World-Shaking Hammerblows

Xilian rode into a badly weathered ruin.

Several days had passed since Xilian left White Cliff Town. He had made camp so many times that the routine had become second nature.

Before the last light vanished from the horizon, Xilian lit a campfire and fed it Soul Marrow.

The pure white flame burned quietly, illuminating Xilian's face in the gathering dark.

Xilian took a drink to wet his throat, then chewed on some dried meat. Its rough texture felt like wood shavings scraping his throat, but out in the perilous Wilderness, he could hardly be picky.

Night fell, and Grey Fog rolled in, wrapping the land in layer upon layer of haze.

Xilian had just finished his meager dinner when he caught the foul, bloody scent drifting through the night.

Demons.

Those familiar old friends arrived with the night once again, right on time to meet Xilian. They gathered beyond the Soul Marrow's light like a pack of wild dogs, snarling without end.

During the first few nights, Xilian had drawn the Boiling Sword and fought them.

The fighting usually lasted until midnight. Only after leaving severed limbs and filthy blood strewn across the ground would Xilian stop, retreat exhausted to the campfire, and sleep propped against his sword.

But Xilian soon understood that there was no killing every demon.

Even if he cut down hundreds or thousands, the Ouroboros Mark remained unsatisfied. Nor could the Blessing: Hatred and Malice it had granted grow stronger through sacrifices of demon blood.

The Ouroboros Mark craved more powerful enemies. When Xilian swung his sword, he was merely indulging a self-destructive urge to vent his boundless rage.

He could not let anger rule him forever.

Before a sword slew its true enemy, it needed to conserve its strength, not dull its edge against unyielding stones.

Xilian did his best to rein in his emotions.

Ignoring the shapes writhing in the dark, Xilian picked up a book and quietly began to read.

He had barely read a few lines when irritation welled up inside him. The low moans and shrieks of the approaching demons only made it worse.

At the same time, the tragedy in White Cliff Town flashed before Xilian's eyes like a series of slides.

Xilian gripped the book tighter. Every muscle in his body tensed, and his breathing grew heavy. He was like a bowstring drawn taut, his fury ready to erupt.

"Stay calm, Xilian."

Xilian spoke to himself, slowly suppressing the turmoil until he grew calm.

He knelt before the campfire and laid the Boiling Sword across his thighs.

Spending a night in the Wilderness was extremely dangerous, especially for Xilian on his own.

He did not dare truly sleep. He could only close his eyes and meditate.

After I killed the Deathbird, the Ouroboros Mark gained immense satisfaction, causing Myriad Forms Evolution to become a specific blessing. To go further, I'll need to kill several Rank One, or even Rank Two, Chaos Followers...

Xilian had only recently become a Torchbearer, yet his Soul Marrow concentration had already reached 6%. His progress was remarkably fast.

Once his Soul Marrow concentration reached the threshold of 9.9%, Xilian could attempt to advance to the next stage of the Torchbearing Path.

Rank Two: Smelter.

Usually, Xilian meditated through the night, dozed for a while before dawn fully broke, then mounted his motorcycle and began another day's journey.

Such an ordeal would have worn an ordinary person's mind and strength to nothing. But as a Transcendent, Xilian endured it all.

Xilian had to endure it all.

Time passed slowly to the crackle of the fire. Xilian's awareness gradually blurred, drifting between wakefulness and dreams.

Suddenly, a burning pain jolted Xilian awake.

The long-dormant Ouroboros Mark began to glow faintly, sending an increasingly fierce, searing pain through him.

Xilian scanned his surroundings warily and moved his stiff body.

All he could see was murky darkness and the hideous shapes shifting within it. Farther away, only a few flickering points of fire were visible. Each marked a towering city-state.

Nothing seemed out of place, yet the pain from the Ouroboros Mark kept growing.

The moment it peaked, the change came.

In an instant, the Grey Fog churned violently. The demons scattered with piteous cries, as though something terrifying had arrived.

Xilian threw more Soul Marrow into the campfire. Pure white flames surged upward, but failed to drive back the Grey Fog closing in from every direction.

The ground shook violently.

The wind whipped sand and stones through the air. The demons' cries rapidly faded into the distance, while the shaking grew more intense.

Xilian's face went pale as a dreadful possibility occurred to him.

Just as things could rise into reality, things could also sink out of it.

Xilian fed a large amount of Soul Marrow into the campfire. Its pure white light formed a patch of stable ground amid the surging Grey Fog, anchoring the reality around him.

As long as the Soul Marrow kept burning, it could resist the Grey Fog's distortions, keeping Xilian and the ground beneath him anchored in reality.

That was why so many city-states had stood for ages without sinking into the Spirit Realm.

All Xilian could do now was wait for the upheaval to end and the sun to rise.

BANG—

From deep within the eerie Grey Fog came a long, weighty, muffled blow.

