Chapter 57

Before everyone’s astonished eyes, it slowly split apart—a dazzling slash descended vertically from the mountaintop.

Fiona appeared lazy, glancing irritably at the armored man walking ahead, enveloped head to toe in steel.

Thor was utterly in the dark; he saw nothing, sensed nothing—not even Odin, who was right beside him, registered in his perception.

Lu Qian reached behind Le Tong’s head and pulled her closer, as though afraid she might escape.

She was always closer to Su Yao, perhaps hoping to persuade him, through Su Yao, to change his mind about marrying into the Gu family.

Meanwhile, Qiusheng, turning to leave, faintly heard a whispered “thank you” that made him pause.

Only then did he realize he had erased Heimdall from all nine realms—a deletion more real than any other. Heimdall was gone, consigned to eternal history.

She reached around Xi Zem’s neck, pulled him forcefully down, rose on tiptoe, and pressed her lips to his.

By the time she realized something was amiss, she had already been deceived, both emotionally and financially; nothing could be done now.

The Guild President, Jory, arrived breathless, gripping Collis' shoulders tightly, his urgency and worry plain in his eyes.

Seeing Mo Yu depart, Lu Feifei said, “Grandmaster, what do you think of her?” Hua Wanzi replied, “Don’t mind her. She’s lived thousands of years and still rushes headlong, no dignity befitting an elder.”

Yet, even the slightest wavering made Chen Er’s resolve firmer—if he missed this chance, returning to the Chen household would mean suppression and no hope of rising again.

Yang Yunhan realized that Wang Dao Yi’s sword strike to assassinate him was the same move used by the masked figure in green among the plum blossoms.

Tears streamed down, and Lin Huizhen wept uncontrollably in the antiseptic-smelling preparation room.

Regardless of barriers or enchantments, at the core lies the mastery of hellish darkness. There are many kinds of dark energies, but those we use are the authentic ones—dark, cold, pure, upright, and free from the depths of hell. Only then can we master high-level charm arts.

Meanwhile, somewhere atop a cloud, a figure in purple robes gazed through countless spaces toward the blue-robed man.

Liu Xinghao drove straight into the hospital, only to realize after parking that he didn’t know which room his father was in.

The first to attempt cross-level combat were those below the ninth rank of martial apprentice—over ten of them. Yet, none succeeded in defeating a higher rank. Then came the final eight’s “cross-level battle.”

Lu Xuan paid no mind to Gong Jin Nan’s inner thoughts. Now that he lacked mind-reading powers—and even if he possessed them, he believed divine abilities should be used appropriately, not for prying into secrets.

Yao Nuo personally poured tea for Wang Xingren, coaxing him back to the sofa, though he still wore a look of “I did nothing wrong.”

Qin Lan nodded gently; if her brother could change his mind and return to school, she would be happier than anything.

Although his task was complete, Ye Xuan lingered in the recording studio, watching the next session unfold.

He had been relieved that no monsters lurked in the dense forest, but now he understood: the absence was because all the monsters knew what was here, and dared not approach.

The others understood as well; no one moved forward, knowing it would mean certain death. Even people like Gu Tianhe hadn’t charged in directly, proof of the danger—otherwise, they wouldn’t wait for everyone to arrive.

“I might just surrender when I get up there,” Fang Xiao said with a sidelong glance. “You know what happened this morning.”

“Is that so?” Zhou Ping chuckled, a ferocious gleam in his eyes as he slapped Yang Wanli across the face.

At that moment, the Gu family cultivators grew excited hearing Gu Xia’s words. Their greedy, desirous gazes fell upon Li Anlan.

Zheng Jinzhong’s face was grim and silent; Nie Zhongshan interjected, “The green hills remain, the rivers flow on; we’ll see what comes.”

Wang Chen shouted, shielding Tang Qingxuan behind him, like an arrow glowing with its last light—sharp, unstoppable, charging first through the energy barrier.

“Today we must take the life of that mongrel city lord. Please make way!” Tang Da Hu nodded.

Sweet words ceased abruptly, replaced by the seductive sounds of passion. He couldn’t help but sneak a third glance through the gap.

In Elam’s backyard, several piles of what Chu Yun saw as scrap metal were scattered about—many were magical devices. Because rainfall was rare and the air dry, the machines were left haphazardly.

Why can two people in love be together? Why would Lu’s mother block someone as talented as Tang Wan?

Compared to other ghosts, the Wuchang Ghost seemed a bit special. Thus, it held a subtle status in the underworld.

Sword Maiden players had waited for this moment for ages. When their opponent finally moved and stunned them, their eyes lit up; not a trace of retreat. As soon as the brief dizziness ended, they plunged in headlong.

Wang Jin had hoped to learn about Gu, and perhaps raise one himself, but after yesterday’s medicinal bath, he abandoned that idea.

Rumors circulated that the corpse wasn’t simply hanged. The boy was suspended by a thick, intentionally dyed red hemp rope, with two unusually intricate knots at the throat and nape.

Who says only the Chinese are humble? Look at Mr. Mascherano, clearly a touch self-satisfied—he claims he’s got some skill, after all.

“A familiar scent, N’Zoth. You’ve found me.” Orakil’s current form had neither mouth nor expression.

“Yes.” Iori glanced toward the Death Legion, burying his shock deep within.