Chapter 30: A Deadly Night Fight

The blazing fire-sword cleaved down, tearing through the lingering mist, shattering Tania’s uncoalesced Origin Energy, and even splitting her neck, chest, and waist.

From the horrific wounds, no blood flowed; only continuously burning flames, as if Tania’s body had turned into smoldering wood.

Tania’s eyes were filled with terror. She raised her broken hand, attempting to block Sirian’s advance, but he severed it with a single swing of his sword.

The severed arm fell to the ground, no longer able to bleed.

As Sirian took another step forward, attempting to end Tania’s life, Tania’s wounds extinguished.

The charred flesh disappeared, replaced by densely growing, blood-red mycelial threads, like large patches of granulation tissue, slowly stitching Tania’s wounds closed.

“Haha, I knew you wouldn’t let me die here!”

Tania noticed the changes in her body and screamed manically, “Mother, I have recorded the power of that Scarlet Blazing Sun. We will…”

Something had arrived.

A power similar to the Scarlet Blazing Sun, incredibly ugly and sinister, descended.

A giant hand formed of countless mycelial threads reached out from the grey mist. It grabbed Tania’s body, dragging her into the darkness, and she vanished.

Sirian attempted to pursue, but newly appearing fiends blocked his path. By the time he had killed these troublesome creatures, nothing remained except the severed arm he had cut off.

On Tania’s severed limb, that pale arm, Sirian saw a tattoo.

A pitch-black, sharp claw drawn with messy lines.

Just then, another stream of fire struck from afar. It raced along the darkness, encircling the surviving people, drawing a massive circle that encompassed everyone.

Sirian turned his head to look, and in the raging sea of fire, a familiar figure was striding forward.

“Teacher!”

Sirian exclaimed excitedly.

Nun’s return was undoubtedly a powerful shot in the arm.

He walked quickly towards Nun, then slowly, he stopped.

The swirling firelight fully illuminated the shadows on Nun, allowing everyone to finally see his current condition.

What a tragic injury it was.

A long, narrow wound sliced open Nun’s head, his scalp peeled back, and one eye was blind. There was also a slender wound on his neck, extending to his chest; if it had shifted slightly, it would have been enough to sever Nun’s head.

He held his sword in his right hand, while his left arm hung limply. Several fingers were gone, and his forearm was covered in honeycomb-like wounds, with dense holes deep enough to reveal bone, festering and oozing pus.

These wounds, at first glance, were shocking, yet not a single drop of blood seeped out. Only a faint, ash-like light flickered within the wounds, emitting a strange aura like smoldering wood.

Sirian’s gaze shifted downwards; spreading blood had soaked Nun’s clothes.

A supremely sharp short dagger was mercilessly embedded in Nun’s abdomen. Where the blade touched, the flesh did not turn into blazing light or emit the faint glow of ash as it usually would.

The power of the dagger forcefully suppressed Nun’s Origin Energy transformation, inflicting real physical damage upon him.

It was deeply plunged into his flesh, and blood slowly dripped along the sharp blade, making a dull yet clear “drip-drop” sound, like the countdown of Death, echoing in the silence.

“Teacher…”

“There’s no need to pursue that Star Gazers. She has already left.”

Nun said in a low voice, “The master of the Deathbird is a newly born, unrecorded evil. As for the evil Tania serves, from my rough perception, it should be the Fungal Mother who has long since fallen into madness.”

“The Chaos Evils are not a monolithic entity; they often attack each other… The Fungal Mother’s followers seemingly assisted the Deathbird in acquiring the Torch Holy Blood, but in reality, it should have been to gain more intelligence about that Scarlet Blazing Sun.”

Nun suddenly fell silent mid-sentence, glancing at the surviving crowd, his weary face unreadable.

“Only these people are left?”

Sirian took a deep breath and replied, “Yes… I’m sorry, I…”

“You’ve done very well, Sirian.”

Nun interrupted Sirian, “This calamity came because of me; I am the one who should be blaming myself.”

“Teacher, we still have a chance.”

Sirian stated his plan, “Don’t we still have many soul marrow reserves? Those should be enough to get through this night.”

