Night Journey

Chapter 35 The Earth-Shaking Hammer Sound
Ciri drove into a severely weathered ruin.

Several days had passed since Cillian left White Cliff Town. He had been doing camping many times and was already quite skilled at it.

Before the last ray of light disappeared into the horizon, Cillian lit a campfire and poured in his soul essence.

The pure white flame burned quietly, illuminating Cirion's face in the fading gloom.

Cillian took a sip of water to moisten his throat, then chewed on the jerky. The rough texture felt like wood chips scraping his throat, but in the perilous wilderness, there was nothing to complain about.

As night fell, a gray fog rolled in, enveloping the earth.

Just as Cillian finished his simple dinner, he smelled the stench of blood wafting through the darkness.

demon.

These familiar old friends descended upon us once again at night, meeting with Cillian precisely on time, forming a dense circle around the Light of Soul Essence, like a pack of wild dogs, barking incessantly.

In the first few nights, Cillian would draw his Boiling Sword and fight the demons.

The battle usually lasted until midnight, leaving behind a mess of severed limbs and blood before Cirion would stop, exhausted, and retreat to the campfire to sleep, leaning on his sword.

But soon, Cillian realized that demons could not be eradicated.

Even if hundreds or thousands of heads are cut down, the Ouroboros Seal is not satisfied, and the blessings it brings—Hate, Wrath, and Evil—cannot be further enhanced by the blood sacrifices of demons.

The Ouroboros Seal yearns for a more powerful enemy, and Cillian's sword strikes are merely a self-destructive act to vent his boundless rage.

He cannot be ruled by anger forever.

A sword needs to conserve its energy before it can kill a true enemy, rather than using its sharpness on dull, stubborn rocks.

Cillian tried his best to control his emotions.

Ignoring the writhing figure in the darkness, Cillian picked up a book and quietly began to read.

After reading only a few lines, a sense of unease welled up within Cillian, a feeling amplified by the approaching murmurs and howls of the demons.

At the same time, the tragedy in White Cliff Town flashed before Cillian's eyes like a slideshow.

Cillian gripped the book tightly, his muscles tensed, his breathing became heavy, like a fully drawn bowstring, his rage poised to erupt.

"Be still, Cirion."

Cillian muttered to himself, slowly suppressing his agitation and calming down.
He simply knelt down in front of the campfire and placed the Boiling Sword across his thigh.

Spending the night in the wilderness is an extremely dangerous thing, not to mention that Cillian was all alone.

Cillian dared not truly fall asleep; he could only close his eyes and meditate.

"After killing the Deathbird, the Ouroboros Seal gained immense satisfaction, causing all phenomena to evolve into concrete blessings. To go further, I need to kill several first-tier and even second-tier Chaos Believers..."

Cillian had only been a torchbearer for a short time, yet his soul essence concentration had already reached 6%, a remarkably rapid pace.

Once the concentration of soul essence reaches the critical value of 9.9%, Cillian can attempt to advance to the next stage of the Torch-Guiding Path.

Rank Two - Melting Warrior.

……

Typically, Cillian would meditate all night, take a short nap before dawn, hop on his motorcycle, and begin a new day's journey.

Such asceticism would be enough to wear down the mind and energy of an ordinary person, but as a superhuman, Cillian endured it all.

Cillian must bear all of this.

Time passed slowly amidst the crackling of the flames, and Cillian's consciousness gradually blurred, oscillating between wakefulness and dreams.

Suddenly, a burning pain jolted Cillian awake.

The long-dormant Ouroboros Seal began to glow faintly, emanating a gradually intensifying, burning pain.

Cillian looked around warily and began to move his stiff body.

As far as the eye could see, there was only a murky darkness and grotesque figures shifting within it. Further on, only flickering flames could be glimpsed. These represented towering city-states.

Even though there was nothing wrong, the pain from the Ouroboros Seal was intensifying.

The moment the pain reached its peak, an anomaly occurred.

In an instant, the gray mist surged violently, and the demons dispersed with mournful cries, as if some terrifying thing had descended.

Ciri took out the Soul Essence and threw it into the campfire. Pure white flames rose, but they failed to push away the gray mist from all directions.

The ground shook violently.

The gale-force winds carried sand and gravel, the wails of the demons quickly faded into the distance, and the ground trembled more violently.

Cillian's face turned pale as a terrible thought surfaced in his mind.

As things rise to the surface of reality, so too do other things sink from it.

Ciri threw a large amount of soul essence into the campfire, and pure white light formed a sanctuary in the waves of gray fog, stabilizing the surrounding reality.

As long as the soul essence continues to burn, it can resist the distortion of the gray fog power, keeping Ciri and the land beneath his feet firmly anchored to reality.

This is why many city-states did not sink into the spirit world and have stood for a long time.

All that was left for Cillian to do was wait for the anomaly to end and for the sun to rise.

boom--

From the depths of the eerie gray fog, a long, heavy, and muffled knocking sound suddenly rang out.

