Chapter 14
Total purification might be the answer—an arc of fate that not only held the potential to restore Ling Xu as a cultivator but also raise him as a rightful heir to the highest throne.
Alongside the warmth of hope blooming so densely in his mind, the heat within his head surged, driving the strength of his right hand, which pressed firmly against Ling Xu's cheek.
'So few are the sweet encounters we've shared. Yet let me say this—I am grateful, proposing undeniable joy for the brief journey allowed to us.'
'Once again, thank you. Let this page end, and may the rough lines of another chapter meet us someday in the future.'
"W-what is…."
As the fist closed in, just inches away, it carried a farewell not for himself, but for the condemned.
Barely an inch remained before the declaration of death could be made, and what should have been certain success was suddenly torn away, extending Ling Xu's fragile existence, pulling him back into the fragile safety of the moment.
His opponent's eyes widened, disbelief abstracted across them.
It was but a moment.
A moment that should have ended the life of the so-called Enlightened Outcast named Ling Xu.
Yet immediately after, an unexpected burst opened wide, displaying a surface unmarked, where pliant flesh rose unbidden, refusing to explain itself, refusing to be dispelled.
In an instant, the force of the fist was blocked.
And the rotten stench it carried was repelled.
Truth be told, joy could not be denied—an intoxicating surge within Huan Zheng's heart, wrapped always in arrogance and pleasure.
After so long suppressing humiliation, the torment lingering in his subconscious was suddenly halted, granting him what he believed to be an undeniable chance at total victory.
He saw it as an opportunity that could not, should not, be wasted.
Yet how pitiful that such a gift should be squandered, as though the will of the universe itself refused to yield.
Just a centimeter away, he thought himself at the threshold of glory.
But an unforeseen fluctuation suddenly erupted, appearing without warning, immediately intercepting the certainty of his strike.
It was no surprise when the disruption spread, requiring no time at all to infest the surrounding space.
The sound it carried was unbearable to his ears.
His fist recoiled in haste, his body pulled back as if obeying some primal warning buried deep within his instincts.
Blunt-mindedness clouded his thoughts.
Huan Zheng dismissed it as trivial.
To him, it was nothing more than an ant's nuisance—a side effect of Ling Xu's passive protection, easily overcome.
He assumed it to be insignificant, something that could be brushed away with the flip of his palm.
He balanced his stance with ease, but in doing so overlooked the absurdity of it—his hands covering his ears now radiated unnatural heat.
Clearly, this was no ordinary warmth.
A strange burning spread, and in a blink, a purple mist seeped out, marking the onset of something unnatural within his body.
Within seconds, what was once tolerable warmth became unbearable.
The softness of his skin yielded, his flesh reacting violently, his body screaming with pain, agony flooding every nerve.
There was no need for anyone to explain.
Even Huan Zheng's shallow awareness could not grasp the horror of the fate now consuming his hands.
And before his mind could process the grief, the plague spread further.
It was not confined to his arms alone.
The rot of flesh carried its invasion onward, advancing across his body.
His form stiffened, reflexively locking up.
For the first time, the arrogance that had always bound him was broken by fear.
"Impossible! It can't be—disease spreading from such a vile wretch?!"
"How?! What insane incantation could summon forth a plague from the shadows?!"
"Ahhhhhh!!"
"You accursed Outcast!!"
He staggered backward, his steps unsteady, panic clawing at him as the tumor-born rot consumed his flesh.
His reason faltered.
His screams echoed, frantic, as terror overwhelmed him.
This was no mere confusion.
The spread of the affliction was relentless, and Huan Zheng's courage dwindled with each passing moment.
The brilliance he carried at the start of the battle was now nowhere to be found.
This was no coincidence.
The very strike that now afflicted him had manifested as a plague, a grotesque revival of an ancient horror.
The growth of flesh—known long ago as the Tumor—spread at a terrifying pace, an abnormality that once ravaged the world.
Hundreds of years ago, in the era of darkness following the death of the Divine One, the Celestial Sovereign, mankind had tried to rise.
They had sought to purge the remnants of the Fallen Gods.
But their attempts were forced into retreat.
The plague had spread too quickly, whispered from mouth to mouth.
No healer could explain its cause.
It appeared without logic, without reason, erupting as if summoned from the void itself.
The invasion of flesh came with such speed that entire populations were devoured.
It was unstoppable, terrorizing the flow of time itself.
The consequences were catastrophic.
Millions upon millions perished.
Even the Fallen Gods, even those who had reached Enlightenment, could not resist.
Countless cultivators, even the greatest among them, could do nothing but shiver.
The plague spared no rank, no status.
Even human emperors—those who had stood proud after overthrowing the Divine—were brought to their knees, begging for mercy, their prayers spilling endlessly, hoping to protect their families.
It could strike anyone.
It could haunt every heart.
All beings were humbled, their existence overturned.
Their reason crumbled.
And worse still, the devastation did not stop with human life.
It poisoned the ecosystem, corrupted the beauty of nature, and left the world stained, unable to recover its former splendor.
Health itself became fragile.
And survival was no longer guaranteed.
To be continued…