Nun shook his head, raising boiling sword to point at the burning wreckage.

“Didn’t you notice that the remaining soul marrow in the Beacon Lighthouse failed to ignite?”

He sighed softly, “All that soul marrow has been corrupted.”

The evil power summoned by the Deathbird had utterly destroyed White Cliff Town’s Beacon Lighthouse.

Under Tania’s sacrifice, whenever a townsfolk died and mutated into a terrifying fiend, the Chaos Evils would let out a satisfied laugh, allowing the power of Chaos to permeate the land.

“This was a premeditated attack; the power of Chaos has corrupted everything that can be corrupted.”

Sirian was stunned.

Lowering his head, he then noticed that the land had completely changed, presenting a strange greyish-white appearance. When he dug into the soil with his sword, the plant roots were rotten, and insects curled up, utterly lifeless.

If someone had opened the warehouse at that moment, they would have found it filled with high-concentration grey mist, and the stored soul marrow would have long since lost its original properties under the corruption of Chaos.

“soul marrow can only resist the power of Chaos when it burns.”

Nun swung boiling sword, severing his own limp left arm with one strike. Amidst the shocked gazes of the crowd, he threw the severed limb into the burning wreckage.

He said weakly, “This hand is useless anyway; it might as well burn for a bit at the end.”

The severed limb sizzled as it burned in the flames. Immediately after, a pure white light continuously ascended, pushing away the encroaching grey mist.

Tim looked at Nun’s dying appearance, his eyes welling up, but he knew he had no time for sorrow.

“Everyone, come over!”

Tim gathered the survivors, who all moved closer to the wreckage of the Beacon Lighthouse.

Fortunately, Nun appeared in time. Just as Tim led his group close to the firelight, the torch in his hand completely extinguished.

Mick stood by the survivors, dealing with potential crises alongside Tim, while Sirian walked towards Nun, helping to support the old, broken body.

“Indeed, maintaining White Cliff Town with my strength alone was still too difficult,” Nun murmured to himself, “Perhaps I should have stayed there with Captain Frey and the others. Perhaps someone else could have revived the Yang Kui Clan…”

Sirian said with grief and indignation, “No, Teacher, you have done well enough.”

If Nun had not arrived, White Cliff Town might have been destroyed in an Origin Energy tide decades ago, and throughout history, countless lands like White Cliff Town have vanished into darkness.

Nun’s cloudy gaze gradually cleared, his confusion and unease disappearing, replaced by a hardness and coldness like steel.

“This dagger possesses the power of Chaos; it has affected me.”

Nun broke free from countless chaotic, self-reproaching fantasies, becoming the figure Sirian was familiar with once again.

“I lost my composure a bit.”

He gritted his teeth and pulled out the dagger embedded in his abdomen, bringing with it a stream of dark, contaminated blood.

The dagger clattered to the ground, having exhausted its power and turned into an ordinary object.

Sirian said nervously, “Teacher, your wound!”

“It’s nothing, just some Chaos corruption that hindered my power.”

Nun glanced at the wound on his abdomen. The flesh was blackened and festering, just like his severed arm earlier, showing a honeycomb-like corrosive mark.

He broke free from Sirian’s support and warned him.

“Grip your sword!”

After speaking, Nun once again brandished boiling sword. A scorching wind howled past, pushing away the grey mist and sweeping away the fiends. Their figures spontaneously combusted, one by one disintegrating into ashes that filled the sky.

But when the scorching wind reached the edge of the darkness, it seemed to hit an invisible wall, shattering and dissipating.

Footsteps approached.

The Deathbird gradually emerged from the darkness. Like Nun, he was severely wounded.

A wound extended from the left side of the Deathbird’s mouth, tearing all the way to his earlobe, almost ripping his entire jaw apart. His right shoulder had completely collapsed, and the joints of his entire right arm were twisted and deformed.

A deep sword mark remained on his chest—a fatal blow from Nun that had almost pierced the Deathbird’s heart.

Without any warning, the two once again drew their swords against each other.

