An unnatural quiet fell over the blasted landscape, a silence that felt heavier and more profound than the strange, shimmering dome of the Sky Curtain it replaced. The air, once crackling with an unseen energy, was now still and thick with dust and suspicion. The assembled warriors, survivors of the bizarre ordeal, looked at one another with a mixture of fear and avarice. A treasure had been claimed—that much was certain—but the who and the what remained a maddening mystery. Their eyes darted from face to face, searching for a flicker of triumph, a telltale bulge under a tunic, any sign that someone had walked away with the prize. They found nothing.
Zhang Wenyuan and Ye Huan exchanged a knowing glance, a silent confirmation of a truth no one else seemed to grasp. There was no treasure. The Sky Curtain had been a slaughterhouse, a gruesome sacrificial trap dressed in cosmic awe. The only mystery for them was why the trap had suddenly been sprung shut. But that was a question for another time. For now, its disappearance was an opportunity.
"We're leaving," Ye Huan announced, his voice cutting through the tense murmurs.
A wave of disappointment rippled through the crowd. They had been counting on the two powerhouses, the Rank 10 Generals from noble bloodlines, to shake down the group and reveal the lucky winner. But with Ye Huan and Zhang Wenyuan showing no interest, their hands were tied. A new, more cynical thought began to worm its way into their minds: What if one of them had taken it? It made a certain kind of sense. With their strength, would they really just let some lesser warrior walk away with a legendary artifact?
The looks they now cast towards the two nobles were colored with a potent cocktail of envy, resentment, and bitter admiration. But thoughts were as far as they could go. Ye Huan and Zhang Wenyuan were not just powerful; they were untouchable, backed by family dynasties that could crush any of the men present like insects. And so, the crowd could only watch, their fists clenching and unclenching, as the two prepared to depart.
As he turned to leave, Ye Huan paused, his gaze finding Xiao Ke in the crowd. He offered a slight nod. "Farewell for now, Xiao Ke. By the way, how fares Ye Yun?"
"Don't you worry about a thing, Fifth Young Master," Xiao Ke replied, his smile easy and unreadable. "Ye Yun is holding down the fort at Anping Town. He's as safe as can be."
A flicker of something—amusement, perhaps, or a veiled warning—crossed Ye Huan's face. "Is he now? Very well. Until we meet again."
"Until then."
Once the two generals had vanished into the haze of the wilderness, the fragile unity of the survivors dissolved completely. Men began to drift away in small, wary groups, each casting suspicious glances over their shoulders.
Ling Feng sidled up to Xiao Ke, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Damn it all," he muttered, kicking at a loose rock. "We went through hell in there, and for what? Absolutely nothing."
"Nothing?" Xiao Ke shot him a wry look. "We're walking out of here alive. In this world, that's nothing. Come on, this place is crawling with hyenas. Let's get out of here before they decide we look like an easy meal."
As if on cue, Ling Feng's eyes fell upon a handful of men lingering nearby. Their stares were cold, predatory. On their sleeves, the embroidered insignia of a rose wrapped around a pistol barrel was unmistakable: Guns & Roses—Song Jiongyang's dogs.
Ling Feng's hand instinctively drifted towards the hilt of his weapon. "You're right. Let's go. Now."
They climbed into Xiao Ke's battered but reliable armed jeep. The engine turned over with a guttural roar that seemed to tear at the quiet, and they shot forward, leaving a plume of dust in their wake. The jeep bucked and fishtailed across the rutted, uneven ground, a wild beast hell-bent on escape. Ling Feng, braced in the passenger seat, was used to the violent motion, his body moving with the vehicle's lurches. His eyes, however, were locked on the side mirror. The reflection confirmed his fears: the men from Guns & Roses were moving, their forms already coalescing into silhouettes of pursuit.
"Well, damn," Ling Feng growled, his voice a low rumble beneath the engine's noise. "Looks like Guns & Roses sent their welcoming party. They're coming for us."
Xiao Ke's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He sighed, a sound of pure weariness. "Figures. Always another fight."
He stomped on the accelerator, pushing the jeep to its limit. The speedometer needle crept towards eighty, the frame of the vehicle rattling as if it might shake itself apart. But in the rearview mirror, the four figures were not falling behind. They were gaining. These were no ordinary men; they were Colonels, their bodies honed into weapons that could outpace a machine across this broken terrain. They flowed over the ground like a pack of hunting cheetahs, four deadly shadows closing the distance with relentless, terrifying speed.
