Chapter 201: Heavenly Dao’s Blessing and the Calamity of the Corpse Tide

As the last wisp of Supreme Will was completely crushed, Lu Yan finally let out a long breath of relief.

Before he could make a move, an invisible gaze descended from the heavens above—it was the gaze of the Apocalypse Heavenly Dao.

A vast pressure engulfed the world, and for a moment, all living beings held their breath. From the depths of the void, countless mysterious fluctuations of law emerged, flowing like an eternal river beyond mortal comprehension.

The resonance of myriad laws echoed across the land. Principles of the Dao intertwined, shrouding the heavens and earth in a mysterious, profound power. It was as if the eternal truths of the cosmos had descended into the mortal realm.

This was not Lu Yan’s first contact with the Heavenly Dao. He had even once become the embodiment of the Heavenly Dao during the great upheaval of the Urban version and considered himself to have a decent understanding of it.

But now, faced with the manifestation of the Apocalypse Heavenly Dao, he realized just how narrow his previous understanding had been.

The Urban version’s Heavenly Dao had no control over any transcendent laws—everything was bound by the framework of order.

Even the nascent spirit-revival Heavenly Dao he had embodied was merely a prototype, with rules far too immature to be considered truly extraordinary.

Yet now, though the Apocalypse version’s power ceiling was still capped at early Golden Core, the might this Heavenly Dao displayed was leagues beyond that of the Urban version. The difference was like heaven and earth.

At the moment of contact, Lu Yan couldn’t help but feel a flicker of relief that he’d never attempted any sort of “man replacing Heaven” approach in the Apocalypse version.

Even though he slaughtered zombies to generate version fluctuation values, it was all done in a way that benefited the Apocalypse Heavenly Dao.

If he had ever strayed from that path, even if the Heavenly Dao could not strike directly, it would only take a gentle nudge to the laws of nature—perhaps stirring up hostility in the hearts of all beings—to render all of Lu Yan’s techniques useless in battle.

Under the gaze of the Apocalypse Heavenly Dao, Lu Yan stood calmly.

Though he needed to kill zombies to empower the Soul Banner, it was evident that the besieged Apocalypse Heavenly Dao was the more desperate party and would not act against him.

Moments later, a mysterious beam of divine light descended from the heavens.

The light seemed woven from countless resplendent hues, too majestic for words to capture.

Without Lu Yan making any move, the light sank into his Soul Banner. The Heavenly Dao’s gaze faded, and the surrounding divine phenomena dispersed.

It had come swiftly—and left just as quickly.

Lu Yan immediately grasped the Soul Banner tightly and focused on the changes within it.

In the next moment, the mystical light began transferring information into his mind.

There wasn’t much content, but every word and sentence carried overwhelming weight. Even Lu Yan’s soul, having undergone countless transformations, trembled under its might.

Had it been an ordinary Foundation Establishment cultivator, they would’ve been obliterated the moment this information entered their consciousness.

Only after a long time did Lu Yan finish assimilating the content, exhaling deeply once again.

The information delivered by the Apocalypse Heavenly Dao revealed the truth behind the version invasion.

To the Heavenly Dao, version invasions posed tremendous threats—but they also offered immense opportunities for evolution.

This was because such invasions introduced external transcendent systems, raising the version’s power ceiling.

For example, the ever-present Lunar and Solar Qi in the Apocalypse version were products of the invading Supreme Will. The original Heavenly Dao had no capacity to create such celestial bodies.

Had the Supreme Will not brought with it the sun and moon, which were of tremendous value to the local Heavenly Dao, it would never have been able to invade.

In essence, version invasion was a high-stakes gamble for the Heavenly Dao itself.

If the bet was won, the Heavenly Dao could elevate the version’s power level and expel the invaders entirely.

But if the bet was lost—if order collapsed and laws fell into disarray—the Heavenly Dao risked complete corruption.

