A hazy consciousness struggled constantly, and Yang Chang'an only felt his entire body bound so tightly that he could not even lift a finger.
He subconsciously waved his hands. The touch was soft, yet he could not break free from those invisible shackles in the slightest. Panicked in his heart, he wanted to open his mouth to call for help, but what rolled out of his throat was not a familiar, mature male voice, but bursts of soft, cooing wails. The sound was tender beyond belief, exactly like an infant in his impression.
"Could it be that I... have transmigrated?"
A thought fiercely slammed into Yang Chang'an's chaotic consciousness. He never expected that after being reborn for a lifetime, he would actually end up in such a plight.
Before he could even digest this heaven-shaking turn of events, a deafening roar suddenly exploded beside his ear:
"Do not get bogged down in a protracted fight! Charge, charge out!"
That voice carried the resolve of burning the bridges and sinking the boats, shocking Yang Chang'an's eardrums with pain and causing even his tiny body to tremble along with it. Immediately following, another shout traveled over:
"Second Master, there are too many of them! We cannot charge out!"
The sounds of battle, the clashing of weapons, and wails instantly enveloped Yang Chang'an. Although his consciousness was not yet fully clear, he could clearly feel the panic and despair all around, as well as a blood-stench so thick it could not be dissolved, which drilled unhindered into his nose and mouth, causing his stomach to heave continuously.
Suddenly, a patch of warmth splashed onto his face. The sticky touch made him subconsciously blink his eyes open, but within the blurred field of vision there was only a sky full of blood-red. That crimson dyed everything before him, and he simply could not make out what on earth was happening right in front of him.
Blood... it's blood...
Yang Chang'an's heart shook violently, and the shadow of death instantly enveloped him.
At this moment he wanted to cry out in alarm and run away, but his throat could only emit intermittent infant wails, weak and helpless.
Only then did he thoroughly realize that right now he was merely a newborn infant, and upon this battlefield of flashing swords and dancing blades, he did not even have the ability to protect himself.
Just as he was seized by fear and his entire body grew stiff, a rough, large hand gently stroked his head.
That palm carried heavy calluses and a faint stench of blood, yet it unexpectedly gave him a trace of meager security.
Yet the very next second, he only felt a bout of the world spinning, and he was tightly scooped up into someone's embrace. At the same time, the sound of metal clashing almost pierced his eardrum, causing his tiny body to tremble uncontrollably, and even his crying turned intermittent.
The footsteps of the Grim Reaper seemed to be right behind, stepping on his heartbeat with every stride.
Yang Chang'an did not even dare to speak now; he could only subconsciously bite down hard on those gums that had not yet grown full teeth, praying frantically in his heart that he would not be hacked to pieces by stray blades, and that he would not end up with his head and body separated just after transmigrating.
He could feel that the person holding him was running very fast, and their breathing was growing increasingly rapid. Their body was even stained with quite a bit of warm liquid, leading him to think they must have lost a lot of blood. The sounds of battle around him grew close and distant by turns, accompanied occasionally by the sound of weapons piercing the air as they flew past him, each instance sending his heart leaping into his throat.
Right at this moment, a cold, sharp shout abruptly rang out beside his ear, carrying the shockwave of Soul Power to the extent that even the air seemed to be shaken until it distorted:
"Fifth Soul Skill, Break!"
This loud shout carried an indomitable momentum. The next moment, a loud blast exploded violently, followed by several shrill shrieks ringing out, and the originally chaotic battle cries actually weakened by a fraction.
If Yang Chang'an's consciousness were clear at this moment, based solely on this shouted name of a Soul Skill, he should have guessed where on earth the world he found himself in was. But right now he was enveloped by fear and chaos, his mind a complete blank, and the terror of death made his body feel waves of chilliness.
After a little while the sounds of battle continued, but heavy gasping sounds traveled over, one breath following another. Yang Chang'an, held within that embrace, could clearly feel the chest of the person holding him heaving violently, to the point that even their arm was trembling slightly.
Subsequently, a hoarse voice slowly sounded, carrying a trace of mockery:
"As expected of the Second Master of the Breaking Clan, your strength is truly remarkable."
"With merely a Soul Saint's cultivation, you are actually able to hold your own against a Soul Douluo for so long. You really do make this lord look at you in a new light."
The Breaking Clan?
These four words were like a sudden clap of thunder, instantly splitting into Yang Chang'an's chaotic consciousness and causing him to pause in a daze.
