, eyes bright and spirited, lips lustrous and moist, hair sleek and flowing! Yet everyone in Funeral knew the devastating cost hidden beneath this beauty: Harvey, merged as one with Alice, was using his own living body to repair a corpse! He was drawing out his own bones, marrow, muscles, nerves, skin, and blood to fill Alice's emptiness! Though a necromancer surely had ways to recover what he lost, they were in the middle of battle; if Harvey used up too much of "himself," he would have no choice but to rely on Alice to keep him going instead. At the end of the day, the notion of using the living to repair the dead was inherently aberrant, grotesque, and terrifying. No ordinary person would ever entertain such a thought, just as no one would feed their own blood to a newly bought doll. Even if sacrifices were to be made, they should be made for something far more important. And so, just like the pale bone stubs sprouting from Alice, they could feel Harvey's mindset cut straight to the marrow—it wasn't that Alice was worth more than he was, but that he felt this world had no worth at all. As for the potential consequence of self-destruction... it was like telling someone eating instant noodles to mind their nutritional balance. If they were already eating instant noodles, why would they give a damn about nutrition? Alice thrust her right hand forward, and the shadows of the subterranean hall surged forth like a torrential flood. Unbeknownst to anyone, Harvey had unlocked the fourth troop type of Ghost King Shackles: the "shadow spirit." Even without relevant sorcery spirits, he could directly command the power of shadows, binding his enemies' shadows or even turning intangible darkness into tangible force to drown them! This was the true horror of the Ghost King Shackles, the top reward from the Family Board: it allowed a necromancer to bypass faction barriers and master the powers of other sorcery factions by switching undead troop types. What was more, it could unleash miracle-level effects without needing auxiliary sorcery spirits—practically a discount version of an omni-faction sorcerer! Aside from the throne, the subterranean hall was cloaked in profound gloom. Shadows for Alice to utilize were everywhere, and because the vast majority of miracles struggled to defend against shadow, Harvey's offensive power was arguably the greatest in Funeral at that moment. Yet this territorial advantage was still meaningless beneath the crushing weight of absolute strength. Dense gunfire and incandescent flames erupted as the Sanctuary Sorcerers' onslaught instantly obliterated the torrent of shadow. Even the most ordinary attack, amplified by a spatial sanctuary, carried miraculous destructive force. The moment they struck back, Alice slipped into the shadows to evade the retaliation. At the same time, gunfire echoed from the other flank. A handsome blue-haired youth darted and leaped among the Legendary Sorcerers, his twin guns chiming like a music box. Even if the frost bullets could not pierce their sanctuaries, the blooming white mist still obstructed their sight. Banjie's self-created miracle, and his exclusive miracle: Melting! The older his physical appearance became, the more frost sorcery power he obtained, elevating his combat prowess to the three-winged level! Igola suddenly glanced toward a swordsmanship Sanctuary Sorcerer who was drawing his blade. The swordsmanship Sanctuary Sorcerer swung a distant slash aimed at Annan, only for his own sanctuary behind him to abruptly shatter, as though he had cleaved himself! "Instantly turning a Sanctuary Sorcerer's attack back on themselves... That's a three-winged mind sorcery spirit," Annan marveled. "You've only visited the Distant Sky Realm once, haven't you? How did you manage to reap such a harvest?" "I had help from a sword sorcerer and got lucky during a fortuitous encounter." Igola was so weak he had to lean against the wall. "Who knew there were actually good people among sorcerers?" "Getting help on your very first visit to the Distant Sky Realm? You have wonderful luck." "I didn't take advantage of him for free. He asked me how to mend things with a petulant younger brother, and I gave him plenty of good advice," Igola said. "Besides, if my luck were truly good, I wouldn't have ended up down here, accompanying you to Hell." Though Funeral seemed capable of barely withstanding the Sanctuary Sorcerers' assault, it was only because they relied on the protection of hostages—the motionless Legendary Sorcerers seated around them. The Legendary Sorcerers had virtually no reaction to the outside world, but anyone could tell they shared a close connection with the god. In fact, that connection was obvious at a glance: they were the god's fuel tanks. Previously, everyone assumed Gospel was a system personally operated by the Omniscient Weaver. Yet seeing this scene in the subterranean hall, Funeral understood that the Gospel Country hadn't relied on any divine ruler or emperor at all; this grand miracle had been forged entirely by the working masses. Gospel—this magnificent miracle that blanketed the entire country, reached every single citizen, and served as the cornerstone of civilization—was the collective achievement of every Legendary Sorcerer who had served as fuel throughout history! It was precisely because they burned themselves away day and night to power the god that Gospel could walk the