They were both at the end of their rope; their speed was much slower than before, at least Sirian could track their movements with his naked eye.

The Deathbird summoned endless grey mist, like gusts of cold wind, repeatedly attacking Nun, but no matter how much it blew and rained, the flames on Nun never extinguished.

The mist tide suddenly twisted, once again assailing the survivors. Nun decisively turned and swung his sword, sending a wave of flames to intercept it.

But at that moment, the Deathbird suddenly accelerated towards Nun, his palm grotesquely mutated, bone proliferating, turning his five fingers into sharp bone spikes.

As the flame wave cleaved through the mist tide, the two figures collided.

“How much longer can you last, old man?”

The Deathbird mocked loudly, “If you had given up on these people from the start, perhaps I really would have died by your hand, but unfortunately, you are a weakling!”

“Torchbearers were born to illuminate others,” Nun retorted unceremoniously, “Becoming an oathbreaker like you is the true weakness!”

Before the bone spikes could touch Nun, they were uniformly chopped off by boiling sword.

“Born at the beginning? That was an age ago,” the Deathbird said indifferently, “Only old men like you cling to the vows of the old era.”

The Deathbird suddenly raised his hand, and the ground was covered with a layer of frost; all the ashes floating in the air froze solid.

Sirian couldn’t clearly see the exact trajectory of the power, only inferring its direction and speed by the spread of the frost.

He was about to make an evasive move when he saw Nun standing still. Just as he was about to urge him, he realized that behind Nun were the burning wreckage and the survivors.

If Nun were to move aside, the flames would be extinguished, and the grey mist would consume everything; no one would survive.

Nun raised boiling sword, and the restless Origin Energy and soul marrow clashed with the invisible cold current. The two forces intertwined and mixed, triggering a rapidly spreading storm that leveled the surrounding area.

Sirian was not in the area of the power clash, but he was still affected by the storm, and only by thrusting his sword into the ground could he stabilize himself.

Tens of seconds later, everything returned to calm. Nun still stood like a high wall before the survivors, blocking the Deathbird outside.

Nun’s tower-like stance deeply shocked Sirian, but immediately after, blood gushed from Nun’s abdomen. Every counterattack he made was burning his remaining life force.

“Teacher, you…”

Before Sirian could finish, Nun calmly stated, “Even if only one person survives, it’s enough.”

Nun had personally witnessed the demise of his clan and was powerless to revive it. For nearly a century, the guilt of being the last one had almost crushed him.

The people of White Cliff Town were Nun’s reason for enduring, and his self-redemption.

Nun could die, but he could not lose.

Blazing flames erupted from the dark wounds, and Nun once again transformed into the enraged Flame Demon. Wherever he went, the air twisted from the high temperature, leaving burning footprints on the ground.

boiling sword blazed, its might resplendent!

The Deathbird was not to be outdone; endless grey mist coiled around him, forming a cocoon.

Nun sensed the surging chaotic power and said in disbelief, “How is this possible… I thought this technique had been forgotten by the world.”

“How could it be? In this world, nothing is ever truly forgotten, not even giant god: Sleeper Lord could achieve that.”

“Besides, you’ve been fallen here for too long! You don’t understand how the world has changed!”

The surging grey mist suddenly contracted, all condensing within the Deathbird’s body. As the chaotic power doubled, a massive amount of Origin Energy also erupted.

The grey mist cleared, and Nun finally saw the Deathbird’s true form at that moment.

The Deathbird’s body had undergone horrifying mutation; his original human outline was now blurred and unrecognizable. His skin looked as if it had been scorched by fire and then reshaped, covered with intricate black patterns. His bones grew wildly, sharp bone spikes protruding from his shoulders and back, gleaming with a cold, eerie light. His limbs twisted into grotesque arcs, and his joints swelled like tumors, covered with a viscous, sticky fluid.

Forbidden Art: Threshold Release.

This forbidden art had existed since the advent of the giant gods. At that time, Transcendent Beings could temporarily breach the barrier between the real world and the spirit world by gathering vast amounts of Origin Energy, even communicating with the Sea of Origin.

