After the fierce confrontation with Liliya and the bewitching interference of Qiqi, the Imperial Army led by Luo Ling finally arrived in grand formation before the Demon King’s Castle.
A sinister moat stretched out before them.
This river was known as the “Resentful Spirit River”.
The name of the river originated from an earth-shattering battle between a Hero and the Demon King.
That battle was incredibly brutal.
Countless soldiers and monsters, filled with heavy resentment, perished on the spot.
Their Resentment lingered on this land like unending wraiths, wandering for ages before finally coalescing into this strange “river”.
Though called a river, it wasn’t truly one in the usual sense—it was more like the physical embodiment of Resentment.
The Resentful Spirit River shimmered with a ghostly green light.
That glow resembled countless resentful spirits’ eyes, flickering eerily in the darkness.
Ripples occasionally formed on the surface, like the low weeping of spirits, whispering of their unfulfilled regrets and suffering from life.
Tattered Armor and broken Weapons floated atop the water, remnants of wars long past.
They lay silently, as if telling the cruel and tragic story of that battle.
A blood moon hung high in the sky, casting red light upon the river.
The originally ghostly green water reflected a strange red glow beneath the blood moon, as if stained by fresh blood.
The mingling of red and green light made the Resentful Spirit River look even more grim and terrifying.
Weeds on the riverbank swayed gently in the breeze, producing a “swoosh, swoosh” sound.
It was as if the spirits were whispering, discussing the fate of those who had come to challenge the Demon King.
From afar, the Resentful Spirit River wound silently around the Demon King’s Castle.
The seemingly calm surface stood in stark contrast to the blood-soaked land.
Yet, this calm was only an illusion, concealing surging danger beneath.
It felt as though countless perils lay hidden within the river’s depths, waiting for anyone daring to approach.
Up close, the Resentful Spirit River exuded a powerful Spiritual Power, like invisible tentacles luring people to leap into its waters.
This Spiritual Power was highly Psychic Temptation, as if a mysterious force was tugging at people’s wills, making it almost impossible to resist.
Many soldiers, upon nearing the Resentful Spirit River, felt an inexplicable pull.
It was as if a voice whispered in their ears, urging them to lay down their Weapons and walk into the river, searching for so-called “peace”.
Luo Ling stood at the forefront of the army like a statue, his gaze piercing as he stared unyieldingly at the Resentful Spirit River.
His eyes were as steadfast as stone, showing not a trace of fear.
He knew well that this river was like an insurmountable chasm, barring their path to the Demon King’s Castle—a final, perilous barrier.
Only by crossing this river could they truly step into the Demon King’s Castle and engage in a battle of life and death.
This was the source of Luo Ling’s troubled frown.
According to the chronicles, the mortality rate of Heroes at this river throughout history was astounding—over ninety percent!
It was as if the river was a bottomless black hole, devouring all life.
Any wavering of will would be mercilessly swallowed by the evil power of the Resentful Spirit River.
Moments ago, two more soldiers with weak spiritual force had been bewitched by this strange power, leaping into the river and vanishing instantly, as if consumed entirely by its waters.
“This can’t go on.”
Luo Ling sat atop his horse, his brow tightly knit as he pondered alone.
He knew all too well that continuing forward with these soldiers was tantamount to sending them into the abyss of death.
As each second ticked by, after intense internal struggle, he made a shocking decision.
He summoned all the soldiers and spoke with firm resolve:
“All of you return.
The rest of the journey is mine to walk alone.”
The soldiers immediately sensed Luo Ling’s determination to enter the Demon King’s Castle alone.
They clamored in protest, trying to persuade him to change his mind.
Yet Luo Ling’s resolve was unshakable.
His eagle-sharp eyes flashed with steadfastness and resolve, ignoring all pleas.
“Lord Luo Ling, you mustn’t go alone!
That’s like a sheep entering a tiger’s den!”
A young soldier cried out, desperation in his eyes.
Luo Ling shook his head slightly.
His voice was like a great bell, calm but filled with unshakable authority:
“My mind is made up.
If you follow me, it’s no different than eggs smashing against stones.
You’d only die in vain.
The danger here is beyond your imagination.
Go back quickly, and live well.”
“But, Lord Luo Ling, as your subordinates, we should share life and death with you!”
Another soldier shouted hoarsely, his face full of unwillingness, as if he wanted to face the Demon King’s Castle himself.
Luo Ling patted the soldier’s shoulder, speaking heavily:
“I understand your feelings, but this is my mission.
I can’t bear to see you die meaninglessly for me.
