A/N: This is the revised version of my novel called, Venerable Decay Reborn.
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The battlefield was silent.
Silent—save for the faint sound of blood dripping onto the soil, drop by drop, seeping into the ruined earth.
The sky hung dim and clouded, the sun veiled behind smoke and ash. Once, this valley had been a cradle of life—where rivers sang and mountains wore robes of green. Now, it was nothing but a scar upon the world: an endless sea of corpses and shattered weapons.
And at the center of that wasteland stood a lone figure.
Zhuo Fang.
His black robes were drenched in crimson, torn and tattered, yet his back remained unbent. His long white hair, matted with dust and blood, fluttered faintly in the poisonous wind. His eyes burned cold and sharp—like blades that had already cut through countless throats.
Around him, countless cultivators stood in trembling silence—the united armies of eight righteous sects. Their banners were torn, their spirits shattered. They had come to this place with confidence, believing themselves hunters.
But now, they knew they were prey.
From among their ranks, an old man stepped forward. His white beard was clotted with soot, and his once-elegant scholar's robes were scorched by battle.
He was Patriarch Xu of the Heavenly Script Sect—one of the most revered leaders of the righteous path.
His voice trembled with fury as he raised his staff and shouted,
"You mad demon! Your reign ends today! Billions of innocents have perished by your hand— even death cannot atone for your sins!"
Zhuo Fang's gaze lifted slightly. His expression was neither remorseful nor enraged—only calm, as though the slaughter of nations weighed no more to him than dust on the wind.
"Yes," Zhuo Fang said, his voice cold and steady. "I slaughtered billions—and I feel no regret. The weak are devoured by the strong, and the strong rule over the weak. That is the nature of the cultivation world. There is no good, nor evil—only power. In the end, if you are powerless, you cannot protect anything. Only the strong stand at the peak. That is what I've learned in my seven hundred years of life."
The cultivators shivered. Some lowered their gazes, unable to meet his eyes. His words tore into their hearts, exposing truths they wished to bury.
Patriarch Xu roared, his aura flaring like a raging star.
"Madman! Your evil has no end. Today, we cut off this calamity at its root!"
At his command, thousands of cultivators surged forward, unleashing torrents of Chi. Firestorms roared, rivers of light surged, blades of wind and stone screamed toward Zhuo Fang. The sky itself seemed to collapse under the combined might of the righteous path.
"I, Zhuo Fang, have defied the Heavens themselves," he thought, his gaze distant as the storm of attacks closed in.
"To reach this point, I slaughtered billions and refined their souls into my Chi Core, breaking through to Tier-6 Immortality. Within me lie the wailing spirits of nations—yet even that power may not save me."
"Through the fusion of my Yin and Yang Domain, I gained the ability to reincarnate a single soul… but if I fall here, there's no guarantee it will work on me."
A faint smile curved his bloodied lips.
"So be it. This will be my final gamble."
Zhuo Fang rose into the sky, his tattered robes whipping in the storm of Chi. From above, he gazed down coldly at the countless cultivators who sought his death—ants beneath the gaze of a god.
He clasped his hands together and began to chant, his voice echoing like thunder across the desolate valley. Strange symbols of light and shadow bloomed beneath his feet as his Yin–Yang Domain unfurled. The heavens dimmed. The earth trembled.
Black and white energies coiled around him, swirling like twin dragons devouring the world. A suffocating murderous intent burst forth, pressing upon the souls of every living being below.
"Perish," Zhuo Fang whispered.
With a flick of his sleeve, torrents of divine spells descended—blades of light, storms of shadow, and waves of annihilation that tore through the ranks of the righteous army like paper. Screams filled the air as mountains split and rivers evaporated beneath his wrath.
The spell's backlash was devastating. The heavens shook, the ground split apart, and even Zhuo Fang staggered midair, coughing great mouthfuls of blood. Of the thousands who had charged against him, only a few remained alive—yet five figures stood unscathed amid the ruin.
They were the five sect leaders of the righteous path, with Patriarch Xu among them.
The five rose into the sky, their robes fluttering like banners of divine judgment. They began to chant in unison, weaving their arts together into a single spell. They seized this fleeting moment—when Zhuo Fang was at his weakest.
Runes of light filled the heavens, converging into a blinding radiance. Then, from the firmament descended chains of pure divine light, crashing down and wrapping tightly around Zhuo Fang. The air trembled under their power, suppressing even his killing intent.
"Demon!" one of them roared. "This is your end! Your strength cannot compare to us Venerables!"
Bound by the celestial chains, Zhuo Fang lifted his head slowly. His expression remained cold, his eyes burning with defiance.
"You are indeed strong," he said, his voice echoing like the toll of a bell. "But I, Zhuo Fang… am beyond strength. If I am to die, I'll take you with me—hypocrites."
He gathered the last remnants of his Chi, channeling the dying power of his Yin–Yang Domain. His hands formed a silent seal as he ignited his Chi Core.
He intended to detonate his body—destroying everything in his wake—while preserving his soul to drift into reincarnation. This was his final act of defiance.
The chi core within his dantian began to glow, pulsing faster and faster until his entire body shone like a dying star. The air warped. The heavens quaked. The Chi within him swirled violently, tearing at reality itself.
"Stop him!!" one of the Venerables roared.
But it was too late.
Boom!
His Chi Core shattered. His aperture ruptured.
A cataclysmic wave of destruction burst outward, erasing all in its path. Mountains crumbled, rivers turned to vapor, and the earth itself screamed as Zhuo Fang's existence detonated into nothingness.
As the light faded, silence once more claimed the battlefield.
There was no sign of life—only scorched earth, drifting ash, and the faint echo of a man who had defied the heavens.