The Apocalypse Heavenly Dao had chosen to participate in this gamble. In fact, it had clashed with the Supreme Will since the moment the apocalypse began.

The Supreme Will seized the Lunar Moon; the Heavenly Dao held dominion over the Solar Sun.

Though zombies initially occupied vast swathes of land, the deterrent power of Solar Qi made it difficult for them to move in daylight. This gave humanity a precious window to survive and rebuild.

With the Heavenly Dao’s protection, humanity managed to recover from the initial chaos and begin advancing once more.

But as time passed, the Heavenly Dao realized something was wrong.

Solar Qi could indeed restrain zombies and bolster physical strength and magic—it was the foundation for a stable cultivation system.

The original plan had been simple: humans would build a system based on Solar Qi, while zombies relied on Lunar Qi. Each side would have its own path, and with the sun under the Heavenly Dao’s control, there would be no fear of sudden collapse.

Even if the moon changed, as long as the sun remained, the root of cultivation would be secure.

This would prevent the Supreme Will from corrupting the system from the inside by guiding it toward ruin.

But the Heavenly Dao had miscalculated one thing—human desire.

Though Solar Qi cultivation was stable, emphasizing body and magic refinement with potential for fleshly sainthood at the peak, it paled in comparison to the allure of Lunar Qi.

Lunar Qi allowed even first-tier transcendents to awaken supernatural abilities. Though weak in the early stages, those with powerful abilities were immediately valued and cultivated by all forces.

This was something the Solar path could never offer.

Worse still, after a decade of research, humans found a way to purify Solar Qi into high-density solar crystals. These could now be used by Lunar transcendents to enhance their bodies.

This development utterly destroyed the Heavenly Dao’s plans.

The path of awakening innate supernatural abilities through Lunar Qi had become a smooth road. No one cared to explore the Solar Qi path anymore.

The balance of the transcendent system shifted, and the scales tipped toward the Supreme Will—until Lu Yan appeared and shattered the equilibrium.

With the Soul Banner, he slaughtered vast numbers of zombies and directly severed their souls—eliminating the root of the invasion threat and earning the Heavenly Dao’s merit.

Upon returning a second time, Lu Yan’s actions were even more decisive. By slaughtering tens of millions of zombies, he forced the Supreme Will to descend in person—only to be obliterated by the Heavenly Dao’s intervention, drawn by Lu Yan’s accumulated merit.

In theory, the Heavenly Dao was emotionless and rational—pure law and order. But before the tide-turning presence of Lu Yan, it broke the rules and bestowed a blessing.

The divine light absorbed by the Soul Banner was the Apocalypse Heavenly Dao’s blessing.

When the Supreme Will’s will was crushed, its remnants had transformed into points of divine light and entered the Soul Banner.

According to the Heavenly Dao, these were fragments of the Supreme Will’s True Spirit.

Any entity capable of invading a version had, by then, acquired a degree of immortality. Even if its will was shattered, if the True Spirit remained, it could one day return.

Lu Yan felt a chill at this revelation.

He had always known beings of such level would be hard to kill, but he hadn’t expected even a fragment of their will to be this resilient.

The True Spirit fragments entering the Soul Banner were no accident—it was a trap laid by the Supreme Will.

Without the Heavenly Dao’s warning, Lu Yan might have awakened one day to find his Soul Banner seized and replaced.

And so, the Heavenly Dao’s blessing helped him eliminate this hidden threat—erasing every wisp of the True Spirit light.

Within the Soul Banner, Lu Yan watched as the divine light rapidly absorbed and devoured the True Spirit fragments. The divine light then began to grow.

Once the final wisp was consumed, the multicolored light coalesced into a single ancient Dao rune suspended above the Soul Continent:

【Ming】 (Brilliance)

In the next instant, an enormous cloud of ghostly mist rose from the Soul Continent, forming a massive black egg over a hundred kilometers wide.

