Within the void space, silence hung like solidifying amber.
How is this possible?
These phantoms, born from the lingering obsessions of the dead realm, could not even be called people.
How dare they?!
Yan stood in the heart of that absolute emptiness, the ancient coin of slumber gripped tightly in his hand.
His blue eyes stared unblinkingly ahead—at Chu You’s blade, at Lin Mo’s blazing golden pupils, at the spatial ripples faintly forming at Gu Qiancheng’s fingertips, at the surging crimson in Xia Ji’s gaze, and at the will of Ye Shou’s squad, the 23rd Squad, the 2nd Composite Brigade, and every soldier of the 103rd Division, united as one, boiling like molten magma with overwhelming battle intent and a death-defying resolve.
This was no longer a mere clash of strength.
It was the thunder of will, the burning of conviction, a torrent of dignity forged in blood and fire by two generations of soldiers across a hundred years—sacred and inviolable!
Su Xiche’s final roar, piercing the dead realm, smashed like the heaviest warhammer against the core pillar of the fate script Yan had so meticulously crafted.
Those souls of the 103rd Division he had treated as mere pawns and background scenery—those aggregations of obsession he believed would repeat history obediently—had actually… chosen a completely different path!
They chose to use their own false existence as fuel, to blast open a bloody road leading to reality, only to grant those who came after a sliver of a chance at life!
This completely defied logic!
It defied the script!
‘No… this isn’t how the trajectory should go… the trajectory was clearly…’
A dry sound, like rusted gears grinding, forced its way from Yan’s throat.
In his blue eyes, the calm composure of one who controlled everything had vanished entirely, replaced by a nearly panicked shock and confusion.
He whipped his head down, staring at the coin of fate resting in his own palm.
This was one of his vital tools, obtained after countless prayers to a god for a response—used to anchor the script’s direction and ensure the grand trajectory of fate would not deviate.
Must confirm!
Must confirm immediately!
In his panic, he practically hurled the coin with a flinging motion, smashing it against the void floor!
Ding—!
The coin traced a hasty arc, struck the invisible plane, and emitted a crisp, piercing cry.
According to logic, according to the established fate projection—at this moment, the coin should land with the sleeping face pointing upward.
Though there might be setbacks, the greater situation remained in hand, and it would eventually return to its proper course.
Or, in the worst-case scenario, it would point to the hourglass side, indicating a significant deviation requiring his immediate intervention.
And yet….
The coin did not bounce a few times and settle, revealing one face, as it always had.
Instead… impossibly, in defiance of all known physics… it stood perfectly upright on the ground.
As if an unseen hand had granted it absolute balance the moment it touched the plane.
This was already horrifying enough.
But then, something far more spine-chilling followed—the upright coin, after a moment of nearly frozen stillness, began to turn… slowly at first, like a spinning top stirred by a gentle breeze.
But soon, its rotation accelerated!
It spun so fast that the two faces—the sleeper and the hourglass—blurred entirely, merging into a chaotic gray shadow!
It spun so fast that the coin itself seemed to emit a low hum, like space itself being torn apart!
It spun so fast that its trajectory trailed infinitesimally fine, transparent ripples in the void—ripples that seemed to touch upon rules far deeper!
Yan’s pupils, in that instant, shrank to pinpricks!
Every trace of color drained from his face, leaving it even paler than his usual sickly complexion.
His lips parted slightly, but no coherent sound emerged—only the faint, involuntary chattering of his teeth.
He stared, transfixed, at the madly spinning coin, which seemed to have taken on a life of its own, entirely beyond the scope of his understanding.
In his blue eyes was a terror that had never existed before, a terror that could not be comprehended, a terror that felt like the very collapse of his faith…
‘H-How… how can this be…?!’
He finally forced a few broken syllables from between his clenched teeth, his voice dry and trembling beyond measure.
This coin was one of the symbols of his connection to the God, an extension of his authority over fate!
How could this… how could something completely inexplicable, entirely divorced from probability and logic, be happening?!
Standing up?!
Spinning?!
What did this mean?!
Did it mean that fate itself had fallen into an immeasurable disorder?!
Did it mean that the underlying logic of the script had been forcibly interfered with, or even severed, by some higher power?!
No!
Impossible!
That is the God!
A supreme being holding dominion over a portion of fate!
How could it be that…
….
At the very same moment Yan’s spirit quaked and his worldview was violently shattered—outside the dead realm, in the real world, on a hillside.
Thick, lead-gray clouds hung low, as if about to crush the mountain ridge.
The wind howled, whipping up withered grass and sand.
A stooped, frail old man stood silently at the highest point of the slope.
His eyes were closed, his face gaunt, his wrinkles deep as knife cuts, his sparse white hair trembling slightly in the wind.
Suddenly.
The old man slowly opened his eyes.
He did not look down at the dead realm beneath him.
Instead, he slowly lifted his head, his gaze calm, directed at the sky above, thick with clouds, seemingly eternal.
His gaze seemed to pierce beyond the clouds.
It pierced the thick haze, pierced the atmosphere, pierced the vast vacuum between the stars, pierced layer upon layer of dimensions and realms that ordinary people could not comprehend or touch…
Reaching ever upward, upward, further upward.