The sound seemed to come from the netherworld, the striking sound was powerful and majestic, and wherever it swept, the gray mist trembled violently like surging waves.

The demons lurking in the gray mist shattered like fragile glass under the impact of this invisible force, turning into patches of scarlet blood mist that filled the air.

Cillian, of course, was also unable to escape the onslaught of this terrifying sonic wave.

The moment the sound entered Ciri's eardrums, it was as if an invisible yet incredibly heavy hammer, carrying boundless pressure, slammed heavily into his chest. In an instant, his blood surged and boiled, and a phantom pain followed him relentlessly, as if thousands of ants were gnawing at his very marrow.

Cillian's legs trembled uncontrollably, and he nearly collapsed to his knees.

His vision blurred and his consciousness was hazy. Before Ciri could take any action, another knock came.

boom--

This time the knocking was clearer and closer.

An invisible shock seemed to crush Cillian's lungs, making it hard for him to breathe.

The pervasive gray mist was also shaken apart by the knocking sound, revealing countless demons that had turned into filthy blood and flesh.

Rust-red metal slowly emerged from the murky gray fog, its surface engraved with dazzling and intricate patterns, and from the gaps, a molten glow flowed like eerie ghostly fire.

In a daze, Cillian saw it.

In the rust-red hue, the craftsman wields a rough, massive hammer, striking the ancient, unmoving anvil again and again, sending sparks flying.

The giant hammer was raised high.

Cillian realized that when the giant hammer fell again, the shockwave would indiscriminately shatter everything present—including himself.

After this hammer blow, the craftsman will completely shatter the barrier of the spirit world and rise entirely into the real world.

Faced with such immense power, all Ciri could do was quietly witness it.

To witness his arrival, and one's own death.

The giant hammer slowly fell, and just before it touched the anvil, a sliver of light fell between them, dispelling the gray fog and illuminating Cirion's face.

Night is ending, and dawn is breaking.

The gray abyss evaporated rapidly, interrupting the craftsman's ascent. Cillian watched helplessly as his figure sank back into the spirit world. But before the rusty red color completely disappeared, a hammer sound still pierced through the two realms and reached Cillian's ears.

An invisible shockwave swept across the earth, overturning Cillian's campfire and tent, knocking over his motorcycle, and even knocking Cillian himself over, rolling over hard gravel.

Returning to tranquility.

When Cillian awoke from his coma, the midday sun was high overhead.

Cillian's throat felt like it was on fire, and his lips were cracked and bleeding.

He struggled to his feet, his body wracked with varying degrees of pain, reminding Cillian that the terrifying hammering sound was not an illusion.

Looking around, within a few hundred meters of Xilian, there was only flat land. The ruins that stood there last night were now gone.

Cillian wasn't sure if they had sunk back into the spirit world or been shattered into fine dust by the sound of the hammer.

Cillian held the Boiling Sword in his hand the whole time, even when he was unconscious, but his luggage and motorcycle had disappeared.

It took Cillian some time to dig out the tattered package from under the dust. Fortunately, most of the contents were still there. He unscrewed the water bottle, took a few gulps of water, and then found the motorcycle, half-buried in dust, a hundred meters away.

Good news: Cillian's motorcycle didn't sink into the spirit world with him. Bad news: the hood is dented and it won't start.

Cillian pulled out a tattered map and estimated his supplies and remaining distance.

The sand not far away suddenly moved.

Cirien drew his Boiling Sword.

Something, taking advantage of the strange events of last night, escaped from the spirit world following the sound of hammers.

Cirian mobilized the source energy and soul essence within his body, cautiously taking a step forward. Just as he was hesitating whether to launch an attack, the opponent emerged from the sand.

"Cough cough... Damn it, I almost suffocated."

The other party spat out several mouthfuls of dust, his breath becoming weak.

Seeing the other person's appearance, Cillian looked bewildered and hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to draw his sword.

The other party also noticed Cillian and asked in a familiar manner.

"Hey? Friend, where is this?"

Cillian did not answer, but instead placed the Boiling Sword on the opponent's head.

The other person looked at Cillian with suspicion. Cillian tapped the other person's face with the back of his sword. After confirming that the other person was not a threat, Cillian kicked the other person to the ground.

The other person rolled several times on the ground before stopping, and after getting up again, he cursed at Cillian.

"Fine, I won't tell you then, why are you hitting me!"

Cillian still didn't answer the other person's question, but instead asked, "What are you?"

"What is this? That's incredibly insulting!"

“A human?” Cillian was even more astonished. “You’re saying you’re…a human?”

"What are you saying..."

Just as the other party was about to rebuke him, Cillian held the Boiling Sword up in front of him, and through the gleaming blade, a white dog's head appeared.

Looking at themselves in the mirror, the other person froze on the spot.

The other person looked at Cillian as if seeking confirmation, and Cillian nodded seriously, confirming the fact.

The world fell silent for a moment.

The large white dog rolled hysterically in the sand, screaming incessantly.

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

(End of this chapter)