Chapter 56

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Chapter 56: Title

Ye Linlang battled the Fire Demon while conversing with the system.

“Can creatures tainted by Abyssal aura within world fragments truly be eradicated? The experimental results suggest they might easily corrupt other normal organisms.”

【Complete elimination is possible. Once slain, the Abyssal aura will naturally be purified by the world’s laws.】

Two months prior, the system had detected an approaching world fragment. Through continuous observation, it discerned critical details—chief among them, the presence of a Tier Seven Fire Demon residing there.

Though significantly weakened, this remained a Tier Seven Fire Demon, undoubtedly the most formidable entity within that fractured realm.

Numerous Tier Three and Tier Four creatures populated the fragment, while the hordes of Tier One and Two cannon fodder reached staggering numbers.

The entire realm beyond the Bronze Door existed as Ye Linlang’s creation, where beings hovered between substance and illusion. Her previous incarnation as sword cultivator Ji Lang had carved a path from the outer regions into the heart of the domain.

The outer territories now stood cleansed of abyssal creatures, explaining why Special Bureau agents found only ashen dust upon their entry.

Yet this remained Ye Linlang’s simulated “Abyssal Gateway”—even if purged temporarily, the gateway’s persistence ensured endless regeneration of its monstrous inhabitants.

Trouble found Leng Xingwen’s group swiftly.

They’d scarcely advanced toward the light pillar when encountering a three-meter-wide river. Oval eggs drifted downstream, colliding with protruding rocks before being cast ashore.

“Eggs from aquatic life? We’ve seen no living creatures since entering,” Yang Xingyu remarked warily.

“Keep your distance—” Zou Cheng’s warning froze mid-sentence as a freshly beached egg cracked audibly.

“Hatching time?” Hu Mei leaned forward with curiosity.

“Speculation serves no purpose,” Bai Ye observed.

Web-like fractures engulfed the shell within seconds. The emerging creature—a red-and-black horror with batlike wings and oozing ichor—devoured its cradle with ravenous speed.

Its form ballooned from thirty centimeters to half-human height, exposing grotesque features: quadrupedal claws, tri-digital talons, and crimson eyes brimming with primal hostility.

“Revolting abomination,” Yang Xingyu recoiled.

Li Canghai’s knuckles whitened around his sword hilt. Upstream, countless similar eggs continued their ominous journey.

While focused on this single specimen, dozens more eggs had already hatched around them.

“The river’s egg count multiplies!” Hu Mei’s alert drew attention to swarming creatures massing along the banks.

“Form defensive ranks!” Zou Cheng commanded. Soldiers clustered at the center, flanked by cultivators—Leng Xingwen and Li Canghai forming the vanguard. Their mystical prowess offered crucial reassurance against the unknown.

“Team Leader,” a subordinate murmured, “that creature resembles ones from England’s castle livestream.”

The Kingdom of England’s broadcast remained unforgettable—the West’s first confirmed supernatural event. Subsequent analyses revealed the spectral host’s reference to “abyssal creatures.”

Their current adversaries’ resemblance to those horrors suggested infiltration of an abyssal stronghold—an unforeseen revelation that darkened Zou Cheng’s countenance. None had anticipated the Bronze Door concealing such nightmares.

“Young Master Leng, what intelligence do you possess regarding abyssal creatures?”

"What’s that?" Leng Xingwen arched an eyebrow, his long sword held steady. "The malevolent aura radiating from these abyssal creatures is overwhelming. We must retreat from this riverbank immediately."

"If we linger, escape might soon become impossible."

Zou Cheng recognized the urgency. Issuing swift commands, he directed the group toward strategic movement.

"We need defensible terrain – this open wilderness exposes us too clearly." Though correct in his assessment, Zou Cheng’s proposal presented logistical challenges.

Their motion triggered immediate reaction. The small creatures began encircling them with predatory coordination.

"They appear to underestimate us," Leng Xingwen remarked with a humorless smile, blade sliding from its scabbard as he turned to Li Canghai. "Daoist Priest Li, shall we test their resolve?"

The daoist’s combat capabilities remained mysterious since their Fusang encounter. Li Canghai inclined his head slightly. "Agreed. Theoretical training has its limits."

"This place reeks of ancient malice," Leng Xingwen declared. "The priest and I will lead the assault. Conserve your modern weapons until we gauge their effectiveness." His eyes met Zou Cheng’s in silent confirmation.

