Chapter 601 - 372: Aftermath(Extra Chap)

Cold, howling mountain winds tore through the shattered ravine, carrying the sharp, bitter stench of ozone, pulverized rock, and scorched flesh.

Haoran gasped, his eyelids snapping open as consciousness violently re-anchored into his physical vessel.

The cosmic silence of his cleansed spiritual sea vanished, instantly replaced by the raw, bruising agony of reality.

The grotesque, rubbery tentacles that had sprouted from his flank had dissolved into grey ash, the weeping, lidless eyes along his arms had closed and withered, and the toothed maws embedded in his ribs had sealed back into smooth, unblemished skin.

His hair fell loose, shining like spun gold under the pale, dust-veiled sun, and his unblinking eyes returned to their deep, radiant pools of imperial celestial amber.

Yet the moment his vision cleared, the air seized in his lungs.

He found Huo Yue hugging him, still unconscious and bleeding.

Her slender, limp frame was draped over him like a broken bird, her forehead resting against the curve of his neck.

Her once radiant crimson hair hung limp, matted with sweat, dirt, and clotted black gore.

Her arms, though completely devoid of strength, remained instinctively hooked behind his neck, her cold, trembling fingers tangled into the frayed silk of his collar.

And straight through her sternum—piercing between her fragile ribs, punching through her spiritual core, and protruding out through the torn fabric of her back—was the pitch-black, obsidian steel of Azathoth.

The blade was still slick with her vital heart blood.

The dark, necrotic sludge that had leaked from the sword had ceased its violent writhing, but it clung to the perimeter of the wound like clotted tar, the edges of her fair skin pale, blackened, and cold as marble.

Her breathing was so faint, so shallow and ragged, that it barely stirred the torn fabric of his collar.

Her heartbeat was a dying, desperate flutter beneath her ribs.

A terrifying, suffocating chill clamped down around Haoran’s chest as the unyielding arrogance that had defined his soul cracked, revealing a deep, bottomless abyss of raw, silent dread.

She had flown directly into the jaws of a primordial nightmare, shoved her hands into the teeth of an outer god, and allowed his own blade to hollow out her chest, all to pull his drowning soul from the dark.

He willed Azathoth to vanish.

Shk.

The dark Tang Dao dissolved into a cloud of harmless black embers, slipping from her flesh without tearing another fiber of her muscle.

As the steel vanished, a sudden, heavy spray of dark crimson spilled over his chest, her head slumping forward against his shoulder as her life force threatened to slip into the void.

Haoran didn’t hesitate for a fraction of an instant.

His spatial ring flared with a frantic, blinding golden pulse as he immediately took out a pill and forced it down to Huo Yue.

The medicine that materialized between his fingers was not an ordinary healing pill; it was a Nine Revolving Primordial Life Restoration Pill, a divine relic treasured within the deepest vaults of the Shen Clan’s ancestral halls, forged from the distilled marrow of a primeval green dragon and nine thousand year celestial lotus nectar.

The pill radiated a warm, blinding solar halo that cut through the stench of death in the ravine, smelling of fresh mountain rain and blooming plum blossoms.

Haoran’s fingers parted her blood-stained lips with urgent, trembling gentleness, pushing the golden pearl deep past her tongue.

He pressed his palm against her throat, his own refined spiritual energy surging forward like a warm river to guide the essence down her esophagus.

BOOM!

The divine pill detonated inside her stomach like a miniature, life giving star, and a boundless, emerald gold wave of pure ancestral vitality exploded through her torn meridians, and her injuries healed instantly!

The gaping, blackened puncture wound through her sternum hissed violently as the lingering necrotic rot was sterilized and incinerated into fine white steam.

Fresh, vibrant muscle fibers, pink marrow, and shattered ribs knitted together with clean, rapid snaps visible to the naked eye.

Her punctured lungs expanded, smooth, porcelain pale skin sealing over the wound without leaving even a faint white scar.

Her jagged spiritual channels smoothed out, drinking in the dense dragon essence like parched earth absorbing a summer deluge.

Although she was still unconscious, her breathing deepened, shifting from a weak, dying rattle into a steady, rhythmic slumber, a soft flush of pink returning to her pale cheeks.

The agonizing strain that had twisted her brow melted away into peaceful exhaustion, her head nestling deeper into the crook of his neck.

