novelsky Chapter 862: Passing on the Torch
Chapter 862: Passing on the Torch
...—Zhongli.
That blind military general from the floating peak in the Lower Realm, the one who pointed the way for Chen Huaian and told him, "Gods are not to be looked upon."
"That is..."
The ferocious grin on Mo Li Qing's face froze, a flicker of disbelief and terror appearing in his eyes.
"That madman?! That Heaven-defying one from the Ninth Cycle of Reincarnation, Zhongli?!"
"Didn't his soul scatter and vanish on the Immortal-Slaying Platform?! Why is he appearing again?!"
The phantom slowly turned its head.
That blurred face had no features, only a pair of empty eye sockets.
But as he looked at Chen Huaian, it was as if he was gazing upon a hope that had traversed countless cycles of reincarnation.
"Is this... the path you have chosen?"
A thought transmitted itself into Chen Huaian's mind.
"Good."
"Then... walk it."
*Crack.*
The broken spear shattered.
Under the immense pressure of the execution blade, Zhongli's heroic soul transformed into a sky full of golden light specks, merging into Chen Huaian's body.
The first blade strike was blocked.
"Bastard! Bastard!!"
Mo Li Hong was furious and flustered. "What's wrong with this Immortal-Slaying Platform?! There are still remnant souls causing trouble?!"
"Strike again! Strike again for me!!"
*Rumble—*
The execution blade lifted once more.
This time, the bloody aura swirling around it was thicker, its oppressive might greater.
"Die! He must die!!"
The Four Heavenly Kings joined forces to activate their secret arts, vowing to utterly erase this variable.
The blade fell.
Like the heavens collapsing.
*Clang—!!!*
Another deafening crash.
Another figure materialized.
This time, it was a monkey.
A monkey whose golden fur had all receded, whose six ears were bleeding, yet who still pointed his iron rod at the sky, cursing the heavens and the earth.
—Six-Ears.
He used that long-broken iron rod to jam the throat of the falling execution blade.
"This old Sun lost once."
"But this old Sun's Dao... has not lost!"
The monkey laughed wildly, his body disintegrating, transforming into an unruly, indomitable fighting spirit that shot into the space between Chen Huaian's eyebrows.
The second blade strike was blocked.
"Mad... they're all mad..."
The pipa in Mo Li Hai's hands clattered to the ground.
What was he seeing?
He saw that within the layered, caked bloodstains around the Immortal-Slaying Platform, countless wronged souls who had been executed there in the past were awakening.
They were not causing trouble.
They were... protecting the Dao.
"Again! I don't believe we can't kill him!!"
Mo Li Qing's eyes were bloodshot, having already descended into madness.
The execution blade fell for the third time.
This time.
It was a scholar, biting his brush, breaking characters, using his body to become ink.
It was an emperor, turning his back on the common people, using his bones as a shield.
It was a husband and wife, throwing themselves into the furnace, using their souls to forge a sword.
...
Each time it fell.
A heroic soul would inevitably step forth from the long river of history.
Their names might be different, their origins might be different, in their respective cycles of reincarnation they might all have been failures.
But at this moment.
They all shared the same name—Heaven-Slaying Ones.
*Clang! Clang! Clang!*
The sounds of collision were continuous.
That Ghost-Headed Execution Blade, representing the will of the Heavenly Dao and claiming to be able to cut through anything, actually... gradually began to chip and dull in these repeated clashes.
Several gaps appeared on the blade's edge, as if countless hard bones had shattered its teeth.
And those dark red chains binding Chen Huaian also began to tremble violently under the repeated impacts, groaning as if unable to bear the load.
Muscle Tyrant was stunned.
It lay sprawled to the side, watching those figures that constantly appeared and then dissipated, watching that Chen Huaian lying at the center, surrounded by countless points of light.
It suddenly felt.
That this Immortal-Slaying Platform was no longer an execution ground.
But a... monument.
"The last time..."
Mo Li Qing slumped to the ground, his face ashen.
The power of the Immortal-Slaying Platform had been depleted to its limit; that execution blade was already tattered and torn.
"If this blade still can't kill him..."
"Then the ones who die... will be us."
*Boom—*
The execution blade lifted for the final time.
Gathering all the remaining power of the Immortal-Slaying Platform, it transformed into a pitch-black curtain of death, falling silently.
