Battle of the Extreme Realm

Yordel instinctively sensed something was wrong.

Because after a brief standoff and probing, the white-haired Blood Race elder, who had been attacking fiercely, suddenly turned passive along with his two juniors!

They stopped their mad, dangerous assaults, their charges, their flickering movements. They no longer used undetectable sounds to command the Blood Thralls.

Until Gilbert's voice rang out urgently:

"Yordel!"

Though they rarely saw eye to eye, Yordel understood him immediately!

The masked mysterious guard looked up and saw Tales push open the balcony door into the room, disappearing into the darkness within.

Tales, why?

As the Mechanical Gears behind the Crystal Lens turned, Yordel's vision rapidly zoomed toward the third floor. But that room was so dark, he couldn't see anything inside.

Yordel's heart stirred restlessly.

His figure vanished in an instant.

In an unknown gray-white world, a gray-white moon slowly emerged. Then, a gray-white iron door appeared out of nowhere, followed by a connected gray-white garden, gray-white outer walls, gray-white windows, a gray-white mansion, and so on.

Before long, a gray-white Weed Manor, identical to the real one except for its eerie coloring, materialized in this world.

After an unknown time, as if the sky had been tugged, a point in the void suddenly rippled outward like the surface of water touched by a dragonfly's tail, sending visible waves spreading in all directions!

Finally, a normally colored Yordel gently emerged from the center of the void ripples into the gray-white world, stepping onto the equally gray-white Weed Manor.

Treading the gray-white, lifeless path—identical in shape and structure to the real world but devoid of any human presence or vitality—the masked guard skillfully leaped from window to window in this shadowy world, racing upward toward the third floor of Weed Manor.

He was going to reach the third-floor room through the shadow world!

But just a few meters short of stepping onto the stone railing of the third-floor balcony, Yordel suddenly paused.

Because he clearly felt that, a moment ago, this gray-white Shadow Path had been struck hard from every corner, as if by a heavy hammer!

Resonance.

Those two words surfaced in Yordel's mind.

Such a familiar feeling.

He frowned slightly, then abandoned his climb.

The next instant, Yordel's left foot shot out like lightning, kicking off the gray-white outer wall of the gray-white house. He soared into the air like a swallow, tumbling backward!

Within a few meters below the gray-white balcony, the spot Yordel had just stepped on eerily rippled with spatial distortion, spreading outward with a shock that collapsed the surrounding gray-white outer walls!

This ripple revealed a breathtaking blood-red hue.

That blood-red surged across the entire gray-white Shadow Path in an instant!

Tumbling through the air, Yordel let out an inaudible sigh, and his entire body shimmered with transparent spatial ripples.

His spatial ripples canceled out the incoming blood-red ripples.

Within seconds, his form vanished into the void.

In the real world.

Below the third-floor observation deck of Weed Manor, a blood mist enveloped a large area of midair, contracting and expanding in a rhythmic—vibration!

Yordel materialized abruptly amid this eerie vibration!

Appearing mid-tumble, Yordel looked at the blood mist surrounding him and frowned—twelve years, and once again, he had been forcibly driven out of the Shadow Path.

Using the same method as back then.

Waiting for him was an ambush prepared in advance.

The blood mist ceased its vibration. A suffocating aura surged, rolling countless blood droplets toward him at terrifying speed.

From the blood mist, an aged blood-red right hand coalesced, striking a seemingly light palm toward Yordel, who had no foothold in midair.

Aimed straight at his chest and abdomen.

But before the palm even closed in, the clothes over Yordel's chest and abdomen emitted an ominous "sizzling" sound, shredding into pieces midair!

If one looked closely, they would see that the blood-red hand was surrounded by fine blood mist, corroding every obstacle it encountered!

Like Yordel's heart.

And he hung suspended in midair, unable to dodge.

The Shadow Path could no longer shelter him.

Midair, facing imminent disaster, Yordel could only calmly retract his chest and abdomen, curling his body into a strange shape to buy a fraction more time before meeting that palm head-on.

A little over a second.

Many things happened in that span of just over a second!

In an instant, the dark-hued Short Sword appeared in Yordel's right hand.

In the blink of an eye, sword light flashed from Yordel's hand as he struck three times in rapid succession!

None of the three strikes aimed at the dangerous blood-red palm.

But behind Yordel's Crystal Lens, gears spun at breakneck speed. The countless fine blood mist particles became starkly visible in his sight, nowhere to hide: the terrifying blood mist, swept by Yordel's Short Sword, sent out three ripples invisible to ordinary eyes!

