Chapter 29
At that time, the human war commanders had hesitated, fearing the shadow of the plague, a force clearly beyond their capacity to confront.
Even Humanity itself, the supreme entity standing atop the hierarchy after the principal Gods had been cast aside, trembled, shrouded in unavoidable shivers when facing the possibility of mass extinction sweeping through the dynasty.
Now…
…The disease had vanished without a trace.
And humans, with their short memories and insatiable lust for power, were preparing once more.
They would sound the drums of war, carrying out total extermination of the Exiled, moving swiftly before the fallen Gods could rise again.
Ling Xu stood in a chilling silence.
If Huan Zheng spoke the truth, then the world was heading toward an abyss of slaughter, far more terrifying than merely their personal conflict.
Ironically, it was Huan Zheng—the traitor she so despised—who provided the most timely warning.
Huan Zheng stood at the precipice of ambition, revealing humanity's plans with the clarity of a sinner who had shed the burden of his sins.
He uncovered layer by layer of hatred, detailing structured steps to massacre the gods down to the very breath of life.
Each point he made shot forth like an arrow, piercing the veins of the ancient world, continuing to pulse as it went.
Ling Xu, observing and listening, interpreted the presentation from the narrow gap between distance and disbelief, feeling it gnaw at her chest.
She knew that a goddess like her should not be ensnared by chaos, much less blinded by it.
Yet the spark of insight offered by Huan Zheng shook her, splitting her mind like fine cracks repeatedly opening.
There had indeed been a time when Huan Zheng extended a helping hand, a sort of comprehensive guidance meant to lead the Enlightened Exiled from the clutches of darkness.
Ling Xu had almost trusted his words without hesitation.
Until betrayal arrived, sharp as a hidden dagger beneath the skin.
Silent, yet deadly.
The wound would inevitably leave a lasting mark, forming a new network that resonated loudly within her vigilance.
Though she was drawn in, she did not fall as Huan Zheng had hoped; the indelible scar could not be discarded.
The explosive force of Huan Zheng's power had always lingered, never losing its might—yet now, just as Ling Xu began to share a fragment of her own fierce resolve, mirroring someone's weariness against an immovable wall, she saw a crack.
For a moment, Huan Zheng was no longer an unyielding cornerstone, and in that instant, his hastily declared admission revealed that humanity had already moved beyond mere planning.
They had acted, infiltrated, torn apart, igniting reluctant resistance as if along a normal trajectory.
It did not end there.
This plan was no longer a mere idea, a thought incubating in the shadows.
It had transformed into extreme action, and in just a few days, the blood of the gods would spill, already flowing even before war was officially declared.
As Ling Xu turned, glancing through the ripples of the past, she could only note one crucial point.
The cruelty of barbaric humanity had shed its false face.
They were no longer humans, mortal fools begging for freedom, but executioners, hangmen demanding the heavens submit.
If one were to discern a connection, perhaps the key lay in Huan Zheng's reluctance to prevent the annihilation of the Gods; his fall into the world—specifically to the place where Ling Xu and others had been cast—still left significant echoes, aspects impossible to disregard in every uttered word.
His account of cosmic bombardment was no idle tale, not easily dismissed, and for Ling Xu, the information deserved careful attention, examined with the caution of one standing on the edge of collapsing meaning.
Ling Xu tried to understand each word, tracing the faint line between human invasion and her own reality, now shaped as a cultivator.
At first glance, it was a minor change, but within the grandeur of the scheme, aligned with Huan Zheng's declarations, it appeared as an initial crack long before the plates of the world were set to collide.
Vigilance became her last fortress, a measure she still maintained.
For she knew, if what Huan Zheng said was true, catastrophe was no longer a shadow of the future, but a raw form, a structured pattern of destruction, layered and silently unfolding.
The credibility of his exposition, however, was difficult to ignore.
Ling Xu still regarded Huan Zheng as a member of humanity's highest caste, the group formed after the Harmony Conflict, a position not to be shared with those who sow lies.
Thus, a part of her was compelled to listen, absorb, and store it within her heart.
Yet resistance persisted.
Questions grew, spreading like tall grass, filling her mind as she listened to the account of the universe's devastation.
She asked, not to anyone, but engraved inwardly, facing the emptiness within herself.
"What is the connection between Huan Zheng's personal reluctance toward this grand plan and the annihilation of the Gods?"
No red thread linked them, yet the connection was strong enough to bind two points within a single logic.
Except for one possibility: among the Exiled, there might be a Divine being, an ancient existence Huan Zheng cherished, someone he could only save through indirect means.
A shadow lurking among his enemies.
If she were honest, Ling Xu herself was somewhat astonished, momentarily questioning the reasoning, as if something had stepped too deeply into the unrest she felt.
She tried to trim her curiosity, restraining herself from becoming too immersed in the puzzles of the past or Huan Zheng's hidden motives—a priority set from the beginning, though control was beginning to waver.
The tension between curiosity and caution built silently, growing almost like an unwanted seed, yet thriving because the soil was secretly fertile.
Amid the whirl, one fact made it nearly impossible for Ling Xu to delineate the boundary of truth, which now stood in an odd form.
Too vague to fully trust, yet too real to ignore.
Ling Xu continued her internal dialogue, debating whether Huan Zheng's account was accurate, even as small evidence lay directly before her eyes.
She had never liked half-hearted confessions, especially from someone who once tore her trust apart.
Yet the world would not wait, not for conviction to act, and the seeds sown by Huan Zheng's exposition—nothing less than destruction—were already sprouting amidst reality.
Ling Xu could verbally reject them, but her body, guided by instincts honed by suffering, was prepared first.
To be continued…