Chapter 21: A Life-and-Death Crisis

If anyone were to watch them running along the cliff from afar, they would surely be astonished—for what they’d see was a group sprinting through the air.

The pale blue light beneath their feet was so faint it was imperceptible unless viewed up close. As they raced at full speed, the circles of light underfoot flickered in rapid succession; before one faded, the next had already appeared, and a distance of eighty or ninety meters vanished in the blink of an eye.

Ahead, Haoyun thrust out his palm and a crystalline panel appeared from thin air. In the darkness of the cliffside, the panel’s glow was striking, and the touchpoint feedback on its surface was clearly visible.

As the light on both sides of the precipice receded, the surrounding gloom deepened instantly.

“Magnetic lantern!” Haopo declared gravely.

For reasons unknown, the darkness on this side of the cliff was all the more oppressive, wrapping them in an unnerving tension—particularly unsettling in such a bizarre setting.

“Don’t panic! Step by step... let’s go.” Haoyun reached into his pocket, intending to retrieve something, when a heavy blow landed across his back, cutting him off mid-sentence.

His grip on the orb loosened involuntarily.

He lurched forward, but Haotian, at his side, caught him just in time, letting Haoyun breathe a sigh of relief.

Regaining his balance, Haoyun instinctively grasped with his right hand, only to find it empty. A faint light glimmered above his head; he looked up.

The orb had floated upward to a certain height, its facets unfolding, and before he’d realized, it was gently ascending, emitting a soft radiance.

The moment it opened, the pitch-black world brightened; the surroundings became faintly visible.

That’s when they noticed a terrifying phenomenon: the stone wall, once distant, was now creeping steadily closer, as if it had come alive.

Even as they stood stunned, five or six stones broke free from the main wall.

Swish—!

Once separated, those stones seemed to have escaped their cage, leaving only afterimages in their wake.

The air split with a sonic boom—the sound of objects shattering the sound barrier.

Each stone shot past Xiaoshan and Ruoxi, ignoring them entirely, as if they were invisible.

But Haoyun and the others were not so fortunate.

Stone after stone battered Haoyun, making him shudder violently. He twisted and writhed, desperate to evade the barrage, but the stones came in tight clusters—dodge one, and another was upon him. His expression grew increasingly grim.

“Ah!” Haotian fared even worse; he was buried beneath a cascade of stones, his form nearly lost beneath the shifting pile.

“This won’t do!” Haoyun shouted through gritted teeth as a meteorite grazed his right arm, stripping it to the gleaming white bone. The torment was excruciating; a misstep and his vital organs might be laid bare to the light!

“Xiaoshan! Lend me your sword!” As soon as Haopo heard Haoyun’s words, he halted his sword mid-swing, and unscathed as he was, a few stones struck him immediately.

Before Xiaoshan could respond, he felt the sword in his hand tremble—a vibration emanating from the blade itself.

In a daze, he seemed to understand. The unsharpened sword slipped from his grasp.

In the blink of an eye, Haopo had caught it. He returned the secondary sword to its sheath.

With the main sword in his right hand, his left moved to his right wrist. Clenching his fist, he extended his index and ring fingers, tracing them from hilt to blade.

Haopo’s face was set in concentration—whether from the pummeling stones or the ritualistic movement, it was impossible to tell.

When his fingers reached the middle of the blade, a spray of blood mist burst forth. Light flickered in the air, and all at once, the stones ceased their motion.

“Boundless Sea of Blood!” A chilling voice escaped Haopo’s lips.

He raised the sword skyward, releasing a strange energy that emanated from his body.

The stones crashed to the ground, a bloody haze spreading like rippling soundwaves, as if the entire world were stained crimson.

“Go! Move forward!” With those words, Haopo planted his blade in the earth, coughed up a mouthful of blood, and spoke in a weakened voice.

Haotian, Haoyun, and the others, bewildered by the sudden rain of stones, were buffeted by a blast of force that left them dizzy and disoriented.

Seeing Haopo coughing blood, they realized he’d unleashed a powerful technique—one that had backfired on him.

“What kind of method is this? How could it be so strong?” Ruoxi exclaimed, shocked. Even she felt the shockwave’s impact rattling her spirit.

“Let’s go! Why are you all standing there?” Xiaoshan saw Haoyun dragging Haopo forward and knew their flight was far from over.

“The sheath!” came a faint, feeble voice from afar.

Though it was barely audible, it struck Xiaoshan like a bell in his skull, ringing clear in his ears.