The leader of the pack was Song Jionghui, the younger cousin of Song Jiongyang himself. A Rank 8 Colonel, he burned with a secondhand fury over the loss of Anping Town. He hadn't been there the night it fell to Xiao Ke's Iron Wheel, but the shame of it felt like a personal insult. To hear that a supposedly Rank 6 upstart had humiliated his clan was a bitter pill to swallow. Now, seeing that very upstart with his own eyes, he saw a chance to win glory and restore his family's honor.
"It's no good," Xiao Ke said, his eyes flicking between the road ahead and the mirror. "We're not shaking them. A fight's coming. What are we looking at?"
Ling Feng's gaze was analytical, assessing their doom. "Four of them. The one in the lead and the old timer with him feel like Rank 8s. The other two are Rank 7 guards. I'm an 8, and you fight like something between a 7 and an 8. The odds aren't great. But…" He paused, a grim smile touching his lips. "They just crawled out of that Vortex, same as us. They must have burned through a ton of Origin Power fighting those mirror freaks. They're not at their best. Their strength will be discounted."
He then let out a short, humorless laugh. "Of course, I'm not exactly fresh either. My reserves are shot. My strength is discounted, too."
Xiao Ke's smile was surprisingly calm. "I'm fine," he said, a statement of simple, unshakeable fact. "If they're running on fumes, then it's an even match. You take a Rank 8, I'll take a Rank 8. That just leaves the two Rank 7s, and they'll be even more drained. If we play this smart, we can take them. We just need to give them a surprise."
Song Jionghui and his men were closing in, the thrill of the hunt coursing through them. They rounded a large rock outcropping, expecting to see the jeep just ahead, only to skid to a halt in confusion.
The jeep was stopped. It was sitting right in the middle of the path, its engine silent.
"They've stopped," one of the guards said, bewildered.
"I see that," Song Jionghui snapped. Through the dusty rear windshield, he could make out a single silhouette. "They're still in the car. They're not running."
The old man, a veteran killer named Hei, narrowed his eyes. "One is Rank 8, the other a mere Rank 6. This should be an execution. But be cautious. This feels like a trap."
"Of course it's a trap," Song Jionghui sneered, his arrogance overriding any sense of caution. "A pathetic one. Spread out. We'll circle and butcher them. I want both of their heads to present to my cousin."
They fanned out, forming a closing semi-circle as they advanced on the silent vehicle. Inside, hidden from view in the back seat, Xiao Ke was the picture of serenity. The sunroof was open above him, and he was methodically, almost meditatively, sliding bullets into a fresh magazine. Each click was a small, precise punctuation mark in the silence.
When the hunters were fifty meters out, Song Jionghui's eyes finally adjusted to the pre-dawn gloom. He could now clearly see only one person in the jeep. Where's the other one?
The thought had barely formed when, to his left, a shape rose from the earth itself. It was Ling Feng, erupting from a shallow ditch. Before they could react, his arm blurred, and three small, dark objects hurtled towards them.
"Ambush!" Song Jionghui bellowed, his body instinctively flaring with the protective shimmer of Origin Power.
His men did the same, bracing for the impact of grenades or worse. But the objects weren't lethal. They were flashbangs.
Three percussive cracks ripped through the air, followed by a silent, instantaneous explosion of pure, searing white light. The world vanished. For Song Jionghui and his men, there was nothing but an overwhelming, blinding whiteness. Their Origin Power could shield them from shrapnel and force, but it offered no defense against the brutal sensory assault on their eyes.
They were blind, stumbling, disoriented.
And in that moment of chaos, Xiao Ke rose through the sunroof. The assault rifle was a natural extension of his arms. He didn't spray wildly. It was pop-pop-pop—a series of controlled, deliberate shots. The bullets, while not a true threat to their hardened bodies, were stinging, disorienting hornets that added to their panic and confusion.
This was the opening Ling Feng needed. A shadow within the blinding light, he moved like a striking eagle. His light-sword hummed to life, a blade of pure energy. Two silent, fluid slashes, and the two Rank 7 guards fell without a sound, their throats opened in arcs of silver light. He didn't pause, didn't hesitate. His next target was the old man, Hei.
Xiao Ke emptied the magazine, the final gunshot echoing in the sudden quiet. He dropped the rifle, and in the same motion, drew the heavy, brutalist blade strapped to his back. Mighty General. Its polished steel drank the dim light, hungry for blood. With a low growl, he vaulted out of the jeep and charged straight for the still-blinking Song Jionghui.