Using this method, Transcendent Beings could directly acquire large amounts of Origin Energy from the spirit world and the Sea of Origin for combat in the real world.

However, as a price, if the “opening” torn by the Transcendent Being in reality could not heal immediately, then the excessively overflowing Origin Energy would indiscriminately destroy everything within its range, dragging them into the spirit world.

After the Dayless Cataclysm erupted, this forbidden art became even more dangerous.

This time, the extraordinary not only draw immense Origin Energy from it, but also the restless Chaos power that comes with it, perhaps before defeating a powerful enemy, one might lose oneself in the illusions of Chaos.

Due to this terrifying side effect, this forbidden art had long been lost in the civilized world, but for the Chaos Followers, the current forbidden art, Threshold Release, was tailor-made for them; it could bring immense Origin Energy while also stirring up waves of Chaos, temporarily creating a Liminal Gray Area in the real world.

Nun took a deep breath, and wisps of flame ascended from his wounds, his flesh and blood transforming into an ethereal spirit body in the high temperature.

Flames blazed, and Nun was like an enraged Flame Demon.

The Deathbird raised her daggers with both hands, her voice ethereal, “Nun, you can’t save anyone, just as you couldn’t save the Yang Kui Clan.”

Instantly, the battlefield seemed to be clutched by an invisible and icy giant hand; the temperature plummeted with an almost tyrannical force, and bone-chilling cold swept over them like surging, malevolent waves, covering everything.

The ground was instantly covered in layers of crystalline and thick frost, and the ashes that had been freely floating in the air seemed to have been paused, eerily suspended in mid-air, unmoving.

At the same time, all sounds seemed to be snatched away by an invisible hand, dissipating into the distance.

The eerie cold current completely invaded Nun; in an instant, he felt more than just cold.

Stagnation? Slowness?

Nun couldn’t quite describe this strange feeling; he only felt his heartbeat gradually slowing, the burning of his flames beginning to wane, as if the movement of all things was tending towards stillness.

The bone blade slashed towards Nun’s throat, and just then, another longsword forcefully intervened.

“I’m still here!”

Sirian roared, swinging his sword to block the attack.

A tremendous force came from the blade, causing numerous nicks to appear on the edge, and cracks spread to the sword body; Sirian’s tiger’s mouth was split open, and his entire arm went numb.

“Well done!”

Amidst Nun’s low roar, boiling sword swept across, cutting open more than half of the Deathbird’s waist and abdomen.

Sharp, boiling sounds emanated from the torn wound, as if the sword possessed extreme high temperature, instantly vaporizing the Deathbird’s blood and flesh.

“Do you think this can reverse fate?”

The Deathbird remained in the state of the forbidden art, Threshold Release, transforming herself into a conduit between reality and the spirit world, allowing an endless stream of Chaos power to pour into reality.

Nun had cut open her waist and abdomen, and even more, had cut open the boundary between the two worlds.

Rolling grey mist overflowed from the Deathbird’s wound, surging and churning, raising a colossal black wave; even the flames on Nun’s body could hardly resist such a high concentration of Chaos power.

Frost crawled wantonly over Nun’s body, like a heavy armor, making it difficult to move an inch.

Sirian’s expression was dazed; Chaos seized the opportunity, and chaotic whispers revelled in his mind.

“It’s alright, Sirian!” Nun pressed forward under the heavy burden, but still encouraged loudly, “Even if it’s just you and I, we can still protect everyone!”

Suddenly, he was no longer an aged elder, but rather like a young man, shouting freely.

“Yes, the bloodline of Soflova converges, we shall be invincible, we shall return in triumph!”

The Deathbird took out a blood-soaked bone sword from a viscous darkness, igniting a deep, cold flame.

It slashed down!

Nun shattered the ice armor covering him, and forcefully swung boiling sword, his voice hoarse with effort.

“Only we can do it!”

In the past, Nun’s sword strike would have been as swift as lightning, but now, under the influence of Chaos power, the speed of his blade’s movement was extremely slow, like a withered old man launching an attack with all his strength.

At the same time, this sword was not a block, but a direct slash towards the Deathbird’s head.