Toward a place that existed only at the level of concepts and rules—a place ordinary people could never perceive, never describe, never even imagine…
An Unspeakable Place.
An Unspeakable Domain.
Here, there was no up or down, no time or space.
Only endless, flowing, intangible threads representing possibility, necessity, chance, and predetermined paths.
They wove, intertwined, diverged, and merged, forming a web of fate so vast it exceeded the scale of the universe, so complex it defied the comprehension of all civilized wisdom.
At the web’s center, or rather, at the converging point of the web’s consciousness, absolute existence and absolute nothingness coexisted simultaneously.
There, it seemed, was the very core of fate itself, made manifest.
Time passed—who knows how long.
Perhaps in the real world, only a single second had elapsed.
Perhaps in that Unspeakable Dimension, ten thousand years had flowed by.
That sleeping consciousness at the core of the web of fate, an eternal presence like the cosmic background radiation, seemed to sense a gaze from infinitely far below.
A gaze as insignificant as a speck of dust, yet exceptionally clear, exceptionally resolute, even carrying a hint of scrutiny and challenge.
And so.
In that Unspeakable Domain, at the core of the boundless web of fate, something… slowly… opened its eyes.
They were not eyes in any material sense.
They were the focus of a concept, the manifestation of a rule, the stare of a divine authority!
The moment they opened, the entire web of fate seemed to tremble slightly!
Innumerable intangible threads shimmered with light; billions of possibilities and predetermined paths flashed simultaneously!
A gaze, vast enough to contain the entire universe, deep enough to swallow all starlight, cold enough to freeze all emotion, descended like an invisible, heavenly waterfall, precisely locking onto the source of that small, dusty gaze from below—the frail old man in the tracksuit, standing on the hillside.
The God looked upon the mortal.
…..
On the hillside.
The moment that unspeakable gaze landed….
In the depths of the old man’s clear, calm eyes, it was as if an invisible needle had pierced them!
Ssss—
An extremely subtle sound, like ice cracking, resounded within his body.
Then.
From the corners of both his left and right eyes, simultaneously and without warning, two streaks of glaring, piercing red… blood flowed forth!
The blood was not a torrent—just two thin lines, like red tears.
They slid slowly, meanderingly, down the deep wrinkles of his gaunt cheeks, gathering into droplets at his jaw, finally falling onto the collar of his washed-out tracksuit, instantly staining two small, dark red patches.
This was the most direct, most brutal backlash for gazing upon a deity, for resisting the stare of the highest authority with a mortal will!
It was a crushing blow at the level of rules, a manifestation of the chasm between lifeforms!
And yet.
Faced with this terrifying pressure and backlash—enough to shatter the soul and annihilate the physical form of any supernatural being—the old man’s bloodstained, cracked lips… actually… curled slightly upward.
It was a minuscule arc, yet exceptionally clear.
There was no pain, no fear, no submission.
Only a kind of… understanding, a kind of calm, even mixed with a faint, indescribable… mockery?
His lips moved slightly, his voice so soft it was nearly drowned out by the wind on the hillside, yet it carried a strange penetrating power, as if it did not come from his throat, but resonated directly from the deepest part of his soul: “I say…”
He paused. Each word was spoken with exceptional clarity, exceptionally slowly, as if stating an eternal truth: “…In the mortal world, there is no God.”
The moment the words fell….
BOOM!
It was as if an invisible, conceptual bomb had detonated at the core of the web of fate in that Unspeakable Domain!
No!
Not a bomb!
It was something far more violent, far more fundamental—negation!
Provocation!
Blasphemy!
In the mortal world, there is no God!
These five words, like five blades of purest human will burning with fire, severing cause and effect, hacked fiercely and without pretense at the very core of that vast web of fate, at its most inviolable authority and concept!
‘YOU!!!’
An impulse that could not be described in any known language, yet could be understood directly by the soul—a mix of supreme majesty, overwhelming fury, and a faint trace of… shock—roared like the simultaneous explosion of billions of supernovas.
It pierced through the barriers of countless layers of time and space and dimensions, ignored all physical and rule-based obstacles, and crashed straight, brutally, with the terrifying might of destroying all who would trespass, into the deepest recesses of the old man’s mind on the hillside!
That was the roar of a God!
The ultimate fury of the highest authority, provoked by an ant!
‘How dare you blaspheme?!’
The force of these two words was a million times more intense than the mere gaze before!
It threatened to tear the old man’s soul apart from the inside out, grind it to dust, then nail it to a pillar of shame for eternal torment!
On the hillside, the old man’s body jolted violently!
More blood seeped from his eyes, ears, and even his nose!
His withered frame seemed on the verge of disintegrating into fundamental particles under that terrifying mental assault!
And yet.
The upward curve of his lips at this moment… grew even more pronounced, even more… disdainful.
“Blasphemy?”
The old man actually spoke, his voice still not loud, even carrying a rasp of blood-flecked spittle due to internal injuries, but the calm and mockery in his tone pierced like the sharpest needle toward the fury of that supreme being.