The egg seemed to breathe. As it absorbed the mist, it transformed it into pure Yin energy and returned it to the continent—nurturing something unknown.

Lu Yan’s gaze was filled with surprise.

“So this is the essence of the Heavenly Dao’s blessing?”

As the master of the Soul Banner, he faintly sensed that once the being within the egg hatched, it would bring an earth-shaking transformation to the Soul Continent.

From the Supreme Will’s descent, to Lu Yan’s counterattack, the Heavenly Dao’s gaze, the descent of the blessing, and its eventual withdrawal—though it all seemed lengthy, time itself had warped in the resonance of the Great Dao. In reality, only an instant had passed.

It was only now that Lord Qiongyuan came to his senses and withdrew his right hand. The space beneath his palm was now empty.

The underworld army had regrouped around Lu Yan, alert for any further enemies.

“My lord, are you alright?”

Though Lord Qiongyuan retained no memories of the Supreme Will or the Heavenly Dao, the lingering dread in his heart compelled him to speak.

Lu Yan shook his head. The pride he had felt from completing the Underworld Army began to dissipate.

Even though they could sweep the current Apocalypse version, they were far from invincible in a world that was constantly updating.

The Supreme Will had only just begun its invasion and was already capable of this much.

Then what of the Longevity version—a world corrupted for thousands of years and powerful enough to influence the version update interface itself?

At that thought, Lu Yan’s gaze turned to the version interface.

【Version Update Progress: 81.3%】

Only a little over a month remained until the next update.

“If I want to survive the next version update, this is far from enough.”

“I must use this final month to strengthen myself as much as possible—and shake the foundation of the entire Apocalypse version!”

Just then, a stream of light flew into his Soul Banner—it was one of the fragmented banners he had sent out. A message was recorded within.

There was only one split Soul Banner in the Apocalypse version. The message could only be from Guo Ze at Gathering Point 73.

Lu Yan read the message. Written in bold, unmistakable characters:

“Supermassive Corpse Tide Formed.”

A smile curved Lu Yan’s lips. He turned to Lord Qiongyuan and said:

“Prepare to depart. We’re heading back to Gathering Point 73!”

---

Three days later, within the defense tower of Gathering Point 73.

Both Li Hao and Guo Ze wore tense expressions. Nearby, Li Kang, who had once met Lu Yan briefly, paced back and forth, stealing anxious glances out the window.

“What do we do? What do I do?!”

Low murmurs of panic escaped Li Kang’s lips. This Fifth-Rank Transcendent looked utterly terrified, as if some cataclysm was about to descend.

Guo Ze opened his mouth several times but hesitated. In the end, it was Li Hao who sighed and said:

“Calm down. This wasn’t your fault.”

“No one could’ve expected the zombies to suddenly go berserk right after we sent the message to the envoy.”

Hearing this, Li Kang collapsed to the floor, gripping his head and muttering:

“I’m a sinner… I’m a sinner…”

Guo Ze and Li Hao exchanged a silent glance and sighed in unison.

Over a month ago, they had accepted Lu Yan’s mission to provoke a supermassive corpse tide. After extensive research and scouting, Li Hao decided to initiate the tide from the Granary Plains.

Once the largest grain-producing region before the apocalypse, the Granary Plains had few cities but over ten thousand scattered villages. After the fall, the area teemed with wandering zombies.

Even after large-scale purges cleared areas for cultivation, more zombies would drift in before long.

If they could clear out the region around Gathering Point 73 and set up a defensive line—supported by new agricultural tech—they could restart food production.

With stable food supplies, industrial reconstruction and even civilization rebirth would become possible.

After a month of planning and effort—and with Li Kang’s power—they had successfully gathered over eight million zombies into one massive tide.

Across the vast plains, it was a black sea of death stretching to the horizon.

Originally, they planned to slow the tide’s progress and wait for Lu Yan’s return to begin the purge.