"Understood. We’ll rely on your blades, Young Master Leng and Daoist Priest Li."

Though the tier eight creatures fell easily to their swords, the horde’s endless numbers posed true danger. For every monster slain, three more emerged from glistening eggs washed ashore, combat-ready within moments.

"Reckless savagery!" Leng Xingwen spat through gritted teeth, black ichor sizzling where it struck stone. His blade traced lethal arcs through the swarm. "They embrace death like lovers."

"This strategy fails us," Li Canghai observed calmly, his robes swirling as he repositioned.

"Agreed." Leng Xingwen vaulted backward, boots scraping across shale. "Flank reinforcements! We’ll breach their formation through concentrated assault."

His gaze shifted toward the central cluster. "Status report on the Bronze Door researchers?"

The three scientists huddled within their protective circle called back, "Holding steady!"

Meanwhile, kilometers away, Ye Linlang’s blade sheared through a flaming horn. The tier seven Fire Demon staggered back, molten eyes narrowing at this audacious Practitioner.

For this ruler of the Abyssal Entrance, survival instincts warred with pride. Ye Linlang exploited its hesitation, mentally charting her companions’ perilous trajectory. A wry smile twisted her lips – the fools were charging straight into her battle path.

With calculated distraction, she allowed the demonic entity its retreat. "Wise choice," she murmured, blade finding its scabbard with finality. Her gaze tracked the distant chaos surrounding Leng Xingwen’s group.

"Showtime," the immortal Practitioner whispered. Space folded beneath her feet as she traversed kilometers in heartbeats, each step bridging vast distances no mortal could comprehend.

Leng Xingwen felt spiritual energy dwindling to critical levels. The abyssal tide showed no mercy, their numbers swelling like some terrible dark sea. For the first time in decades, cold dread slithered through his veins.

This forbidden place had exacted its price – their trespass would be paid in blood.

They were currently within the formation drawn by Feiran. With few spiritual stones remaining, even if they channeled spiritual energy to sustain the formation, once drained, they’d all become prey for the abyssal creatures outside.

"You’re injured," Feiran observed, his brow furrowing at the blood staining Leng Xingwen’s white robes, particularly the darkening patch on his shoulder.

"Merely a bite."

"With the wound blackening, you call this ‘merely’?" After inspecting the injury, Feiran pressed an antidote medicinal pill into his palm. "Take this now. We can’t afford complications later."

The wound originated from Leng Xingwen’s clash with a tier-three abyssal creature that had ambushed them from the horde. Had he not intercepted it swiftly, the entire formation might’ve collapsed – a catastrophe surpassing their current predicament.

Their companions tended wounds nearby, having exhausted ammunition and resorted to bare-handed combat. Though the soldiers were elite, they barely managed to overpower unranked abyssal creatures through coordinated assaults.

The formation’s glow dimmed steadily.

"Spiritual Energy regenerates too slowly here," Leng Xingwen concluded after meditation, vindicated in his earlier conservation efforts.

Clutching spiritual stones, Feiran suddenly declared, "A realm breakthrough could let me instantaneously draft a teleportation formation."

"Forced ascension? You’d risk self-destruction!" Leng Xingwen objected vehemently.

"Have you better alternatives?"

Silence answered. This realm defied all their knowledge.

A white speck materialized before them suddenly – silver-edged robes fluttering, jade blossoms coiled around her sword’s hilt. The White Sword Cultivator’s identity needed no introduction.

Her blade cleared its scabbard in a single fluid motion. A flash of sword light reduced every abyssal creature to pale, bone-like ash drifting through air before settling as dust. The abrupt annihilation left the group breathless, hearts pounding.

While Leng Xingwen’s party maintained composure, Zou Cheng’s men trembled. The ash beneath their boots now bore grim significance – these same particles might have once been their pursuers.

Li Canghai stood transfixed, the sword’s afterimage burning in his mind, whispering secrets of newfound comprehension.

"How did you trespass here?!"

The White Sword Cultivator’s voice shattered the silence like glacial thunder. Crushing pressure flattened most to their knees, the surviving formation crumbling completely. Feiran choked blood as spiritual backlash hit.

Leng Xingwen caught him, fingers darting across vital points while channeling stabilizing energy. "Senior, spare the mortals!" he implored, back bowed but voice steady.

