This stele has existed for at least an entire epoch, and the truth it reveals sends tremors through the heart—undeniable shock!
“Victory is within reach. But the path home is severed. Tracing the footsteps of our predecessors, all lie buried in the wilderness. Following the old road, our fate is sealed.”
These words left everyone bewildered, even a little horrified. The pessimism in the carver’s tone was unmistakable, and his message was staggering.
Once you arrive in this realm, is there truly no return? Why is that? What secrets lie hidden? And most crucially—where did he come from? A shroud of mystery envelops it all.
From this, it’s clear he wasn’t the first to come. He mentioned predecessors and foretold his own fate—that in the end, he would die.
But was it in battle, or did he perish in this realm?
At his level, he should have already ascended to immortality, his body free from decay. Thus, those present speculated that his words meant he would ultimately fall in battle!
This sent chills down their spines. History was far more terrifying than they had imagined, concealing immense secrets—secrets even the Great Elder Meng Tianzheng knew nothing about.
Let alone Shi Hao, Da Xutuo, the Banished Immortal, or Daoist Qi Gu. The carver’s perspective was deeply pessimistic, carrying the weight of fatalism.
And if there were no accidents, he was the one who faced the Ancient Ancestor Luomo!
What kind of peerless powerhouse was this? One who possessed a trace of Chaos Blood, yet his final words were so desolate—like a frigid autumn wind sweeping through, withering all life, leaving behind a carpet of yellowed leaves.
“A brief slumber spans a hundred thousand years. Upon waking, the seas have turned to fields. Was it a meaningless death, or a sacrifice with purpose? I do not know. Not a player of the board, I cannot see the full game. I may sever a finger of the chessmaster, but what then? What difference does it make?”
Here, the carver’s confusion was evident. For a figure of his stature to waver in conviction—how terrifying was that?
Perhaps his heart was already in turmoil, doubting the meaning of his steadfast beliefs. Hence, these thoughts emerged. For later generations, the impact was immense.
Shi Yi, Cao Yusheng, Lan Xian, and the others exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions grave. Though young, they had their own judgments. The truth, it seemed, was always buried beneath the dust of history.
“Why sever the path to immortality? Is it truly necessary? Pessimism, passivity—prolonged, is this decay, or mere resignation?”
“One day, you will awaken from the great dream to find eternity void. What is destined will come. Fleeing only grants fleeting peace!”
What did this mean? The Great Elder frowned, carefully deciphering the words, discussing them with the younger generation, indifferent to the hierarchy between them.
“This seems to be dissatisfaction—directed at the so-called ‘Primordial Land,’ a venting of resentment toward the chessmasters’ passivity.” In the end, this was how they interpreted it.
Delving deeper, it was horrifying, as if a great calamity loomed, one that would inevitably erupt in the end.
Who were these people? Where did they reside? The impression was that they were forces capable of standing against the otherworldly domain, yet they still harbored hidden fears. Why?
One with a wisp of Chaos Blood was undoubtedly a supreme expert. Judging by his words, daring to speak of severing a chessmaster’s finger—this was absolute confidence.
“Who dares to cross the sea? Who dares to charge forward?”
“When that day comes, neither man nor ghost, neither immortal nor mortal—all heavens shall be overturned. Perhaps that is rebirth, the end of one cycle, the beginning of another.”
Upon reading this, even the Great Elder Meng Tianzheng felt a surge of tension, a suffocating weight pressing on his heart. In the end, it was as if a black mist rushed toward him.
Cross the sea? What sea?
How to charge forward? And where was that place?
Everyone was lost in confusion, unable to comprehend.
Interpretations varied, but all understood that one day, chaos would erupt. Recalling prophecies of the darkest era yet to come, each heart grew heavy.
They continued reading, but the script became illegible—ghostly symbols of an ancient script belonging to some forgotten race, exuding an aura of Chaos.
Before this, the text had been in the language of the Immortal Ancient Era. Though not of this epoch, who were the people present? Most had studied the ways of Immortal Ancient and could naturally understand it.