This was a self-sacrificing strike; the Deathbird’s bone sword would pierce Nun’s chest, but Nun also had a chance to cut off the Deathbird’s head with one sword.

But this was not a reckless move; on the contrary, with Nun severely wounded, this might be the only chance of victory.

Just a moment before the two blades were about to cross, a pair of daggers emerged from the darkness, crossing and striking at the Deathbird’s throat.

It was unclear whether the attacker’s strength was too weak, or the Deathbird’s body too strong; the daggers only pierced the skin and flesh, failing to completely penetrate it.

In the murky darkness, a face covered in foul blood, yet with a hint of delicacy, emerged.

Mick clutched the daggers tightly, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t push them any further.

“Mick!”

Sirian cried out.

As a mortal, Mick shouldn’t have been there; he should have been with Tim and the others, protecting the other survivors under the protection of the soul marrow fire.

But he appeared anyway, like a desperate, sacrificial surprise attack.

Mick looked at Sirian, said nothing, and tried to smile; ice crystals crawled along his face, freezing his blood along with them.

“Bastard!”

The Deathbird cursed loudly, and a sharp tail barb burst out from her back, slashing horizontally with no mercy.

The small figure was thrown into the air, split in two, and then fell to the ground; the sound of foul blood and internal organs hitting the ground was like a wet rag dropped on the floor.

Everything happened so quickly; with no farewell words, and no mental preparation, Mick died before Sirian’s eyes, like a light feather, feeling no weight at all.

But the deadly struggle continued.

Mick’s surprise attack successfully bought Nun time; boiling sword struck the Deathbird’s neck first, following the previous wound downwards, almost splitting the Deathbird’s body in half.

Correspondingly, the bone sword also pierced Nun’s chest at this moment, protruding from his back.

The two figures seemed to be confronting each other, yet also relying on each other.

Sirian strode forward, attempting to deliver the final blow to the Deathbird, but he discovered with horror that while he realized this, his body struggled to react in time.

It was that strange sense of sluggishness; it could even affect his own consciousness.

Sirian’s vision was instantly swallowed by thick darkness; a boundless stillness surged like a tide, isolating all surrounding noise—the explosive roar of flames, the shrill cries of demons, and the clang of blades in deadly combat—as if the entire world had been muted.

All was silent, save for Sirian’s faint, heavy breathing, which slowly dragged on in this deadly stillness, gradually tending towards cessation.

A series of fine, crisp sounds arose; it was the frost spreading and precipitating in layers on Sirian’s skin.

Strangely, due to that suffocating sense of sluggishness, Sirian felt no cold at all, and even his perception of the passage of time quietly blurred in the silence.

But Sirian knew clearly that he was gradually being solidified into an ice sculpture; the Deathbird only needed a gentle push, and he would shatter into pieces on the hard ground like fragile porcelain.

Perhaps even before the Deathbird could push him down, Sirian would suffocate from respiratory failure, or even before that, Sirian’s self-consciousness would perish in the stagnation.

Darkness extinguished all fire, devouring the last vestiges of light.

An aged voice resounded, shattering a corner of the darkness.

“Sirian!”

In the surging darkness, a glimmer of light rapidly collided, now unconstrained, burning fiercely.

“Remember these words, this is the legion’s oath, our epitaph for which we die!”

Nun ignored the bone spike piercing his chest, and cared nothing for the passing of his own life.

He released boiling sword, letting it plunge into the ground, and raised his hands to firmly grasp the Deathbird’s head.

“Grey Domain without day, embers cover the land!”

Nun loudly recited the oath that should have been forgotten by the world.

“Torchbearer stands, abyss trembles.”

The oath, like a spiritual incantation, possessed extraordinary power; the thick grey mist boiled incessantly, as if rapidly evaporating, emitting sharp shrieks.

“Fate gnaws bones, Outer Gods gnaw light.”

The Deathbird clutched her bone sword, struggling fiercely, but she and Nun were too close to exert force, not to mention the endless flames on Nun’s body, burning along the blood and assailing her body.

As the blazing fire completely enveloped the two, Nun recited the last part of the oath.