A familiar sensation traveled from his sword sheath to his left hand—the sheath was trembling.

This time, Xiaoshan seemed to grasp what to do. Loosening his grip, the sheath shot forth with a resonant hum, slicing through the air and landing squarely in Haopo’s hand.

From the moment he received the sheath to the instant he sheathed the sword, not a single pause marred Haopo’s unsteady form—it was as smooth as flowing water.

As Haopo sheathed his sword, Xiaoshan felt an inexplicable emptiness in the air around him.

Yes—his body felt so much lighter. From the moment “his” sword was taken, until it was returned, a heavy weight had borne down on him.

It was a heaviness beyond words.

In that instant, he was stripped of something called a sense of security.

“Up ahead is our destination! There’s a cave! Whatever you do, don’t look at the ground!” Haopo, weakened, muttered as Haoyun pulled him along. “Don’t look! You mustn’t!”

Once is a warning, twice is a dire caution, thrice is an absolute prohibition.

Haoyun, close by, heard Haopo’s weak admonition.

But Haotian, trailing slightly behind, did not.

He blinked curiously, glancing downward, and faintly made out something white on the ground. He blinked again, peering closer.

This time, he saw it clearly—bones, white as snow, reflected in his eyes.

“I stepped on a bone!” Haotian exclaimed in shock.

As he lifted his head and prepared to step away, he realized that the single bone had, in an instant, become an entire human skeleton.

He’d landed squarely on its skull!

“Damn!” Haotian’s expression changed drastically. His grip on the sword tightened—a sure sign of danger.

“Many people must have died here before!” Haoyun whispered in awe, watching as more and more bones surfaced around them.

“A place of ill omen,” Ruoxi murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Keep moving! Don’t stop!” Haopo’s eyes were icy as he spoke.

Behind them—

Whether it was the sword or the endless journey, Ruoxi’s eyes were filled with panic, her head lolling from side to side.

No matter how Xiaoshan urged her to move, Ruoxi gave no response. Her expression chilled, cheeks puffed in silent anger.

As more and more bones appeared, she could stand it no longer. In a flash, she drew the Soulquake Sword at her waist.

The sword lived up to its name—the moment it was unsheathed, thunder and lightning crackled across the heavens.

Then, shadows began to rise from the scattered bones—souls of the dead, their bodies vague and flickering, their faces pale as death, mouths agape as if to swallow the living whole.

A blue radiance surged along her blade—thunder roaring as she swept it horizontally through the phantom bones.

A bloodcurdling scream erupted.

Unable to withstand it, the specter’s face contorted in agony and vanished, yet the bones on the ground remained untouched, lying silently as if nothing had happened.

Haotian and the others, at the sight of the ghost, gripped their swords tightly, scanning the darkness in panic, alert for lurking spirits.

“With so many, just how many people died here?” Haotian muttered, unnerved by the growing host of apparitions.

“Look at their uniforms! They’re soldiers!” Haoyun’s attention was on more than just the bones.

“Soldiers?” Xiaoshan echoed, startled, as something clicked in his mind.

A vast army surged forward in his vision, charging relentlessly. He looked closer.

The environment around them matched what he saw before his eyes—those in the vanguard were falling with anguished cries.

“No!! I don’t want to see this!! Please, no!” Ruoxi shook her head violently at the sight, sometimes squeezing her eyes shut in revulsion.

Xiaoshan was still lost in confusion when Ruoxi’s outburst snapped him back to himself.

“It’s too terrifying—just die, all of you! Die!” Ruoxi shrieked in fury. The Soulquake Sword blazed with lightning as she slashed forward.

Where her sword-light passed, the apparitions vanished like scenes from a film, until with the fifth stroke, the phantoms were gone, leaving the ground bare but for a carpet of white bones.

“Was that an illusion?” Haotian stared, dumbfounded at the scene before him.

“These are echoes of the past,” Haopo replied softly. “Events are replaying here, but some strange force is interfering.”

“What kind of force? The thunderous power in the Soulquake Sword?” Haoyun asked, watching Ruoxi’s odd behavior.

“Ruoxi, what’s wrong with you?” Xiaoshan cried, alarmed as Ruoxi, wild-eyed, swung her sword at empty air.

She didn’t seem to hear him, cheeks puffed in fury, still hacking at nothing.

“I’ll kill you! Die!”

“Ruoxi!” Xiaoshan, seeing she wouldn’t respond, grabbed her arm and shook her repeatedly, hoping to snap her out of it.