Chapter Eighty-Five: Explosion

The golden formation buzzed and hummed, runes interweaving as the array hastily repaired itself to withstand the Crimson Blood Divine Spear. The divine spear moved with blinding speed; the moment it pierced through the metallic hull, it appeared before the formation. Although much of its power had been spent penetrating the metal, it was, after all, a forbidden supreme art wielded by a Dao Lord. The instant the crimson spear struck the golden formation, the array shattered. All three of the Purple Qi Daoists coughed up blood, their flames of life flickering perilously.

The trio had no time to tend to their own wounds. Their energy surged as they formed hand seals, and three chains of runic light stretched out from the void, clattering as they sought to bind the crimson spear. Yet the moment the chains touched the spear, they shattered. Undeterred, the Daoists spat their heart's blood, summoning chain after chain, desperately trying to weaken the spear's might.

Simultaneously, eight warships began to glow. Intricate sigils surfaced on the hulls. Though badly damaged, these were imperial-class ships; their remaining power formed protective barriers, shrouding the ancient vessels within.

The Purple Qi Daoist's face was as pale as snow. Despite their desperate efforts, the effect was minimal. If the crimson spear struck the ships head-on, even after their intervention, its power would be enough to kill most aboard.

A fleeting moment of hesitation passed through the Daoist's mind before the spear tore through the last few runic chains. There was little time left. Resolute, he withdrew all his energy, crossed his legs in the void, and with a tranquil expression, raised his whisk above his head and began to form a Dao seal.

Boom!

The Dao thundered, purple qi flooding three thousand miles. Yet the Daoist's body grew more ethereal with each passing moment. Seals formed one after another, purple mist surging, a wave of Dao might spreading forth.

"The Supreme Seal of All Heavens!"

A cry of astonishment came from within the Dao Alliance—someone recognized the technique. This was a peerless seal, passed down from the ancient Daoist world, said to be the foremost of all seals. Almost no one had mastered it; even within the Dao Alliance, many believed it lost to time.

Wei Chuan’s grandfather and the white-robed assassin, witnessing this, realized the Daoist was sacrificing everything. Their bodies blazed with light, vitality erupting. Countless runic chains shot from the void—techniques that consumed life to gain strength.

With each seal formed, the Daoist’s body grew fainter, the purple aura swelling. At last, with the final seal completed, the vast purple mist retracted, and the Daoist’s form vanished, leaving behind only a gentle sigh:

“Three thousand years seeking the Dao, –––– (insert poetic line, for the author is at a loss, forgive this wry note...)”

A symbol, resplendent with purple intent, appeared where he had been. Imbued with immense sealing power, it pressed down upon the crimson spear.

The Supreme Seal of All Heavens was a primeval Daoist miracle, requiring at least a Dao Lord’s cultivation to use its first three stances. Even at the cost of his life, the Daoist had barely managed the first stance, achieving only the bare minimum of a Dao Lord’s might.

The purple seal radiated terrifying pressure. The previously unstoppable crimson spear was pinned in midair, quivering violently. Many aboard the ancient ships rejoiced, but Wei Chuan’s grandfather and the white-robed assassin frowned deeply. With their profound cultivation, they understood more: the crimson spear was a forbidden art unleashed at great cost by a Dao Lord, while the purple seal, though mighty, was only the sacrifice of a Heavenly King, barely equaling a Dao Lord’s strength. How could it so easily suppress the spear?

As expected, the crimson spear suddenly blazed with bloody light. An ocean of blood surged forth, countless ancient divine demons writhing and howling within, charging at the purple seal.

The seal trembled, manifesting a Daoist figure, defending itself with divine arts. One side was a weapon, the other merely a spell, yet it was as if two generals commanded armies in battle.

The sounds of battle shook the heavens. Though all took place within the sealed space, it felt as though an ancient battlefield had descended.

It was not long before the purple seal, lacking the innate might of a true Dao Lord, began to fail. Corroded by the blood sea, its strength waned. Yet the crimson spear’s luster also faded, its power clearly diminished.

Wei Chuan’s grandfather sighed, his fangs dripping with blood. It was not that they were unwilling to risk their lives, but their purpose was to save these seed candidates, not to counter the crimson spear directly. Only sealing techniques could help now.

Unfortunately, both he and the white-robed assassin specialized in powerful offensive arts. If they fought the spear head-on, the aftermath would doubtless tear the ancient ships apart—forget about saving anyone.

Runic lights rose, forming shields over the eight ships. Worman extended his hand, and the shell of mechanical war-buddhas dissolved—they would have to face the spear head-on now. In the confined space, the power would be compressed, so the shell was withdrawn.

Light shone in, revealing that the darkness of the void storm had faded; they now hovered above the Godforsaken Land.

Boom!

The spear plunged into the very center of the eight ancient ships. A torrent of energy exploded outward—a blood sea surged to the sky.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Layer by layer, the shields shattered. The first layer, cast by Wei Chuan’s grandfather and the white-robed assassin, broke apart. The blood sea crashed upon the hulls, cracking them as well.

Everyone was shrouded in protective barriers: gold light, purple mist, or suspended seals—every life-saving means revealed, nothing held back. Only Zhou Tian swayed unsteadily with the rocking ship, his only protection the few layers of runic shields Zhou Ying had just given him, now flickering uncertainly.

At this moment, Zhou Ying and Zhou Xunchuan poured all their strength into steering the ship, hoping to hold out a little longer.

Tianling’s face was pale with terror, eyes filled with anxiety. She pulled out one protective talisman after another, jade pendants in hand, but none could be used for Zhou Tian.

Zhou Tian shook his head and spoke softly, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Please, protect yourself.”

Glancing out at the surging flood of blood, he saw the ship on the verge of collapse. In the next instant, the vessel shattered completely, all eight ships exploding.

As the blood sea surged in, Zhou Tian vanished instantly, consumed so thoroughly not even a trace remained. But Tianling saw nothing—she too was flung away by the explosion, her fate unknown.

Zhou Tian had already used all his resurrection chances today, investing them in the [Holy Word] ability. Now he could only wait for them to reset—he would not revive immediately.

Though the crimson spear’s power had been diminished by two-thirds, it remained dreadfully potent, sweeping through the eight ships.

Amidst the void storm, the Dao Lord’s expression eased. His art had struck true—surely the enemy had suffered.

He blocked Baijiale and the others from pursuing, meeting their gazes with icy calm. “The Heavenly Pass has noticed. We cannot give chase.”

The void storm rumbled, and a vast scroll unfurled, covering a billion miles. It was blank, yet seemed to contain all the world’s mysteries, exuding the essence of the Dao.

The scroll shrank as the Dao Lord reached out to take it. Though it was but a painting, it seemed to weigh ten thousand tons in his grasp, his arm sinking under its burden.

This blank scroll had shielded them from the Heavenly Pass’s scrutiny. To block the gaze of that war fortress of a Heavenly Venerable, the artifact must be at least of such a level.

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