“Burn this broken body, swear to end the long night!”

The moment the oath ended, a distant, angry roar echoed from within the Sea of Origin, followed by strange babbling and murmuring, like countless phantoms whispering in the darkness.

Sirian, as if by some eerie compulsion, looked up; though darkness had devoured all light, he could vaguely discern something forming in the sky.

The illusion from when Nun bestowed the bloodline upon Sirian reappeared: three giant gods, overshadowing the sky, like the supreme beings of the world, looking down upon the earth.

After several centuries, the legion’s oath once again appeared on the earth; They were enraged and maddened by this, vowing to obliterate it.

But Sirian did not succumb to this despair.

An incredibly intense emotion erupted in the depths of Sirian’s heart; he had never felt such anger, and even the soul marrow, which had been stagnant within him, began to burn anew.

Hatred for Chaos, fury at the tragedy, vengeance for all this sorrow… This was such intoxicating madness, it perfectly pleased the ouroboros seal, and it was at this very moment that the long-nurtured Blessing finally converged into a true form.

Blessing: Shaping Myriad Aspects.

And so, myriad aspects evolved.

It was… Wrathful Mastication of Evil!

In the darkness, Sirian opened his eyes, and molten-gold light appeared in his pupils.

The world was so absurdly mad.

Just a short while ago, White Cliff Town was holding a celebration; the townspeople congratulated him on becoming a Torchbearer, and brought food and wine from their homes.

Sirian danced with Ava, hormones fermenting in the ambiguity; perhaps he would kiss her, perhaps she would embrace him.

Yes, tonight should have been filled with laughter and joy, yet it turned into a nightmare under the Deathbird’s conspiracy… The townspeople died tragically under the claws of Chaos, Tim fought valiantly, Ava witnessed her father’s death, Mick fell in a pool of blood… Familiar faces were stained with blood, gradually disappearing into the darkness, leaving no trace.

Even Nun, now, was merely dragging his broken body, kneeling helplessly, as if surrendering to Chaos.

That was his teacher, his father; how could he meet such an end?

Sirian, enraged, surged forward, wielding the swordsmanship Nun had taught him with unprecedented skill; he had to reach Nun’s side, regardless of anything.

Even if his soul marrow burned out and his Fieryblood cooled, Sirian stubbornly pressed on, until he stood with Nun.

“Sirian…”

Nun laboriously raised his head, looking at the scarred Sirian.

Sirian shed tears, but they were instantly evaporated by the residual warmth on his skin, leaving Nun with only a face contorted by anger.

“Teacher, you asked me what my dream was?”

Sirian reached out and grasped boiling sword, which was plunged into the ground; his knuckles suddenly tightened, and in the crimson mist rising from the blade, he saw his molten-gold pupils burning.

“Now I finally see it clearly…”

The Deathbird’s scream caught in her throat.

She had seen these molten-gold eyes, on the High Throne, among millions of kneeling skeletons, on the Holy One she served.

“Blessed…”

The Deathbird’s words were crushed by a mountain-collapsing roar; Sirian’s vocal cords tore, producing a sound like metal scraping against rock.

“I will become—”

Flames rippled into a sea of fire on the blade.

—a righteous man who punishes evil!”

The moment the sword light split the darkness, Sirian’s arm traced Nun’s unfinished arc.

“A judge who condemns sin!”

The fiery sword pierced the Deathbird’s ribs; putrid blood mist boiled into steam in the sword groove, melting the dying body into translucent amber.

“A fiery sword that pursues darkness!”

The roars were like angry waves, one after another.

The Deathbird’s claws gripped the blade, her finger bones making a deathly cracking sound, but Sirian pressed his entire palm onto the edge, his five fingers embedding into the sword’s spine, like nails driven into an enemy’s heart.

Sirian gritted his teeth, ferocious and mad.

“Eventually… a torch that will burn away the long night!”

The moment the sword tip pierced the Deathbird’s decaying heart, flames erupted from the wound, and firelight overflowed from the gaps in her skeleton, as if a thousand suns were awakening within her body.

Flames ascended, eradicating all darkness!