The blood palm struck unimpeded, only a second away.

The gears behind Yordel's lens instantly reversed direction. The Crystal Lens shifted color, and his vision changed with it: the three ripples disturbed the surrounding blood aura, and behind the blood palm, a single irregular blood droplet turned erratically in the disturbance.

The next moment, Yordel's Short Sword traced an afterimage at an inconceivable speed, stabbing toward that irregular blood droplet.

"Shiiik!"

The sword tip lightly touched the blood-mist palm, then withdrew with lightning speed—wasting not a shred of force, yet sparing not a single ounce of energy.

Within the blood-mist palm, a droplet of middling size shattered apart.

Then, in the split second before the once-ferocious blood palm would have slammed into Yordel's chest, it dissolved into nothingness!

Yordel landed lightly. On his left chest and abdomen, a patch of clothing, badly corroded by the blood mist, turned to ash, revealing a strip of hidden muscle. The skin on its surface had long been eaten away, and blood flowed freely.

The swirling blood mist, following the collapse of the blood palm, gathered backward and re-formed in front of Yordel into Chris Corleone's deathly still figure—but his right hand failed to materialize.

Yordel didn't even glance at the wound on his chest and abdomen, letting the blood soak the hem of his robe until his muscles automatically contracted, staunching the corroded wound's bleeding.

Chris frowned and shook his right arm. A fresh, crimson hand bone grew from his lost wrist, mingling with blood mist, and at a visible speed, re-formed muscle and skin.

Yordel's chest wound looked far more severe, while Chris's right hand regrew without a scratch.

But in Chris's heart, a shadow crept in: he knew that in that perilous instant of life-or-death combat between Extreme Realm experts, the proud Long-Lived Race had already lost to the Short-Lived Species behind that mask.

At first, Yordel had stepped into his unique Shadow Path, vanishing from this world while advancing on its other side.

But then Chris, using the omnipresent blood mist, transformed it into tens of thousands of blood droplets. With a sudden burst of uniform, powerful resonance, he forcibly shook the skilled Masked Guard out of his solitary shadow.

Caught midair in Chris's trap, Yordel found his path abruptly severed. The blood mist, laced with faint corrosive power, condensed under the pull of Source Blood into a denser palm, striking at him.

No leverage, no evasion, no melting into shadow—Yordel was in absolute disadvantage.

But in an instant, Yordel twisted his body, buying just over a second.

In that brief span of a second, Yordel pinpointed the Source Blood among millions of tiny droplets, destroyed it utterly, and shattered Chris's right hand in the process.

Thus was the victor decided between Extreme Realm experts.

Yordel had merely lost a palm-sized patch of skin and some outer walls of his veins.

Chris, under Yordel's blade, had lost a drop of Source Blood—the essence of the Blood Race's vibrant life, a droplet that took over a century to condense.

Chris let out a sigh. Truly a brilliant young man, a fearsome latecomer.

"Truly exquisite skill and astonishing instinct—comparing you to 'Wrath of the Kingdom' earlier was my ignorance."

As he spoke, Chris's form flickered again, dodging Yordel's ghostly sword strike.

"Even 'Wrath of the Kingdom' couldn't have done better."

Yordel ignored him, stomping hard and charging toward a second-floor window.

But Chris blocked him again.

"But you're too late to turn the tide." Chris swayed, evading Yordel's attack while stalling his advance to the third floor.

The old man of the Long-Lived Races kept talking, his words laced with the chilling insight of the long-lived: "For a boy his age, he's probably the smartest and calmest Short-Lived Species I've seen in my six hundred-plus years of life."

Having lost a drop of Source Blood, Chris no longer hoped to kill, or even defeat, this opponent—Extreme Realm experts were all dangerous individuals with vast power and lofty realms, yet perfectly controlled in their output. In just a few exchanges, they both understood the Battle Situation's trajectory.

But he couldn't let the other disturb His Highness's feeding—especially since that Short-Lived Species whelp might be the key to His Highness's awakening.

"Pity, his curiosity and sense of crisis are far too strong—even knowing reinforcements were coming, he couldn't resist taking the initiative, saving and defending himself. He probably can't stand the feeling of his fate being in others' hands."

"We only feigned a few attacks, and he keenly noticed that the third floor might be our weak point."

"Curiosity and crisis drove him to push open that door."