Her frown deepened as she withdrew the pressure with a flicked wrist. Leng Xingwen exhaled – his gamble on her reasonableness had held. Around them, soldiers rose shakily from the ash-coated ground.

"Xingyu," he commanded as the cultivator’s gaze swept over them, "support Feiran."

"Leave it to me," Yang Xingyu affirmed with a nod.

Leng Xingwen’s long sword shimmered into a folding fan that vanished into his sleeve. After adjusting his disheveled robes, he executed a near-perfect ninety-degree bow accompanied by an intricate hand sign.

Feiran’s eyes narrowed in recognition – this was the Ancient Ceremony.

"Junior Leng Xingwen pays respects to the venerable elder."

The group stared in astonishment. Never had Leng Xingwen displayed such deference since his emergence. This White Sword Cultivator commanded extraordinary respect.

The Practicioner’s stern expression softened marginally at the gesture, though her brow remained partly furrowed. "Leng family scion," she intoned, "explain this trespass."

Leng Xingwen had gambled on the obsolete ritual’s recognition, never expecting her to acknowledge both the ceremony and his lineage. With their power disparity, deception proved futile – complete honesty became their only recourse.

He recounted their entire journey, from the broken formation to disturbing the Bronze Door.

"When the barrier shattered days prior," the White Sword Cultivator’s voice turned glacial, "I sensed the formation’s collapse. But to meddle with the Bronze Door? Such audacity!" Her features hardened like carved jade.

Zou Cheng suppressed his discomfort at Leng Xingwen’s thorough confession. Facing this primordial force, even he would struggle to withhold truths. Survival depended on transparency beneath her piercing gaze.

"Destroying formations, damaging the Bronze Seal – do you court death?" Her words rang with finality, like a blade leaving its scabbard.

"We beg forgiveness and offer restitution," Zou Cheng interjected with a deep bow.

"Foolishness!" Her laughter carried winter’s bite. "When the seal fails, Abyssal Evil Beings will swarm through the Nine Provinces. What restitution matches that catastrophe?"

Zou Cheng realized with chilling clarity – neither the Special Bureau nor Zhongxia itself held meaning for her. Only the valley’s formations mattered, and containing the abyssal creatures.

"The Formation Path practitioner shall mend what he broke." The White Sword Cultivator’s gaze pinned Feiran as spatial energy engulfed them.

They materialized beneath open skies, injuries confirming their ordeal hadn’t been some collective dream.

"Team Leader Zou! What transpired-" The waiting team froze mid-step at the White Sword Cultivator’s glacial presence.

She surveyed the once-silent valley now teeming with personnel and strange devices. Her lips thinned in disapproval.

Ignoring his wounds, Leng Xingwen approached the Practicioner. Remembering his promise, he gestured toward Feiran. "Senior, Ziqing never intended-"

Her oppressive aura had diminished outdoors, like a sheathed sword masquerading as hairpin jewelry. A dangerous illusion, Leng Xingwen realized – only fools would mistake diminished radiance for extinguished flames.

"I know, it was the Special Bureau that ordered him."

"Out of curiosity – you’ve already said that once. Though I may be older, I haven’t gone deaf or senile yet," she retorted coldly, cutting off Leng Xingwen with an abrupt gesture.

"Since you’re all gathered here today, I’ll make matters clear."

The White Sword Cultivator’s voice carried restrained irritation. After safeguarding this valley for a millennium, he never anticipated intruders breaching not just the outer valley’s formations but damaging the inner valley’s ancient seals.

"The Bronze Door embodies primordial seals guarding an entrance to a foreign rift. When its defenses weakened over a thousand years ago, they required urgent reinforcement."

"To deter trespassers, cultivators of that era combined their powers to establish boundary seals around the valley."

"I am Ji Lang – guardian of this place for a thousand flawless years. The Awakening of Spiritual Energy has disrupted Kunlun’s dragon vein, creating fissures in the seals through which Abyssal aura now leaks."

"The centennial massacre cycle had to be accelerated due to these geological upheavals, hence my absence from the valley’s perimeter. You exploited those minute fractures to forcibly tear a spatial rift."

"Let me be unequivocal: your reckless actions have destabilized the seals. This gate can contain the threat for six months at most. Beyond that, abyssal creatures will flood our world."

The torrent of revelations – abyssal horrors, foreign rifts, primordial seals – struck the assembly like thunderbolts, their minds struggling to process the fantastical truths.