“I merely…”
He raised his hand, using his gaunt, blood-stained fingers to casually gesture toward the dead realm below, shrouded in gray mist, and then made a faint, seemingly meaningful cutting motion in the air.
“…Cut an errant thread of fate that should not have existed… why…”
He paused, exhaling a breath of bloody air.
“…Must you be so flustered and enraged?”
As his words fell.
He took half a step forward.
Just half a step.
Yet it seemed to shatter some invisible shackle, stepping onto a node of the very rules themselves!
RIIIIIP—!
A sharp, clear tearing sound, like the violent rending of the finest brocade, rang out without warning!
The old man’s ordinary dark blue tracksuit, starting from the center of the collar, split apart bizarrely and straight down!
Not torn by the wind, not shattered by force.
It was as if two invisible hands, with absolute precision and elegance, had cut the garment in two from the center!
The split was smooth, reaching the hem.
The tracksuit fell open on both sides, revealing the old man’s gaunt, bony chest, as dry as an ancient tree a thousand years old.
And there, in the very center of his chest….
Imprinted upon his skin was a pattern of utmost complexity, an arcane design dazzling to behold!
It was not a tattoo acquired later in life, but more like the manifested form of some primal power, a life sigil, or perhaps the fruit of his path!
The main body of the pattern was a perfect circle.
Within the circle, there were no yin-yang fish.
Instead, arranged according to some ancient, mysterious orientation, were eight distinct symbols—
☰ QIAN, ☱ DUI, ☲ LI, ☳ ZHEN, ☴ XUN, ☵ KAN, ☶ GEN, ☷ KUN—the Eight Trigrams of Primordial Heaven!
But the states of these eight trigrams at this moment were starkly different.
The markings of six trigrams—Qian, Dui, Li, Zhen, Xun, Kan—were now a faint, ashen white, as if drained of all energy and spirit, leaving only blurred outlines, like ancient, faded, and weathered murals.
Only the two remaining trigrams—Gen and Kun!
Mountain and Earth.
They still shone with flowing light, clear and distinct!
Bearing, Stability, Nurturing, Stillness.
This radiance was not dazzling or piercing, but it gave off an indescribable sense of solidity, of antiquity, as if sharing the same breath and fate as the very planet beneath their feet, as the mountains and rivers of this land!
The old man stood there on the hillside, letting his bloodstained tracksuit billow behind him in the wind, revealing the Eight Trigram pattern on his chest—half dim, half shining.
He raised his head high, and on his blood-stained face, that contemptuous smile spread, became clear, and finally transformed into a fearless, dominating aura that looked down upon the world!
His gaze seemed to pierce the endless void once more, locking onto that unspeakable existence from afar.
“If not…”
He spoke, his voice no longer soft, but carrying a clanging, metallic resonance, each word like a falling star crashing down: “…that I cannot locate your true body…”
He paused.
The light of the Gen and Kun trigrams on his chest seemed to flare for an instant!
“Even if you are a God…”
The old man enunciated each word, spitting out the final, earth-shattering declaration that could shake the heavens themselves: “Today——”
“You will FALL!”
The instant the word “fall” left his mouth—
RUMBLE—!!!
As if answering this rebellious decree!
Above the hillside, those lead-gray clouds that had hung for who knows how long, thick enough to seem eternal, suddenly…
From their very center, were torn apart by an invisible, formless yet supremely sharp force—straight, brutal… a massive rift opened!
Like the heavens opening an eye!
The long-absent, golden-red light of the setting sun, like molten gold, poured down splendidly from the tear in the clouds!
It instantly illuminated the dark hillside, illuminated the old man’s bloodstained yet upright spine, illuminated the shining Gen and Kun trigrams on his chest!
The pillar of light, like a divine sword, tore through the darkness, connecting heaven and earth!
The wind that had been howling and moaning seemed, at that moment, to suddenly cease.
Everything was silent.
Only the light, flowing.
…..
The old man still stood on the hillside, bathed in the golden sunset.
The Eight Trigram pattern on his chest, the radiance of the Gen and Kun trigrams, seemed all the more ancient, solid, and mysterious in the sunlight.
He slowly shifted his gaze, no longer looking toward the depths of that Unspeakable Dimension.
Instead, he lowered his head, his eyes falling upon the slope below—the dead realm, shrouded in gray mist, distorted space, and deep, silent stillness.
His gaze was calm and profound, as if it could pierce all barriers and see everything happening within.
He gazed for a moment.
Then, he slowly raised his gaunt, knobby hand.
The movement was somewhat sluggish, as if the act of confronting the God and severing the thread of fate had consumed an unimaginable amount of his energy.
With the pad of his finger, he gently and carefully wiped away the still-un-dried, glaring traces of blood from the corners of his eyes and his cheeks.
The motion was very gentle, very slow.
Like an ordinary old man wiping away some accidentally gotten dust.
Then, he lowered his hand, letting the blood-stained fingers hang at his side.
He still stood there, standing in the pillar of sunset light, beneath the torn gap in the clouds.
His figure was small, yet he seemed…
To stand towering between heaven and earth.