"Little did he know, that was exactly where we wanted him to go."

"His Highness needs his blood, needs his power."

"Young man, you're already too late."

"That Short-Lived Species boy, at this very moment," Chris's eyes gleamed with sharp light, and for the first time, his tone toward Tales carried respect and admiration, "has become His Highness's strength."

Yordel's Short Sword trembled slightly.

When Tales saw clearly the charred, withered hand reaching out from the eerie Black Coffin, he stood frozen for a full five seconds.

A powerful flash of memory assaulted every cell in his brain, dragging back familiar images from the void:

He heard that sweet, gentle voice again, but now it spoke without courtesy:

"Wu Qiren—you're hurting me! It's just a rewatch of a classic, why are you so scared?"

In Tales's ears, his past self's voice was full of fear and trembling:

"I thought it was 'The Godfather' or something—who knew you'd want to watch 'Ju-On' in the dead of night!"

"This is a timeless classic, okay? Look how cute Kayako is—hey, go easy! My skin's delicate!"

"Damn it, she's she's she's she's she's appearing! You've got big boobs, block for me!"

"Now you think my chest is big? Why didn't you—hey, if you're scared, just close your eyes!"

"I can't help it. Can we turn on the light—wait, she she she she she's climbing down!"

"Wu Qiren! Sit your ass back in that chair!"

"Damn it, Grandma, don't hit pause at this scene! I have to go up and down these stairs every day—"

Moonlight was swallowed by dark clouds. In the blackness, the sudden flash of past-life memories was cut short by a spine-chilling roar.

"Hah—"

It sounded like a drowning man suddenly waking from a false death.

But to Tales, poisoned as he was by those past-life memories, it sounded exactly like the ghastly wail of a thousand-year-old vengeful spirit rising from the dead!

Tales snapped back to reality with a jolt. Dazed, he realized that the ghostly hand-like thing gripping the coffin's edge was, with that terrifying roar, suddenly clawing outward!

A wrist withered like a mummy's.

A forearm blackened as if scorched by hellfire.

A shoulder gnawed to ruin as if chewed by countless ants.

One by one, they emerged from the Black Coffin behind that hand!

This ghostly hand—and the barely human-shaped "body" it was attached to—seemed to be slowly crawling out of the Black Coffin!

Until a hair-raising skull, under the faint moonlight, slowly rose above the coffin's rim!

This gaunt "skull," draped in withered white hair, had a face charred and rotted beyond proportion. Its black mouth was grotesquely oversized, and where its nose should have been was nothing but a bottomless pit of darkness!

Tales felt goosebumps spread from his scalp all the way to his fingertips.

Beneath the white hair, "it" opened that pitch-black "mouth," the gaping maw splitting all the way to its ears!

"Hah—"

The ghastly roar hit Tales' ears head-on.

His scalp went numb, and he nearly collapsed to the floor!

The monster didn't stop. Slowly, yet with a steady rhythm, it crawled out of the Black Coffin, as if groping its surroundings.

From head to torso, from Left Arm to right arm, that "skull" finally cleared the coffin's rim, and its entire upper body tipped toward the ground.

At last, that withered, ghostly left hand lightly touched the floor.

Tales' mind was a blank. Trembling slightly, he slowly sucked in a breath of cold air.

Just then, the skull pressed to the ground seemed to sense something.

It paused, then slowly lifted its head toward Tales.

The withered white hair fell to either side, and its "face" was faintly revealed, facing him directly.

And where its eye sockets should have been—

Tales saw—

Two irregular black pits.

The boy nearly fainted from terror.

It looked like a half-burned corpse?

But perhaps his street-hardened experience since crossing over had toughened his nerves. Despite his fear, Tales trembled and scraped together what little reason remained in his mind.

Whatever that thing is—Tales shivered, thinking silently—I have to run!

It looks scary, but it's slow. I just need to—

Tales forced himself not to think about those horror movie plots from his past life. He shifted his feet, twisting the comfortable children's leather shoes Gilbert had prepared for him (though they were already badly worn from the running), ready to escape this dangerous place with speed.

As long as Yordel comes to rescue me—Tales thought. But the moment his shoes turned, that demonic monster suddenly lunged out of the coffin!

Like a headless ghost blindly wandering, suddenly awakened!

"Hah—ah!" The ghastly roar rang out again!

Tales, maxed out on terror, spun around to flee!

"Thud, thud—" Pale-faced, Tales took two steps toward the balcony!