But this script was too bizarre, radiating Chaos energy. No one recognized it—not even the Great Elder, who studied it for a long time without success.
Meanwhile, the otherworldly beings murmured among themselves. Undeniably strong, some among them were versed in the Immortal Ancient tongue and had deciphered the text.
“Hah!… A pessimistic stele, full of powerlessness and desolation. Our realm’s destiny thrives—we are fated to dominate all heavens. Those who resist are but feeble obstacles,” one laughed.
Yet, some of the older otherworldly figures remained silent, their expressions shifting uneasily. These records were peculiar, and even after much contemplation, they couldn’t fully grasp their meaning.
“Take it back. Let the Ancient Ancestors see it—they will know the truth,” someone suggested, for this was the stele left by Luomo’s opponent.
“Stop!” The Great Elder intervened.
Both sides desired the stele, so conflict was inevitable.
With a flick of the Bloodbanner, crimson radiance surged, clashing against the light spilling from the Immortal-Refining Pot. With a thunderous crash, the battlefield collapsed, and the remnants of fallen stars shattered.
And the stele? Silently, like snowflakes in blazing light, it melted away, vanishing without a trace.
Though carved by a supreme being, it left behind no mark of its creator. Just like that, it was destroyed, reduced to dust.
Both sides snorted coldly, ceasing hostilities before swiftly charging deeper into the battlefield. If a single stele had yielded such revelations, surely more clues lay ahead.
“My ancestors likely came from the same place as the one who carved that stele,” Dugu Yun spoke.
This forced everyone to grow solemn. The Protectors hailed from a mysterious land—one shrouded in too many secrets.
In truth, suspicions had arisen earlier. In that place, the Protector Clan might have been just one powerful lineage among many, with other transcendent races existing as well.
How terrifying!
“Hmm?” Suddenly, thousands of miles away, black mist billowed. The otherworldly beings grew agitated, roaring as they rushed forward.
There, six or seven colossal creatures loomed, each larger than the fallen stars, ferocious and grotesque—utterly terrifying.
Half were humanoid, though clearly not human, while the rest resembled savage beasts.
“Immortals!”
“Our forebears, fallen in battle here!”
The otherworldly beings howled in fury.
These beings, hailed as Immortals—equals to True Immortals—numbered six here, an astonishing sight.
Yet, their so-called immortal bodies had decayed, withered, contrary to legends. Their essence, their spirit—all had drained away.
“What happened? How could their essence dissipate, their vitality vanish?” an elder from the otherworldly domain exclaimed.
“Something devoured them,” another whispered.
“This is dire. Something monstrous must lurk here—how else could it consume the essence of Immortals?”
Even the otherworldly beings grew fearful, sensing that this place held secrets beyond comprehension.
In the end, they avoided the six corpses, circling around them, wary of inviting some great calamity.
“Ah, we’ve finally left this battlefield.”
After traversing another five hundred thousand miles, they emerged from the vast battlefield, finally encountering vegetation, towering mountains, and silver divine waterfalls.
Islands floated in the sky, suspended amidst immortal mist.
Stretches of immortal mountains spanned endlessly, brimming with auspicious energy, spiritual herbs, and ancient medicines everywhere.
Yet, not a single plant had gained sentience.
As for animals—none were to be seen.
The land itself was dark red, stained by blood—undoubtedly that of supreme beings. That anything could grow here was extraordinary in itself.
At last, the sound of immortal music reached their ears.
Both groups had arrived at the heart of this land, where an immense mountain range towered—grander than any they had seen before.
These peaks soared eighty thousand feet high, as if scraping the heavens.
At the center, atop several colossal summits, stood an ancient immortal palace complex, untouched by time, still radiating immortal energy even after an entire epoch.
Without hesitation, everyone surged forward, knowing they had reached the core.
Hmm?
Suddenly, all halted. The source of the music was a snow-white skeleton, seated atop the roof of a grand hall, plucking the strings of an ancient zither.
Beside it, a crimson phoenix—a juvenile immortal bird—perched on another towering palace, its blood-red eyes fixed upon them!
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