This name seemed to have been heard somewhere before, but right now his mind was in a complete mess, and no matter what he could not remember.
Immediately following, the person holding him spoke. Within his words there still carried a trace of undissipated ferocity and despair, his voice hoarse:
"Leaving only ghost shadows, yet no Soul Rings... It's you?!"
The despair within that voice caused even Yang Chang'an's heart to sink along with it. He could feel the body of the person holding him stiffen instantly, and even the arm wrapped around him tightened further.
"It is me." That hoarse voice sounded once more: "Yang Wushuang, take a look at your surroundings."
Yang Wushuang?
Yang Chang'an's consciousness struggled desperately, trying to fish out the connection between these two names from the fragments of his memory, but the surrounding atmosphere was far too oppressive, making it completely impossible for him to concentrate.
The man who was called Yang Wushuang was raising his gaze to look around at this moment. What traveled to his ears were the weak wails of his clansmen.
"Extermination, or surrender?" The hoarse voice was weightless, like a sharp knife held against Yang Wushuang's neck, and likewise held against the hearts of all the surviving clansmen of the Breaking Clan.
A brief silence ensued, and even the air seemed to freeze. Yang Chang'an could feel Yang Wushuang's body trembling, and right after that he heard the clear sound of a clenched fist-the sound of a long spear being squeezed until it creaked.
"Second Master, no!"
"My Breaking Clan has no cowards! At worst, we die!"
"Right! At worst we just die, we will rather die than surrender!"
That hoarse voice did not seem surprised by the choice of these people, and merely said indifferently:
"Time waits for no one, Yang Wushuang. There is only one chance."
The sense of oppression struck once more, and Yang Chang'an could even sense that the opponent had already locked onto Yang Wushuang. As long as he uttered a single negative word, what awaited him the next moment would be utter doom.
After another moment, Yang Chang'an felt himself being lifted up. A pair of rough, large hands gently brushed across his cheek, wiping away the bloodstains on his face. That movement was tender beyond belief, entirely unlike the man who had been fighting bloody battles just moments before.
On one side were his own clansmen, the glory of the Breaking Clan passed down for a hundred years, and the pride carved into their very bones; on the other side was the very last bloodline in this world, an infant plunged into a desperate situation just as he was born, and his sole remaining attachment.
Yang Chang'an could feel Yang Wushuang's struggle. He wanted to shout, wanted to tell Yang Wushuang that he wanted to live-as long as he lived, there was hope. Yet he could only emit bursts of infant wails, and that crying appeared exceptionally abrupt upon this deathly still battlefield.
Finally, a sudden, loud roar pierced the silence:
"Stop, all of you!"
That loud shout stunned the people around them, and in an instant, the entire battlefield fell completely silent as countless gazes focused on Yang Wushuang.
"Second Elder, no!"
Shouts of dissuasion rang out, carrying grief. They guessed what the Second Elder wanted to do, but Yang Wushuang acted as though he did not hear them.
The next moment, the crisp sound of a weapon dropping to the ground sounded exceptionally harsh on the quiet battlefield.
"Yang Wushuang surrenders."
The five simple words spilled from Yang Wushuang's mouth, carrying an imperceptible choke in his throat. For the sake of his clansmen, he laid down his proud bones and let go of the glory of the Breaking Clan.
"He who adapts to circumstances is a wise man." That hoarse voice finally held a trace of approval:
"Yang Wushuang, you are good."
Immediately after, he waved his hand toward the people behind him: "All of you, stop."
At the order, the opposing side successively put away their weapons, and that oppressive killing intent finally dissipated.
Hearing those words, the heart of Yang Chang'an, stretched taut to its extreme, finally relaxed.
They had survived; he had finally survived, and his clansmen in this world had finally survived.
The moment that taut heartstring relaxed, exhaustion instantly swept over his consciousness. Cradled in Yang Wushuang's arms, listening to his steady heartbeat, Yang Chang'an felt his eyelids grow heavier and heavier until he could no longer resist the drowsiness and fell deeply asleep.
In the final second before plunging into darkness, those two names kept echoing repeatedly in Yang Chang'an's consciousness.
The Breaking Clan, Yang Wushuang.
He must have heard these two names somewhere before; they were very familiar.
Yet at this moment, he was far too exhausted to delve into the matter, and could only let his consciousness sink into slumber, leaving the gears of fate to slowly turn in this world.
As for Yang Wushuang, holding him, looking at the child sleeping soundly in his arms and then at the surviving clansmen around him, his eyes were filled with sorrow.