"You all…!"
A flicker of relief and pride stirred in Gandalf's heart. In this moment of calamity for their nation, they had all come.
Figures flashed beneath the looming, sky-covering palm. Hands were raised high, chakra erupted in bursts of light, all in an attempt to hold back the colossal hand descending upon them. Yet, the instant they made contact, blood sprayed from their lips.
The sheer force pressing down on them far surpassed the limits of their chakra.
And yet, more and more figures surged forward, appearing in streaks of motion, each offering their own meager power to the effort.
"Chief Gandalf! I've brought the warriors with me!"
General Yang's shout rang out from nearby. His own hands were raised high, his teeth clenched as his body trembled under the strain. The joints of his arms creaked loudly, threatening to shatter under the pressure.
"Qin's Nation is blessed to have you all… His Majesty would be proud," Gandalf murmured solemnly.
King Qin Yi was known throughout the realm for his compassion, justice, and advocacy for freedom and equality. Because of this, the people revered him deeply, their loyalty unwavering. Now, as their country stood on the brink of ruin, countless ordinary citizens had stepped forward, offering what little strength they had.
Though their combined power was insignificant before this palm that rivaled heaven and earth, their sacrifice had bought Gandalf a precious sliver of time.
"Your strength matters… just hold on a little longer. Just a little longer. I will sacrifice myself… summon the might of the First King… and save our nation!"
Hashirama's voice trembled with fury and resolve. Everyone present was drenched in sweat, their bodies battered and bleeding, but not one of them faltered.
"Please, Gandalf! Hurry! We can't hold on much longer!"
Gandalf gave a grave nod. Gripping his staff tightly in both hands, his face hardened, his expression solemn and absolute.
"I may be but a speck of dust, a mere demi-god among the stars of the cosmos… but I bear a ritual taught to me by my King!"
"This technique--- "
He stopped himself mid-sentence.
This ritual had been entrusted to him by the First King himself, a last resort to call for aid in the gravest moment of crisis. Though most kings were cold, distant beings, this one had been different. Even in death, he still watched over his children.
But to perform this ritual, Gandalf would have to burn his own life force, ignite the Godfire within his soul, and use that fleeting blaze to bridge the gap and summon divine aid.
Closing his eyes, Gandalf loosened his hold on the crushing palm's weight for just a breath.
Immediately, countless warriors beneath the giant hand vomited blood and collapsed, vanishing in bursts of light. Yet as soon as they fell, more surged forward to take their place.
In this moment, Qin's Nation, over two billion souls strong, stood united, prepared to die defending their homeland.
"Pathetic ants, waving their arms at the heavens… actually seeking death!"
Black Tortoise sneered coldly, though a flicker of unease rippled through his heart.
He hadn't expected these people to withstand his power for so long. No wonder this was the King's World. Even a mere Starlight-level civilization possessed strength to make him wary.
With a scoff, he thrust out his right hand and pressed downward.
"Boom!"
The already massive palm grew heavier, its crushing force magnified once more.
At that exact moment, Gandalf's robes began to billow violently, though there was no wind. His eyes snapped open, blazing with divine light.
"With my body as the offering, I ignite the Godfire! With fire as my beacon… I call to my King!"
"Burn! Burn to ash, my life itself!"
His solemn incantation thundered from his lips. From within Gandalf's body, a blinding white radiance exploded outward. The tip of his staff erupted with a white flame that burned fiercer than ever before.
Before him, in the fabric of space itself, a thin crack appeared, no wider than a finger's breadth, jagged and twisting, stretching outward toward some unfathomable, distant realm.
Gandalf's life force roared like a bonfire, pouring into that widening crack. The rift expanded rapidly, its growth accelerating beyond mortal comprehension.
Within mere heartbeats, his skin shriveled, his hair and beard began to fall away, and his spirit visibly withered. His life was draining at an alarming rate.
"Faster…! Faster…! I must reach him!"
Gandalf muttered through gritted teeth, his voice trembling with desperation.
His lips began to crack, the flesh on his arms shriveling and sinking against his bones as he grew thinner by the second. The life force and vitality coursing through his body were rapidly evaporating into nothingness.
Within five or six breaths, the line of warriors beneath that colossal palm had already rotated through fifteen waves of replacements, yet most of them were hunched over now, straining with all their might just to hold their ground.
Mountains were flattened in that moment. Tsunamis were pressed into stillness. The sound of cracking earth filled the air, endless and deafening. The entirety of Qin's Nation was being crushed beneath that overwhelming palm.
At last, through Gandalf's blurring vision, in that narrow slit of light, a scene began to take form.
Towering mountains stretched thousands of meters high, sprawling across an endless horizon. Enormous trees, each like pillars holding up the sky, reached from the ground. Rivers as vast as oceans, seas glittering like constellations, and titanic beasts lumbered across the land, their every step shaking the world. Just a single glance filled Gandalf with a breath-stealing awe and a tantalizing fragrance of Spiritual Qi that seeped deep into his soul.
This was a world of incomprehensible grandeur, one that eclipsed his wildest imagination.
The visions flickered rapidly, flashing by in an instant, until at last, a palace emerged before his eyes. Vast beyond measure, glittering like the stars themselves, its majesty was beyond mortal comprehension.
Then, with another blinding flash, his perspective shifted. Beyond tens of thousands of kneeling courtiers bowing their heads so low they dared not even breathe too loudly, he saw a man, a middle-aged sovereign crowned with jade, dressed in black dragon-embroidered robes, reclining lazily upon a throne carved into the shape of a dragon.
"Your Majesty!"
Seeing this man, Gandalf smiled.
At last… he had found him.
Then his vision dimmed. The slit of light vanished. His towering figure collapsed with an earth-shaking thud.
His life force had been completely burned away. Gandalf had fallen.
"Gandalf!"
"Chief!"
Countless cries of shock rang out. The fall of Gandalf sent tremors of fear and disbelief through every soul in Qin's Nation.
No one could fathom how this elderly man, so kind and gentle in his daily demeanor yet powerful beyond measure, could collapse so suddenly, lifeless.
Hashirama closed his eyes, grief flooding his heart. With Gandalf gone, they were next.
This colossal hand… with their strength alone, there was no way to stop it.
At that very same moment, within the resplendent, awe-inspiring palace Gandalf had glimpsed before his fall,
"Gandalf…" The middle-aged man on the Dragon Throne stiffened, his voice low and heavy.
After a long silence, he exhaled softly.
"The Rite of Sacrifice, is it?"
Slowly, he shifted his body, preparing to rise from his seat.
"Your Majesty, your health, please, you cannot!" A man in azure robes, an ancient sword at his waist, sharp-eyed and wise beyond measure, immediately stepped forward in alarm.
"It's fine, Yituo," the sovereign said softly. "Gandalf… was the only aid I left for that boy. Now that he has spent his life to invoke the Sacrifice, that boy… has nothing left."
"I granted him life. It is only right that I protect him once more."
Though his face was pale and his body frail, even the simple act of sitting up appearing to cost him great effort, his voice carried a resolve as unshakable as steel.
Yituo's expression changed. He understood what this meant.
Ordinarily, His Majesty referred to himself as Zhen, the imperial "we." But now, he had used wo, "I." And in his eyes flickered a deep tenderness, a warmth and care rarely seen in a ruler's gaze.
For a king's heart seldom harbors affection. Yet the man Yituo served… was an exception.
(End of Chapter)
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