earth and illuminate all living beings! As to whether these Legendary Sorcerers were coerced or brainwashed, each had their own speculations, but Igola believed they weren't; they had done so voluntarily. For these Legendary Sorcerers standing at the apex of mortal existence, studying divine knowledge to construct the ladder of angels was likely the only temptation capable of filling the void within them. Giving what was desired, granting what was needed—it was a win-win bargain. The god functioned through their devotion, and through the god, they caught a glimpse of vistas higher still. Yet even serving as fuel tanks carried immense danger; a god was so vast that those in such close proximity had their wills assimilated and dissolved long ago. In Igola's eyes, despite their differences in age and appearance, there was not a trace of the noise called "individuality" left in the thoughts of these Legendary Sorcerers. Only a single voice remained: Gospel. Incidentally, the Sanctuary Sorcerers currently battling Funeral showed signs of this same "noise reduction"—their emotional fluctuations were pitifully low, like disparate, bizarre stones being gradually sculpted into identical handicrafts. Once they became Legendary Sorcerers, they too were destined to become the next generation of fuel tanks. Even so, to say they were deceived by Gospel would be underestimating sorcerers far too much. Setting aside how much assistance they had derived from Gospel, without it, the majority of people here would never have stood a chance of ascending to the Legendary rank in the first place. Furthermore, they could have chosen not to come to Nabistin. They surely could have deduced the truth behind Gospel. But since they had come, they had to shoulder the consequences of their choice. At that moment, Igola suddenly remembered Annan's words: *"Every choice you make is a path Gospel laid out for you, and you aren't even aware of it... Only those capable of choosing can be called human; those who follow blindly are merely insects."* The Swindler shook his head, returning his gaze to the battlefield in the subterranean hall. Regardless, it was precisely because of these Legendary Sorcerer-brand energy bars that Funeral had managed to hold out until now. The Sanctuary Sorcerers dared not attack the Legendary Sorcerers, not because the legends were fragile—in fact, if they could have harmed or taken the legends hostage, Annan and the others would have done so already—rather, the Sanctuary Sorcerers simply seemed unwilling to "disturb" the legends immersed in their focused work. Meanwhile, Annan and her allies could only use the Legendary Sorcerers to establish a defensive line; they could not exploit these strategic weapons any further. Every legend's body was clad in a Sanctuary barrier that clung tightly to their skin; unless the legend's sorcery power was exhausted, it was impossible to touch their physical forms. Yet this was all they could do. The Sanctuary Sorcerers had blocked the only exit. The ten Sanctuary Sorcerers were in no rush at all, slowly grinding down their time. Meanwhile, Banjie's Melting had a time limit; Harvey's "cold flowing fire" state made prolonged exertion impossible; Igola had depleted his sorcery power once again after activating the three-winged sorcery spirit; and Annan's own combat capability was only at the two-winged rank—impressive enough for her age, but had Igola and Harvey not obtained the Rainbow Tail's tail feathers, their combat power wouldn't have even kept pace with hers! Their wounds continued to mount. Defeat was only a matter of time. "Come to think of it," Igola said, "their target is only Annan, isn't it?" "That's right," Annan said calmly. "So you're all going to die protecting me." "If it were Yaxiu, he definitely wouldn't drag us down with him." "Yes, which is why I like him," Annan replied. "Though if it were Yaxiu, none of you would abandon him, either." "Banjie—" "If you can convince Banjie to live on alone, I'd gladly let you all go," the Purple Moth chuckled. "Going to Hell with just Banjie and me would be a bit lonely, after all. Besides, if it were you, knowing full well you were going to die, would you drag everyone else down to Hell just to prolong your miserable existence for a few more moments, or would you die cleanly and decisively?" The Swindler suddenly asked, "What if the one standing here were Yaxiu?" "I'd choose whatever you would." Igola let out a helpless sigh, forcing himself to his feet. "One last question before we die—if everything could start over, would you heed Gospel's warning?" "When surrounded by boundless darkness, how can a moth not throw itself into the flames?" Annan said, reloading her magazine. "Still, at the very least, I would have used the Tongue of Release to relieve him of one burden ahead of time." "If that were the case, he wouldn't have to face—" ... —Parting. Yaxiu reached out to catch her, only to embrace half of Lisi. A Sanctuary sniper bullet had torn the petite body straight in half. His heart tore with it. Split in two. Lisi was swept away by the wind. Her hand reached out through the veil of rain, as if playfully begging Yaxiu for a hug. Yaxiu abandoned his sword completely. Paying no heed to the strikes raining down from all directions, he stretched his arm until it nearly dislocated, as though this hand had been kept until now solely to hold her back from leaving. Parting. Don't leave. Don't leave me. Water Therapy, Rekindle, Reforge, Singular Devotion: Joy Sword, Mechanization, Super Regeneration, Centurial Cultivation, Clay Body... Dozens of healing miracles from various factions flashed through Yaxiu's mind. Every single one could heal a severed body; every single one could save Lisi's life. He had suffered worse injuries back in Shattered Lake Prison; as long as the treatment came in time, the skin would end up in even better condition than before. This was a world filled with miracles. There was still time for everything; the very purpose of miracles was to make up for regret! His gaze pierced the curtain of rain alongside his outstretched hand. He saw Lisi's lips tremble, seeming to whisper: *Don't be afraid.