Chapter 1032 - 375: The First Sword at the Dawn of Humanity

This city is not meant for living.

It is meant for fighting...

Equivalent to a war city, it will be in a state of war every day, every moment.

It could face attacks from Life Ghosts at any time...

Yet Captain Fang, knowing such risks.

Chose to build the city there anyway...

Such determination is rare in this world.

"So..." Hu Biao’s voice breaks the silence, "My brother was dumbfounded then, and asked them, are you recruiting?"

Everyone’s ears perk up again.

Hu Biao’s face shows a trace of extreme seriousness and slowly says:

"Recruiting! Of course recruiting! If the city stands, someone has to guard it, someone has to stab the Life Ghosts!"

"But Dawn only wants one type of person."

His gaze sweeps across the room, saying slowly and firmly:

"Those willing to fight the Life Ghosts until..."

"Fight to the death!"

Mo Yan in the corner, his body shudders fiercely.

The depths of his eyes, silent for twenty years, seemingly extinguished of all flames.

Suddenly explode with a point of crimson light.

His posture remains unchanged, but the right hand under the table, resting on his knee, suddenly clenches.

The rough joints crack softly from the excessive force, turning dead white in an instant.

A long-suppressed ferocious aura uncontrollably leaks from his hunched figure.

Causing a man at the next table, just about to raise his glass, to shiver inexplicably.

Blinking confusedly as he looks around.

Fight to the death...

Mo Yan slowly unclenches his fist.

Leaving four deep, pale nail marks in his palm.

He picks up the bowl of murky cold ale in front of him, raises his head, and drains it in one go.

"Clang!"

The coarse pottery bowl is heavily placed on the greasy tabletop.

Produces a dull sound, yet doesn’t attract much attention.

The tavern still engrossed in the shocking news Hu Biao brought.

Mo Yan stands up.

The movement is somewhat stiff, even with a slight tremor.

He doesn’t even glance at the noisy crowd around him, simply pulling some crumpled bills from his pocket, casually pressing them under the bowl.

Then turns, pushing open the heavy wooden door of the shop.

The wind on the street isn’t too strong.

But still makes his thin, old coat flap incessantly.

Messes with his already unkempt gray hair.

Mo Yan hunches slightly, walking forward step by step.

His steps initially faltering, sinking deep and shallow into the thick snow.

But as he walks, his posture gradually straightens.

In the hollow of his eyes, that crimson light not only does not die down.

But burns brighter and more fiercely in the wind and snow.

Brighter and more intense.

A sensation forgotten for twenty years...

Named excitement shivering.

Climbs up along his spine.

Bites tightly onto his nerve endings.

In a corner unseen, his lips slowly curl upwards.

Finally fix into a nearly grim pattern.

"Dawn..."

...

Beyond the Arctic Great Wall.

In the deepest recesses.

This is a true forbidden zone of life.

Lead-gray heavy clouds press down like massive coffin lids on a dead silent white wilderness below.

Here, the gusts achieve ultimate freedom.

Howling endlessly.

In the center of this desperate whiteness.

A solitary peak pierces the ice cap, stubbornly pointing toward the dim firmament.

The summit is sharp as a spear, unable to retain any snow.

Right on this supreme peak.

A silhouette sits quietly.

It is Fang Qingyu.

He wears combat attire embedded with deep Star Point Tribulation Crystals.

Standing unmoved in the furious snowstorms.

Ice crystals and snowflakes madly pound on him, leaving no trace.

Immediately repelled by an invisible force field.

At this moment, Fang Qingyu has closed his eyes.

His face is serene like a lake, as if merging with the icy mountain beneath him, and this savage world.

Falling into a very mysterious state.

Just like when he first activated the Wuxiang Heart Sutra.

Entered a soul-out-of-body state.

Consciousness freed from the constraint of a heavy shell.

As if breaking free from gravity.

Hovering lightly high above this polar ice field.

Below, is an expansive boundless white desert.

Sculpted by the winds into hideous wrinkles and deep gorges.

In the distance, the dark blue Arctic Ice Sea surges, massive icebergs drifting and colliding slowly on the dim sea surface, producing a thunderous roar.

But this is not ordinary observation.

In Fang Qingyu’s current perception.

Beneath this seemingly lifeless ice field and ink sea.

Flows unimaginable filth and menace.

Sticky and dark streams, emitting nauseating decay and chaos.

In the depths of the land, under the ice cap, in the deep sea, intertwining like living blood vessels.

Slowly flowing.

This is the torrent formed by Life Ghosts.

Countless small filth lights representing Low Tier Life Ghosts.

Floating and congregating in the stream like maggots clinging to vessel walls.

Yet further south, the steel fortress Arctic Great Wall standing at the edge of the ice field.

Exists like a slender line maintaining light amid the filthy torrent.

Innumerable small but pure and resilient lights distributed across it.

These are the Transcendents.

An imposing presence grand to the point of resembling the Heavenly Dao Law.

Clearly reflecting both sides’ current situation in Fang Qingyu’s consciousness.

The sutras of the Wuxiang Heart Sutra flow silently in the heart’s lake.

Each word gleams like a star.

He contemplates himself, this world, the clash of the filth and the light.