Haoran let out a long, ragged breath that shuddered through his teeth.

Moving with an uncharacteristic, tender delicacy, he slid his right arm beneath her knees and his left arm securely around her waist, lifting her against his chest in a firm princess carry.

He adjusted the tattered remnants of his black and gold cloak around her slender shoulders, shielding her sleeping face from the biting wind.

He kicked off the cracked bedrock of the ravine, rising into the sky like a soaring dragon, and flew away.

The wind screamed past his ears, tearing at his golden hair as he climbed above the rugged mountain peaks, putting distance between them and the ruin they had left in their wake.

Yet, as he reached the crest of the southern mountain range, he stopped.

Hovering in the freezing air of the upper firmament, Haoran turned towards the Sky Reaching City that was set in flames because of Huo Yue.

Leagues away, across the sweeping basin, the sight was nothing short of an earthly purgatory.

The colossal miniature sun Huo Yue had gathered from the celestial heavens had fallen down the city.

Even though the city lord had mobilized his invincibility to shelter the inner palace and the central districts, the outer territories had been engulfed in an ocean of multi-colored, apocalyptic fire.

The towering walls of celestial iron were warped, sagging, and melting into burning hot rivers of bubbling slag.

Hundreds of thousands of civilian dwellings, merchant pavilions, and training fields were swallowed by raging, roaring tempests of crimson, emerald, gold, and white flame.

Black, oily smoke billowed tens of thousands of feet into the bruised firmament, turning the midday sky into an angry, ash-choked dusk.

Even from this immense distance, the dull, roaring thunder of collapsing pagodas and the distant, agonizing wails of trapped cultivators drifted upon the draft like the lamentations of a dying empire.

Haoran narrowed his eyes.

There was no pity on his face, no remorse for the millions of lives burning in that basin, nor was there any petty joy of vengeance.

There was only a chilling, calculating stillness, the cold, unshakeable realization that Lin Yun was a true anomaly even amongst protagonist.

A man who was quite literally invincible, crushed his inner world, matched his blade, and forced his woman to the brink of death.

Even now, Haoran still has no idea how to beat that guy aside from Azathoth, but Azathoth was comple unreliable.

He didn’t say anything.

He tightened his arms around Huo Yue, pulling her closer against his beating heart, turned his back on the burning city, and flew away, his silhouette vanishing into the distant cloud line as he made haste toward the Falling Blossom Villa.

*

*

*

In Sky Reaching City.

The scent of burning flesh, melted metal, and scorched stone was thick enough to choke a dragon.

Lin Yun stood atop the highest observation terrace of his central palace.

The white marble balustrade beneath his boots was cracked and black with soot, the protective array banners that once fluttered with proud azure runes now hanging in charred, smoldering tatters.

Lin Yun’s expression darkened as he looked at his burning city.

His robes were covered in grime, his hair disheveled, and his knuckles clenched so tightly that his pale skin bruised beneath his fingernails.

For centuries, since the day his system established this invincible sanctuary, he had lived as an untouchable god.

He had lounged on his thrones, fed on sweet grapes by beautiful disciples, and looked down upon the Twelve Immortal Sects and the ancient clans as mere insects waiting to be harvested.

He was invincible.

He was supreme.

Yet today, a mere woman had dropped a miniature sun from outside his domain, turning eighty percent of his sprawling outer metropolis into a blazing funeral pyre, while that golden-haired demon had infected his territory with an unspeakable, sanity-rotting madness.

His teeth ground together with a harsh, grating crunch, his bloodshot eyes reflecting the inferno devouring the outer rings.

"Shen Haoran..."

Lin Yun whispered the name through clenched teeth, his voice trembling with a venomous, unbridled hatred that seemed to curdle the air around his lips.

"You think you can come into my backyard, slaughter my people, burn my city, and walk away clean?! I swear by the heavens and the earth, I will make you and those related to you, suffer! I will tear down your Boundless Sky City stone by stone! I will slaughter your immortal gamers until they beg for permanent death, drag your women to my feet in iron chains, and grind your proud Shen Clan into dog food!"

WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!

The air above the shattered palace terrace fractured.

Just then, seven figures dropped down from the sky and landed behind him.

The seven individuals struck the soot covered marble in unison, their heavy armor clattering against the stone as they dropped to one knee, lowering their heads in profound, trembling deference.