"Is there truly no way to prevent this?" Zou Cheng blurted out.

By heaven’s grace, what folly had they wrought? Visions of innumerable monstrosities spilling through the gate haunted him – catastrophe for the Nine Provinces, perhaps the entire world.

Ji Lang’s silence lingered like gathering stormclouds.

"When ancient deities sealed our realm’s connections to foreign dimensions millennia past, this particular Abyssal gateway had already grown unstable – its prisoners straining against their bonds."

"Six hundred years ago when the seals first faltered, I compelled the emperor to sever the dragon vein. Deprived of Spiritual Energy, the Abyssal Evil Beings ceased their assaults."

"Now with Spiritual Energy’s resurgence and the dragon vein reawakened, the Heavenly Order’s ascension drives these fiends to daily batter the seals. My original century-long projection for the seals’ endurance now collapses into mere months."

"Six months marks our final grace period. I who’ve stood watch for ten centuries see no solution – what hope have you fledgling cultivators?"

"We can reinforce the seals as our ancestors did!" Zou Cheng declared impulsively.

Ji Lang’s bitter laugh echoed through the chamber. "Find me ninety-nine Tier Seven Practitioners willing to become living mortar for the seals, or equivalent tier-seven treasures. Only then might reinforcement succeed."

The assembly’s collective breath caught. Every cultivator present knew the Special Bureau’s rankings – Tier Seven stood beyond mortal reach. Hope died in their eyes.

"Reinforcement remains impossible, and resealing requires divine intervention. Abandon such fantasies."

"If both options are futile, why detain Feiran?"

"He shattered the valley’s barrier. Shouldn’t he craft its replacement? Unless you prefer no defense when the hordes emerge."

Zou Cheng stepped forward, jaw clenched. "Senior, let us handle the external defenses. This calamity is our doing – we must atone."

Ji Lang regarded him without mockery. "Your technology impresses, but comprehend this: when seals fail, our world will collide with the Abyssal plane, birthing countless spatial rifts."

"Through every crack shall pour the Abyssal Evil Beings."

Pallor spread through the crowd as apocalyptic visions took root.

"My humble skills only prevailed against formations weathered by millennia. I fear I’m unworthy to assist," Feiran confessed, remorse weighting each word.

"Your cultivation lacks refinement," Ji Lang acknowledged. "Yet your ability to breach ancient formations reveals talent in the Formation Path. Study this scroll – its defensive array suits your capabilities."

Mid-tier two cultivation – "lacking refinement" proved generous indeed. Feiran knew the gulf between himself and the ancient formation masters yawned like an abyss.

A farce appeared to conclude, yet this was merely the prelude.

With the Abyss’s entrance rooted here, even if eruptions occurred elsewhere in six months, none would match the horror unfolding at this epicenter.

Humanity must inevitably pay for their insatiable curiosity – only through such lessons would they grow wiser. Ye Linlang stood atop the valley’s peak, observing the endless stream of supplies snaking through the terrain below.

A military perimeter now encircled the gorge, Zhongxia’s desperate attempt to mitigate impending catastrophe. Their error, their burden to bear.

A faint smile played on Ye Linlang’s lips. While she couldn’t dictate where the falling world fragments would anchor, she could fracture them with countless portals – pressure valves to prevent Abyssal-tainted hordes from converging.

All creatures corrupted by the Abyssal aura deserved annihilation. She might spare native lifeforms, but those from the shattered fragment? Already transformed into crimson-marked abyssal creatures in this deadly game.

Blue Star’s players needed no provocation – these monsters would hunt them relentlessly. Thus, preemptive strikes became essential. The system’s mandate was clear: devour the fragment by purging ninety percent of its twisted life.

Eastern preparations neared completion. Time to awaken the west. As Blue Star’s twin titans, Zhongxia and America would share the brunt of Abyssal-corrupted fragments equally.

Smaller nations would receive token incursions – a channel or two to spread the plague thinly, yet comprehensively.

*

In America’s halls of power, officials chewed their lips raw over Obias County’s transformation into a Ghost City.

Satan’s wrath incarnate.

When Hades descended, death’s stench hung thick. Streets teemed with unquiet spirits while few living breaths remained. "Satan’s repentance in the river of the dead proves inadequate," Hades thundered. "The Father God shall hear of this."

Somewhere in the underworld, Satan’s spine iced over.