* Then, he watched the space around Lisi collapse, like the emergence of a vortex. Lisi was sucked inside. His fingers closed on empty air. Because his posture was so contorted, he was thrown straight off the Crowflight motorcycle. The motorcycle flew toward the journey's finish line—the parking apron connecting to the Azure Lane—crashing into other hovercars. But Yaxiu remained stranded on the bridge, hurled back into the god's city, brought to a permanent halt just shy of the finish line. On the freezing ground flooded with rain, there were only 1.5 family members. Spatial teleportation. He recognized it. Though Sanctuary Sorcerers mastered the expansion of spatial domains, conducting an ad-hoc spatial teleportation of a living subject remained exceedingly difficult. They had to either rely on auxiliary sorcery spirits—such as the cold gleam of the spear Sanctuary Sorcerer—or simply teleport inanimate objects, such as bullets. Without designated coordinates, a living being would either be torn to shreds by spatial turbulence or teleported to any random location: hundreds of meters up into the sky, or buried in the soil between subterranean strata. The sensation of spatial teleportation was more terrifying than being tumbled through a washing machine drum. Lisi would definitely feel so miserable she'd want to cry, wouldn't she? For some reason, such an untimely thought suddenly popped into Yaxiu's head. He struggled to his feet. The Sanctuary Sorcerers encircled him in silence. The half-body, drenched in rain like a stuffed doll spilling cotton, was prodded with the haft of a spear. The cotton scattered; the doll shattered. "Do not be afraid. The noise has been eliminated," a Sanctuary Sorcerer stated. "Commence welcoming Yayin back to the palace." "Not afraid." Yaxiu's murmur drifted through the rain: "There's nothing left to fear." He suddenly lashed out with an open hand toward the spear Sanctuary Sorcerer's neck while his left hand seized the spear. A substitute suddenly dropped from above, cleaving down with a kick. The blazing attacks from three directions left the spear Sanctuary Sorcerer time only to deploy his sanctuary—yet Yaxiu's hand-blade sliced right through it, and his boiling rage even slashed the man's windpipe wide open! Fists and claws faction. Fury Sword. As the spear Sanctuary Sorcerer clutched his neck and retreated from the battlefield to heal, the other Sanctuary Sorcerers launched their coordinated assault without hesitation. Yaxiu seized the wrist of the swordsmanship Sanctuary Sorcerer to his left, guiding his longsword to slice through the earthworks binding Yaxiu's legs. Then, unleashing "Sword Body Barrier," he blocked several bullets and melee strikes; the instant the barrier shattered, he snatched the sword away, slashing out a stroke of spatial ink. Swordsmanship faction. Heart Pen. Sword Body Barrier. The fist-and-claw Sanctuary Sorcerer lunging at Yaxiu suddenly froze for a second. Yaxiu gently guided him into the firing lane of the gunnery Sanctuary Sorcerer, and six bullets bloomed with the utmost satisfaction, fulfilling their purpose as they tore into a fellow Sanctuary Sorcerer's body. Time faction. Seize-a-Second sorcery spirit. With a single thrust, Yaxiu pierced the core of a water cascade miracle. The collapsing torrent blasted out like bullets against the surrounding Sanctuary Sorcerers, utterly dismantling their siege formation. He then diverted the trajectory of destructive light, obliterating the chains and vines attempting to bind him on the ground. Water sorcery faction. Light sorcery faction. After a clash as swift as lightning and flint, Yaxiu turned back, only to see Sanctuary Sorcerers still densely blocking his path. They seemed to outnumber the falling raindrops, blotting out Yaxiu's sky entirely. The glow of the streetlamps was no longer warm. Beneath the rainwater, the ground displayed only mocking laser guide text: 【>>】. "It doesn't matter. I'm not afraid at all," he said. Having opened his mind to embrace Yayin's residence, he had finally regained the power to contend against fate, yet the only thing in his entire body that truly belonged to him was withering away at staggering speed. Inside it were his past, his ego, Sword Princess, Lisi, Igola, Annan... Yayin would hollow out all that noise, leaving behind nothing but a perfectly clean, six-star shell. *If I can protect you, then I will forget you.* *If I can embrace you, then I will lose you.* *Annan, Igola, Harvey, Banjie, are you fighting hard too? Are you complaining? Are you afraid?* *Don't be afraid.* *I am coming.* The night rain died. The air died. Yaxiu, too, was on the verge of death.