That’s why they used the split Soul Banner to deliver the success message.

But moments after sending it, the tide went wild.

Zombies from across the plains began surging in. The number surpassed ten million, then twenty million, and counting.

It was no longer possible to tally the tide. Zombies from hundreds of kilometers around had been drawn to it.

Li Kang’s control, once effective through mental links to hundreds of zombies, became utterly useless. His influence was a drop in the ocean.

And now, the first target in the tide’s path—just tens of kilometers away—was Gathering Point 73.

The walls were strong: thirteen meters tall, five meters thick, made of reinforced concrete, with heavy firepower.

Li Hao was confident they could withstand even a million-strong horde.

But this? This was no mere horde—it was a natural disaster.

Even brainless zombies could pile their bodies high enough to topple the walls. Worse, this tide surely hid Ninth-Rank Corpse Kings.

Li Hao had faith in Lu Yan’s Underworld Army, but even he couldn’t help questioning:

“Can mere thousands of ghost soldiers really stop a tide of this scale?”

Still, as a representative of the Underworld, he kept a steady face.

“Don’t worry. The envoy’s army will take care of the tide.”

Just then, a scout shouted from the observation post:

“Corpse tide incoming!”

Under the dimming twilight, an endless wave of death rolled across the plains—like a sea of decay.

Rotting flesh filled the horizon. Over ten million zombies staggered forward. A gust of wind carried a stench so thick it made soldiers on the walls gag.

Even with decayed vocal cords, their hoarse groans formed a dreadful roar—like ancient beasts bellowing across the land.

Each step shook the earth. Countless shriveled hands reached skyward, as if trying to tear open the heavens.

One zombie stumbled—and was instantly trampled into paste.

Among them, thousands of stitched horrors five meters tall marched forward, faces twisted in fury.

Towering heaps of flesh wriggled like living mountains—masses of meat congealed into grotesque fortresses.

Boom!

Explosions erupted ten kilometers out. Thousands of landmines detonated, tearing apart tens of thousands of zombies.

But to this tide, it was a mere ripple. It did not even slow.

In the original plan, this minefield was supposed to buy thirty minutes. In reality, it didn’t delay the tide even a second.

As the tide approached, despair gripped the city.

Soldiers gripped their guns with trembling hands. Just one look at the sea of death broke their minds.

Some began cursing Li Hao. Others claimed this was divine punishment for trying to rebuild civilization.

Even the ever-optimistic Li Hao felt helpless.

People began praying—for divine aid to stop this tide.

Someone set up a crude altar, placing a rough statue of a god—dressed in black, holding a Soul Banner.

Others dropped to their knees, bowing to the statue in desperation.

Then, one burly youth snapped.

He stormed into the crowd, furious, and seized the statue.

“All you do is pray! Do you really think some god will save you?!”

Just as he raised the statue to smash it—

—the sky split open.

A massive spatial rift tore across the heavens above Gathering Point 73.

Then came six hundred Ghost Generals, six thousand Yin Soldiers, cloaked in ghostly fog, descending upon the besieged city.

At the forefront, Lu Yan stood tall, Soul Banner in hand.

“The god has come! He really came!”

The crowd erupted in cheers.

Someone snatched the statue back, returned it to the altar, and cursed the burly youth:

“You idiot! Get down and beg the god for forgiveness!”

The young man stammered. After a long pause, he whispered:

“He might be here… but can he really stop this tide?”

His words echoed the fears in everyone’s heart.

The Underworld Army was fearsome—but in the face of a ten-million-strong tide, it felt too small.

In the watchtower, Li Hao, who had just begun to feel relief, felt his heart rise to his throat.

He too doubted whether Lu Yan had a trump card strong enough to command actual ghost gods.

No one saw the calm in Lu Yan’s eyes as he gazed at the approaching tide.

There was no fear.

Only the hunger—for the harvest to come.

(End of Chapter)