They were the Seven Guardians of Sky Reaching City, the most loyal subordinates of Lin Yun.

Each of them was at Late Stage to Peak Nirvana Rebirth Realm experts who had sworn blood oaths to the City Lord, men and women who had watched him display miraculous, god-like feats time and time again, elevating their loyalty to the level of religious worship.

Yet today, even their hardened, fanatic composure was completely shattered.

The first to speak was Commander Zhao, the leader of the seven, a burly giant clad in heavy black iron armor that was warped and dented by heat, his broad face smeared with grey soot and fresh burns.

His voice shook with suppressed grief and raw exhaustion.

"City Lord! The Seven Battalions have executed your emergency containment decree! We... we have saved as many people as we could from the outer quarters, but... but the fire was out of this world! It was a fusion of five celestial Heavenly Flames, and no matter what we do, we can barely do anything about it!"

Another guardian had his head dropped lower, his iron gauntlet scraping into the marble floorboards as he delivered the grim casualty report.

"The southern and eastern residential sectors are completely gone. The heat vaporized the protective wards before the evacuation formations could fully engage. Over six hundred thousand natives, artisans, and mortal laborers perished in the first wave of fire. The spiritual iron smelters, the seventy two auxiliary grain silos, and the primary beast taming paddocks were reduced to boiling slag in less than ten breaths. The spatial transport array connecting our trade hubs to the northern provinces has collapsed into a dead spatial void."

Behind him, a female guardian dressed in scorched silver leather, her arm wrapped in blood-soaked linen, added her hoarse, trembling voice.

"The survivors in the shelters are descending into madness, City Lord. The black smoke... the strange, oily residue that that golden-haired youth unleashed before he was blasted away... it seeped into the underground tunnels. Hundreds of our wounded guards are clawing at their own faces, screaming about weeping eyes and bone flutes in the dark. Our physicians cannot cleanse the corruption with standard purifying draughts. The entire lower city is an open tomb."

All other guardians remained silent, their shoulders trembling beneath their charred cloaks, waiting for their invincible master’s fury to detonate.

They knew his temper; they expected him to execute commanders, to curse the heavens, or to order an immediate, suicidal march on the Imperial Academy.

Lin Yun frowned, staring out over the boundless sea of orange flames and rising black plumes that consumed his empire.

The wind blew a hot, stinging gust across the terrace, carrying the smell of charred flesh and the distant, agonizing weeping of widows and orphans huddled within the inner sanctuary.

His chest rose and fell in a heavy, labored cadence, his hands trembling as he stared at the ruin of what had taken him years to construct.

Then, after a long, suffocating silence that stretched like taut bowstrings, Lin Yun let out a long, heavy breath.

The violent, hysterical rage in his eyes did not vanish, but it receded into a cold, dark, and terrifying stillness.

He turned around, his loose blue sleeves fluttering against the draft, looking down upon his seven kneeling guardians with an unreadable, hardened expression.

"Stand up, all of you."

His voice was surprisingly calm, smooth and quiet, devoid of the wild shouting they had anticipated.

Commander Zhao and the six guardians blinked, looking up through their grimy bangs in hesitation before slowly rising to their feet, keeping their hands clasped respectfully before their chests.

"It doesn’t matter," Lin Yun said softly, his gaze sweeping over the charred battlements toward the burning horizon. "A city is merely bricks, timber, and iron. Arrays can be reinscribed, and walls can be reforged from the mountains."

He took a slow step toward the edge of the terrace, looking down at the tens of thousands of terrified survivors who were crowding into the inner courtyards beneath the invisible, inviolable dome of his primary domain—the people who had survived solely because his invincibility had sheltered the ground beneath their feet.

A cold, cruel smirk gradually returned to the corner of his lips, dangerous and dripping with absolute certainty.

"As long as people still live, we can rebuild this city once again."

He raised his right hand, his fingers clenching into a tight, immovable fist against the burning sky.

"Let Shen Haoran run back to his villa. Let him tend to his dying woman and celebrate his petty survival. He thinks he won today because he scorched my walls. But he doesn’t realize that in this world, those who challenge an invincible god only delay their execution. Consolidate the survivors, seal the inner gates, and clear the ash. When the smoke clears and our armies march, we will build our new city upon the bones of the Shen Clan."