Chapter 297 – Feast of the Old Ones

The moment that name was spoken, a sudden change erupted!

It was as if something had responded to his call—or perhaps as if a long-set program had finally been triggered. Within the infinite, high-dimensional time-space above the stars, a trace of ancient and indescribably weathered radiance, like the final glow of the setting sun, pierced through layer upon layer of barriers.

That afterglow of the Old Ones bypassed the divine court’s order-based seal laid by Lu Yan and quietly descended upon him.

Lu Yan’s soul trembled violently. He could clearly sense the unimaginable imprint contained within that afterglow.

But unlike the living divine auras of the current gods, this sliver of old light bore no consciousness, no subjective will.

It was cold and dead, like a long-ended recording—a remnant of a bygone past that had, under specific conditions, left behind an almost insignificant mark on this world.

Yet it was precisely this seemingly insignificant trace that opened up a sealed treasury of information buried for billions of years.

Along with the descent of that afterglow came an ocean of fragmented information, once hidden by mist and world rules, now unleashed upon the realm.

These fragments were vast, chaotic, and profound—relating to the very origin of this world and the truth behind the slumber of the gods.

Lu Yan pushed his mind to its limit, devouring this torrent of knowledge like a whale consuming the sea.

His expression flickered—shocked, puzzled, enlightened.

Only after a long while, when the afterglow of the Old Ones finally dispersed and silence once again enveloped the space, did Lu Yan slowly open his eyes. A lasting trace of awe and disbelief remained deep in his gaze.

He glanced at the puzzled Elizabeth but said nothing of the truth.

In this enigmatic version of the world, ignorance often meant safety. Elizabeth had already gotten dangerously close to taboo by discovering the cyclical pattern of the gods’ slumber.

Any further, and she would surely attract divine attention.

Lu Yan couldn’t help but marvel at what he had just learned.

“The so-called Old One was an existence so ancient its origins could no longer be traced. Its power, in some ways, even surpassed that of this world’s sole existences.

It was born in a colossal version world and, in pursuit of transcendence beyond the concept of a ‘this world’s only one,’ the Old One fused its own will with the rules of the Heavenly Dao, attempting to replace both the Dao and the version itself.

In smaller versions, such integration wasn’t unheard of. But the Old One’s world was massive—akin to a Xianxia version where multiple sole existences could be born.

Even within Xianxia versions, Immortals are still bound by the Dao. How much more so would the Old One be?”

In the end, for reasons unknown, the Old One both succeeded and failed.

It succeeded in merging with the Dao, but its immortal soul scattered, the version’s Dao collapsed, and its corpse stretched across the infinite high dimensions.

The current enigmatic version is built atop the corpse of that fallen Old One.

This world has no true Dao, yet it still functions—because it is sustained by what remains of the Old One.

The mist that veils the world, the twisted and obscured laws, are the lingering aftermath of the Old One’s fall.

Lu Yan had long puzzled over why none of the powerful hidden gods—like the Mother of All Living Beings, who stood only a step from true divinity—could cross that final threshold.

Why only the Seven Great True Gods could establish eternal churches and sit upon the throne of the divine.

Now he knew.

The root of it all was that the divine thrones in this version weren’t attained—they were seized from the corpse of the Old One.

The so-called True God wasn’t a title earned by transcendence—but a seat at the table, a place in the feast to consume the Old One.

All the cycles of divine slumber, the faiths, the churches—everything was preparation for that feast.

Lu Yan continued digesting the vast truths granted by the afterglow, piecing it together with Elizabeth’s earlier theories until a horrifying and complete logic chain emerged:

“Normally, this world would be cloaked in the fog left behind by the Old One. Its Dao is hidden, its laws murky. The corpse of the Old One lies dormant in unreachable high dimensions, unseen and untouched.

Even the Seven True Gods can’t disperse that mist on their own.

Only when this world, built on the Old One’s corpse, reaches a specific threshold—when civilization, life, chaos, and order develop to a critical point—does a phenomenon occur: Stellar Realignment.

This phenomenon temporarily disperses the mist, and through an ancient ritual using the stars as coordinates, allows the Old One’s corpse to be partially revealed.”

That brief window is the only time the gods can access the Old One’s remains—to consume its rules, power, and essence in a feast.

Lu Yan’s gaze grew heavier as he connected another point:

“But the Old One was once a supreme existence who tried to merge with a massive version’s Dao.

Even in death, its corpse retains incredible power and danger. Even True Gods, when partaking in the feast, must anchor their identities with the faith of billions—lest they be consumed by lingering will or corrupted by its power.

And when the feast ends, the mist returns, the corpse vanishes, and the gods must wait for the world to once again reach that critical point.

But clearly, they are not satisfied with waiting.

More importantly, they fear what might happen if this world is left to evolve unchecked.

They fear the Old One’s true return.”

So they made a cold and pragmatic decision.

“Using their supreme power as sole existences, the gods interfere with the world’s progress.

After each feast, they seal or rewrite history, forcefully rewinding civilization to the ideal era for the next feast.

Then they slumber—to recover and to wait for the next cycle.”

A cold smirk curled Lu Yan’s lips.

“They want a feast they can safely enjoy, not the return of a being who would dwarf them.”

Again and again, they loop the world—ensuring every Stellar Realignment, every Feast of the Old Ones, happens in an age they can fully control.

Lu Yan slowly closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked down upon the world with only pity and cold detachment.

“Struggling mortals, noble rulers, faithful believers, lurking cults…

All of them—every conflict, every rise and fall—has always been mere fodder for the gods’ next feast.”

This truth was more terrifying than any dark god’s conspiracy.

And yet, Lu Yan saw within it a chance to overturn everything.

The gods had awoken not to rule or destroy, but to feast upon the Old One.

In their eyes, nations, churches, and the faith of billions were just tools.

Once they were done, they would rewind the world again, erase anomalies, and sleep once more.

Which meant—right now, as they focused on the feast—the mundane world, and Lu Yan’s underworld, were not their priority.

This was his window!

Lu Yan was an outsider to this world—a variable they had never accounted for.

Now that he understood the gods’ true purpose, as the only being untouched by their cycles, he had the right to interfere.

The Old One was once a supreme existence, aiming for transcendence.

Even in death, its remains held the power of shattered Heavenly Dao.

If Lu Yan could seize even a sliver of that…

“The gains would be immeasurable. It could elevate the divine court and underworld system I’ve created, granting it a true foundation.

If I play this right, I might even showcase power so terrifying that the gods hesitate to erase me in the next rewind.”

It was an immense risk.

But the potential…

He exhaled.

“Before that, though…” Lu Yan’s gaze sharpened as he turned inward. “My Golden Core realm is too weak.”

“Now that the mist has cleared, and the Dao born from the Old One’s corpse is revealed—it’s time.”

Within him, the Golden Core—once restrained—burst into dazzling light.

Lu Yan had long since perfected his Core. The only reason he hadn’t broken through was fear of backlash from a hidden Dao.

But now, with the Stellar Realignment complete and the Dao revealed, there was nothing holding him back.

As he opened his heart to the Dao, seeking to step into the Nascent Soul realm—

—Suddenly, a change struck.

Far above, in infinite high dimensions, the massive corpse of the Old One stretched across the version.

It was from its decay and collapse that the Dao of this world was born.

But in that instant, as Lu Yan reached out to the Dao—

—It was like tipping a domino.

Already marked by the afterglow of the Old One, now seeking advancement through its Dao—

—Lu Yan’s action was like a pebble cast into a still lake.

A ripple.

Then a tidal wave.

The corpse of the Old One… stirred.

(End of Chapter)