This was the final, absolute kill.
Unavoidable.
And no more heroic souls appeared.
It seemed all the torches had burned out just now.
Chen Huaian looked at the falling darkness.
He did not close his eyes.
Because he saw a figure.
It was an... old man who looked exactly like him, but aged countless times over.
That old man wore a faded, washed-out blue robe, a broken gourd hanging at his waist, his hair a wild, messy tangle of white weeds.
He stood beneath the falling blade.
He didn't use a weapon, nor did he use any Divine Ability.
He merely extended a withered hand and gently, as if plucking a falling leaf, pinched the descending execution blade between his fingers.
*Creeeak—*
That unstoppable death just... stopped.
Stopped at the old man's withered fingertips.
The old man lowered his head, looking at the young Chen Huaian.
In those turbid old eyes were relief, release, and a trace of... mischief that spanned time and space.
"You've walked further than I did in this life."
The old man smiled.
That smile was exactly the same as Chen Huaian's usual wild, unrestrained one.
"This final hurdle, this old man will cross it for you."
"Go on."
"Go and smash this heaven... to smithereens."
The old man flicked his wrist.
And twisted hard.
*Snap—!!!*
A crisp sound rang out, shaking the wind at the South Heaven Gate.
That Ghost-Headed Execution Blade, stained with the blood of gods and immortals, disintegrated into a sky full of iron filings under the pressure of that old man's phantom fingertips, falling like black snow.
*Crack.*
The chains on Chen Huaian's body shattered inch by inch.
He slowly stood up.
As his spine straightened, the two great torrents that had been warring within his body—the resplendent immortal gold and the violent demonic black—violently collided.
Annihilation and fusion.
Silent and soundless.
The golden light extinguished, the Black Qi settled.
A murky, grayish color, like the chaos before heaven and earth separated, began to settle within Chen Huaian's muscles, bones, and blood.
*Whoosh—*
A foul-smelling wind blew past.
That head of jet-black long hair danced wildly in the wind.
One breath, half turned autumn white.
Two breaths, completely frosted with snow.
A full head of silver hair cascaded like the Silver River turned upside down, spreading across the gloomy Immortal-Slaying Platform.
The ferocious demonic patterns were gone; the sacred dragon scales had also receded.
He stood there, yet he did not seem like a man.
Nor did he seem like an immortal.
Muscle Tyrant lay sprawled in the ruins, straining to open its eyes wide to look at Chen Huaian, only to feel a sharp pain in its eyes, as if it were staring directly at a peerless, newly forged blade radiating with cold, sharp light.
The man was the sword.
The sword was the man.
Chen Huaian raised his right hand and casually grabbed at the empty air.
*Hum.*
The execution blade iron filings drifting through the air, the snapped dark red chains, even the solidified rules and grievances that had accumulated on this Immortal-Slaying Platform for ten thousand years.
At this moment, they all surged toward his palm like a hundred rivers returning to the sea.
Condense.
A sword took shape in his hand.
It had no guard, no patterns, its body a uniform gray-white. It was born from the divine sword condensed from the Heavenly Tribulation, and one could still see a third of its resemblance.
But now, it was as rough as an unpolished stone bar.
Yet, held in Chen Huaian's hand, it was the sharpest weapon in this world.
Chen Huaian lowered his head, his fingertips lightly brushing over the sword's body.
His fingertip was cut, a drop of divine blood seeping into the sword.
He smiled.
The smile was extremely faint, yet it carried a sense of clarity that had been washed clean of all superficiality.
"The sword... is sharpened."
He murmured softly.
Then he raised his eyes.
Looking toward those four Heavenly Kings whose faces were deathly pale, who couldn't even hold their treasures steady.
Those eyes were utterly indifferent.
No killing intent, no anger.
Only a calmness reserved for dealing with dead things.
"This Immortal-Slaying Platform... This Venerable One is quite satisfied with it."
Holding that sword, he stepped onto the ruins, walking forward step by step.
His full head of silver hair danced wildly behind him, tearing at the surrounding void.
"And as repayment..."
Chen Huaian's wrist turned lightly.
*Zing—*
His words shattered amidst the sword's hum.
The sea of clouds outside the South Heaven Gate was instantly sliced in two.
...