The county’s heart drowned in the realm of the dead’s black mist until Hades swept his sleeve, vacuuming the gloom into his voluminous drapery. Sunlight pierced through, its golden spears impaling exposed undead.

Flesh sizzled, bones liquefied – purification through celestial fire.

Modern Reapers materialized before Hades, their tailored suits contrasting with soul-binding tablets and ledgers. "Your Majesty," they chorused, "shall we harvest all?"

A grunt of assent.

The mist’s dissipation triggered urgent alarms in Chua-T’s White House before analysts could process satellite feeds. Zombies vanished like nightmares at dawn, leaving hollow-eyed survivors – two-thirds of the population erased.

Hell’s sulfurous corridors echoed with Mammon’s inquiry: "Wherefore is Lord Lucifer?"

"The Dark Abyss demands his presence."

Even demons blanched at that accursed name. None but Lucifer dared approach that all-consuming void where lesser fiends became extensions of its hunger.

Mammon’s brow furrowed. "What stirs in the Abyss?"

"Uncertain," came the uneasy reply. "But His Majesty’s urgency suggests… disturbances."

Through the underworld’s shadows, a plaintive cry echoed as Hades passed the stygian waters: "Brother! How long must I languish here?"

"Wait until I clean up this disaster you created," Hades declared.

Days later, as Osiris journeyed back through the river of the dead from the human realm, the voice of his youngest brother reached him.

"Second Brother! You’ve finally returned! Our eldest trapped me here for days!" Satan whined pitifully.

"Your actions were inexcusable this time. No wonder Hades confined you here," Osiris sighed, having heard of America’s turmoil even during his duties in Egypt.

The staggering death toll had shaken humanity, forcing mortals to face divine wrath for the first time.

"It wasn’t intentional! Those humans provoked me first!" Satan hissed through clenched teeth.

"Release me, Second Brother. I’ll apologize properly to Hades."

"Truly?"

"On my honor! I still have tasks from Father God to complete," Satan replied with affected meekness. Regardless of Hades’ anger, their divine father’s will must prevail.

Osiris’ resolve softened at his brother’s contrite manner. With a wave, he dissolved the divine spell Hades had woven across the dark waters.

A black-haired youth erupted from the river, launching himself at Osiris.

"Thank you! You’re the best, Second Brother!"

"Off to see Hades now—"

Before Osiris could respond, Satan disengaged from their embrace and vanished into the shadows.

Hades sensed the broken enchantment immediately. "That fool Osiris," he muttered, sorting through celestial reports stacked taller than his throne.

"Brother!" Satan materialized with theatrical remorse. "My impulsiveness caused unnecessary burdens. I beg forgiveness."

The Underworld ruler arched an eyebrow at his brother’s performance. A millennium in the Styx seemed lenient compared to the administrative nightmare Satan’s rampage had caused.

"Control your temper. Father God won’t tolerate further disruptions."

"Understood!" Satan bobbed his head like a cormorant snapping at fish.

"Perhaps I could assist…" Satan trailed off, eyeing the mountainous paperwork.

"Your ‘help’ would double my workload." Hades flicked his brother’s forehead. "Leave governance to those capable of focus."

Satan needed no further dismissal. "Then I’ll attend Father’s business!" He vanished before Hades could object.

The month’s grace period had expired – time to retrieve that wandering spirit as promised.

Kingdom of England

Waylin’s teacup clattered in its saucer as sudden dread gripped her.

"Merlinka?" The elf leaned forward in concern. "You’ve gone pale."

"Merely fatigue," Waylin lied, her spectral form flickering.

Black mist coalesced into an impatient youth brandishing a curved sickle. "Your time’s up, spirit."

Merlinka instinctively shielded her friend. "Stay back!"

Satan’s laughter chilled the air. "An elf defying death’s lord? Your kind answers to me eventually."

Recognition dawned on Merlinka – this was the Underworld sovereign Myers had warned about.

"Waylin stays." The elf’s voice trembled despite her defiance.

"All souls bow to my realm," Satan purred, sickle gleaming. "Interfere, and you’ll join her prematurely."

"Peace, Merlinka." Waylin phased through her protector. "I accepted this fate."

"Wisdom at last." Satan’s weapon dissolved. "The Underworld awaits."

His grasp closed around Waylin’s wrist. As shadows swallowed them, Merlinka’s anguished cry echoed through the empty chamber:

"WAYLIN—"