The sound seemed to rise from the underworld. Vast and powerful, it sent the Grey Fog heaving like storm-tossed waves wherever it passed.

The demons lurking within the fog shattered under that invisible force like fragile glass, bursting into scarlet clouds of blood that spread through the air.

Xilian did not escape the terrible sound wave either.

The instant the sound struck Xilian's ears, it felt as if an invisible iron hammer of unimaginable weight had slammed into his chest with crushing force.

His blood surged as though boiling. Phantom pain spread through him, as if countless insects were gnawing at the marrow of his bones.

Xilian's legs trembled beyond his control, and he nearly fell to his knees.

His vision swam and his awareness blurred. Before Xilian could act, another blow rang out.

BANG—

This blow was clearer. Closer.

The invisible shock seemed to crush Xilian's lungs, leaving him unable to breathe.

It also blasted the Grey Fog apart, revealing countless demons reduced to foul blood and pulped flesh.

Rust-red metal slowly emerged from the murky Grey Fog. Intricate, mesmerizing patterns were engraved across its surface, while a lava-like glow flowed through its seams like ghostly fire.

In a daze, Xilian saw it.

Amid the rust-red haze, the Craftsman swung a massive, rough-hewn hammer, striking an anvil that had stood unmoved since ancient times, again and again. Thousands of sparks flew.

The great hammer rose high.

Xilian realized that when it fell again, its devastating echo would indiscriminately pulverize everything there—including him.

With that strike, the Craftsman would completely shatter the barrier of the Spirit Realm and rise fully into reality.

Before such immense power, all Xilian could do was watch in silence.

Watch his arrival. Watch his own death.

The hammer slowly descended. Just before it touched the anvil, a sliver of light fell between them, dispelling the chaos of the Grey Fog and shining on Xilian's face.

Night was ending. Dawn had returned.

The Interstice Gray Domain swiftly evaporated, interrupting the Craftsman's ascent. Xilian watched him sink back into the Spirit Realm. Yet before the last trace of rust-red vanished, one hammerblow still crossed the boundary between worlds and reached Xilian's ears.

An invisible shock wave swept across the land. It overturned Xilian's campfire and tent, knocked over his motorcycle, and hurled Xilian himself across the hard gravel.

Then all was still.

When Xilian woke from unconsciousness, the blazing midday sun hung overhead.

His throat felt as though it were on fire, and blood clung to his cracked lips.

He struggled to his feet. Pain of varying intensity shot through his body, reminding Xilian that the terrifying hammerblows had been no illusion.

He looked around. For hundreds of meters in every direction, the land was flat. Not one of the broken walls that had stood there the night before remained.

Xilian could not tell whether they had sunk back into the Spirit Realm or been pulverized into fine dust by the hammerblows.

The Boiling Sword was still in Xilian's hand, even though he had lost consciousness, but his luggage and motorcycle were nowhere to be seen.

Xilian spent some time digging his battered pack out from under the dust. Fortunately, most of his things were still there. He unscrewed his canteen and gulped down several mouthfuls of water, then found his motorcycle a hundred meters away, half-buried in dust.

The good news: Xilian's motorcycle had not sunk into the Spirit Realm. The bad news: its engine cover was dented, and it would not start.

Xilian took out his tattered map and estimated his supplies and the distance he had left to travel.

Nearby, the sand suddenly shifted.

Xilian drew the Boiling Sword.

Something had taken advantage of last night's upheaval and escaped the Spirit Realm in the wake of the hammerblows.

Xilian drew on the Source Energy and Soul Marrow within him and stepped forward cautiously. He was still debating whether to attack when the other party emerged from the sand.

"Cough, cough... Fuck, I almost suffocated."

The newcomer spat out several mouthfuls of dust, looking utterly drained.

At the sight of him, Xilian stared in astonishment, unsure whether to swing his sword.

The newcomer noticed Xilian too and asked with easy familiarity.

"Huh? Friend, where are we?"

Xilian did not answer. He pressed the Boiling Sword against the top of the newcomer's head.

The newcomer looked at Xilian in confusion. Xilian tapped his face with the flat of the blade, then, satisfied that he posed no threat, kicked him over.

The newcomer rolled several times before stopping. Once he had scrambled back up, he cursed at Xilian.

"If you don't want to tell me, fine! Why'd you have to kick me?"

Xilian still did not answer his question. Instead, he asked, "What are you?"

"What am I? That's pretty insulting, don't you think?"

"A person?" Xilian was even more bewildered. "You're saying you're... a person?"

"What kind of question is—"

He was about to scold Xilian when Xilian held the Boiling Sword before his eyes. Reflected in its gleaming blade was a white dog's head.

The newcomer froze, staring at his reflection.

He looked to Xilian for confirmation. Xilian nodded solemnly, confirming it.

For a moment, the world fell silent.

The big white dog rolled hysterically in the sand, screaming over and over.

"A dog? How did I become a dog?!"