You all have families—go back.
After all, my childhood friend was killed by monsters…”
There was a faint sadness in his voice—a pain buried deep within.
The soldiers were reluctant to part with the “legendary” hero who could save them.
Luo Ling was completely different from the arrogant heroes of the past.
He was like an iceberg—cold on the outside, yet burning with concern for his soldiers within.
He was meticulous and approachable, never putting on airs.
His daily care for the soldiers was like a gentle spring breeze, or the warm sun.
In their hearts, he was not just a courageous hero but their spiritual pillar—a savior who might lead them to unity and end this nightmare war.
Facing the path of no return that Luo Ling was about to walk, the soldiers’ hearts ached with sorrow, but even more with concern.
How could they bear to let go of the hero who cared for them so deeply?
Yet they knew Luo Ling had his own resolve and mission.
At this moment, Luo Ling slowly dismounted from his warhorse, which stood like an iron beast.
He gently stroked its silky mane, his eyes filled with longing, as if bidding farewell to a beloved.
He whispered softly:
“Farewell, Yi.
I must walk this path alone…”
His voice was so gentle it seemed afraid to disturb anything.
Yi, sensing his master’s sorrow, nuzzled Luo Ling affectionately.
There was a trace of sadness in its eyes as well.
Luo Ling took a deep breath, turned, and strode resolutely towards the unknown and dangerous path ahead.
His back, illuminated by the blood moon, looked lonely yet unwavering.
As Luo Ling departed, the soldiers remained rooted in place, not moving for a long time.
They gazed in the direction Luo Ling had gone, silently praying that this hero would return safely, fulfill his mission, and bring peace and tranquility to this war-torn land.
Only after Luo Ling’s figure gradually faded into the distance did the soldiers slowly turn back.
They knew that while they could not follow Luo Ling into danger, they still had their own responsibilities.
They had to return to the Empire, protect those who still lived, and await the day of Luo Ling’s victorious return.
And at that moment, Luo Ling was already journeying alone.
His steps were steady and resolute, each stride striking the strings of fate, playing the hero’s requiem.
When he arrived before the eerie Resentful Spirit River, a chill instantly rose from beneath his feet, piercing his very bones.
The Resentful Spirit River glowed with a ghostly green, like countless resentful eyes staring at Luo Ling from the darkness.
Within that light, it felt as though endless Resentment and curses lurked.
The river’s surface appeared calm, but beneath was hidden turbulence.
Ripples that rose now and then were like the low wails of spirits, recounting the brutality and tragedy of wars past.
Shattered Armor and broken Weapons floated upon the water, silent witnesses left by war.
They drifted gently, as if ready at any moment to be swept into the unfathomable darkness below.
Under the blood moon’s light, the Resentful Spirit River became even more disturbingly bizarre.
The ghostly green waters shimmered with strange red light, as if soaked entirely in blood.
The mingling of red and green created a chilling color, as if beckoning from the depths of hell.
The weeds on the riverbank swayed in the wind, rustling softly.
It was like the spirits were conspiring to drag Luo Ling into this abyss of Resentment.
Cautiously, Luo Ling took his first step.
As he neared the water, a powerful wave of Spiritual Power surged at him like an invisible tide.
This power was filled with Psychic Temptation, as if countless voices whispered in his ear, urging him to abandon his path and embrace the river’s embrace in pursuit of release.
A wave of dizziness hit Luo Ling.
The world blurred, and it felt as if a force was trying to pull his consciousness into the dark abyss.
But Luo Ling was a Hero, his will as unyielding as steel.
He gritted his teeth, enduring the discomfort brought on by the Spiritual Power, gathering every ounce of his strength to resist.
He kept reminding himself—he could not be deceived by this evil force.
He had a greater mission waiting to be fulfilled.
Slowly, he drew his sword, “Dawn Breaker,” attempting to use its power to dispel the Spiritual Power.
The “Dawn Breaker” gleamed in the darkness, its light a symbol of hope contrasting sharply with the river’s blackness.
As he swung the blade, a fierce wind swept out, scattering the Spiritual Power around him slightly.
Step by step, Luo Ling pressed forward, each step more difficult than the last.
He felt the river’s pull beneath his feet, as though trying to bind his legs.
The water was icy and biting, like cold hands reaching from the depths, seeking to drag him down.
Yet Luo Ling did not retreat.
Relying on his indomitable will and unwavering faith, he cautiously crossed the terrifying Resentful Spirit River.
When he set foot on the far shore, he let out a long breath from his heart…