Desperate people, accept the seed of my soul!

Liu Zhen leaned against the steel frame, trying to discharge electricity again, but only a few weak arcs of electricity jumped from his fingertips, not even reaching ten meters, and were completely unable to stop the advancing shield wall.

Meng Zhaowen pressed his palm firmly to the ground, the blood seeping from between his fingers mixed with the soil, but he could no longer awaken a single root. The ancient tree underground had received enough sacrifice and had sunk back into slumber, and no matter how he urged it, there was no response.

The sound of bullets hitting the steel frame pounded in their hearts like drumbeats, and waves of heat from the flamethrower surged over them, forcing the two to retreat until their backs hit the last broken load-bearing wall, leaving them with nowhere to go.

The activity space was compressed to a mere ten meters square, leaving no room to even turn around.

The assault team had advanced to within ten meters, and the shield bearer at the front could even clearly see the bloodstains on Liu Zhen's face.

The commander's voice came through the loudspeaker, brimming with smug satisfaction: "You can't escape now. Lay down your weapons and surrender, and we might spare your lives."

Liu Zhen leaned against the wall, his right arm hanging at his side, a faint arc of electricity occasionally flashing across his fingertips, but his eyes remained as cold as ice, showing no fear whatsoever.

Meng Zhaowen huddled beside him, breathing rapidly, his face ashen like a dead man's, only his chest rising and falling slightly, proving that he was still alive.

The sound of seventy men's footsteps made the ground tremble slightly, and the encirclement continued to shrink: ten meters, nine meters, eight meters...

"Target surrounded, requesting instructions." The commander's voice came through the walkie-talkie to the monitoring vehicle.

Zhong Lin's voice came through the walkie-talkie, cold and clear: "Assault team, move in. Take him alive."

Meng Zhaowen, who was lying on the ground, suddenly twitched his fingers and dug them deep into the soil.

His consciousness, clinging to its last shred of clarity, sank into the earth, once again touching the dormant roots of the ancient trees.

The roots sensed his arrival and conveyed a vague and ancient consciousness: Your body is already an empty shell; if you offer another sacrifice, you will die.

I know.

Meng Zhaowen responded in her mind, her voice soft but incredibly firm.

The root system remained silent for a moment, then sent another message: After this, your soul will be scattered, and you will not even have the chance to be reincarnated.

Meng Zhaowen did not hesitate; the answer in her mind was like iron tempered with blood: Then die.

Liu Zhen saw his fingers moving and instantly understood what he was about to do: "Zhaowen—no—"

He struggled to crawl over, but a bullet hit right at his feet, and the flying pebbles hit his face, forcing him to pull back.

Meng Zhaowen looked up and gave Liu Zhen a deep look.

Then, he dug his fingers deeper into the soil, his fingernails flipping up, blood trickling down between his fingers and seeping into the scorched earth.

The ancient tree roots underground opened their endless, dark maw once more, like a lurking beast waiting for him to offer his final sacrifice.

In the distance, the engine sounds of the armored vehicles of the Sharp Blade Brigade could be faintly heard. As they drew closer, the beams of their headlights pierced through the dust, casting a faint halo on the horizon.

Zhong Lin's urging came through the walkie-talkie: "Hurry up, the officials are almost here!"

Meng Zhaowen closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

The wind, carrying the smoke of gunpowder, swept past, ruffling his full head of white hair, making it look like a burning silver flame.

He recalled the bruises on his brother Meng Zhaohui's back when he fought to protect him when they were young, and the crashing sound of the judge throwing the evidence materials, which had been piled up to a height of one person over the past seven years, onto the ground in court.

I think of the family photo of Liu Zhen's wife and children, forever frozen at the age of twelve, and the days when the two fought side by side, from dawn to sunrise to dawn, climbing out of hell step by step.

Worth it.

He said to himself.

Meng Zhaowen's palms began to glow.

Emerald green light seeped through his fingers, like the color of the first new leaf in spring. In this scorched ruin, it was like a warm light that refused to be extinguished, flowing down from the cracked lines of his palms and seeping into the scorched soil drop by drop.

The dust, dried out by the high temperature, seemed to come alive and gently wriggle when it touched the green light, extending downwards along the path of the light and touching the ancient root system that was sleeping underground.

His hair turned from silvery-white to withered ash at a visible speed, like wild grass burned by fire, so fragile that it would crumble at the slightest touch.

The skin, which was originally covered with wrinkles, became increasingly transparent, and the pale blue blood vessels under the skin were clearly visible like a spider web. Each pulsation carried the rapid loss of life force.

But his hand, pressed into the soil, did not move an inch. His fingernails were deeply embedded in the soil, and the blood that seeped out mixed with the emerald green light, sinking continuously down the roots.

The light grew brighter and brighter, gradually changing from a soft emerald green to a dazzling white, like moonlight falling into the palm of his hand, illuminating his face that had become completely unrecognizable.

His lips twitched slightly, as if he were smiling.

Deep in his consciousness, he heard the roots of those ancient trees emitting a low, ancient hum, like a giant beast that had been asleep for hundreds of years finally being awakened, giving a friendly yet desolate response.

Liu Zhen leaned against the steel frame next to him, watching his body become increasingly transparent, his eyes instantly turning red as if they were about to bleed.

He tried to crawl over to stop them, but as soon as he moved, a hail of bullets struck the concrete block in front of him, and flying pebbles pelted his face, forcing him to retreat.

He could only watch as the shimmering white light grew brighter and brighter, and as Meng Zhaowen's body grew lighter and lighter, as if it were about to melt into that light at any moment. Heart-wrenching pain surged through his body like an electric current, but he couldn't even scream.

A growing rumble came from deep underground, and rubble tumbled down from the steel frame overhead. The entire ruin began to tremble slightly, as if some enormous thing was churning underground, trying to break free of the soil.

Meng Zhaowen closed his eyes, the light in his palm was already extremely bright, illuminating the ruins within dozens of meters around him, and even the flying dust was tinged with a layer of shimmering white light.

He's ready.

The seventy mercenaries had advanced to within five meters, and the leader at the front had even stretched out his hand, his fingertips less than half a meter from Meng Zhaowen's shoulder, a victor's grin on his face.

At that very moment, the team leader's body suddenly froze.

His five fingers hovered in mid-air, maintaining a forward-grabbing posture, and even the expression on his face was frozen in that moment of savage grin.

Centered on a certain location, a spherical space with a diameter of fifty meters silently expands outwards, and visible ripples spread across the edge of the space, like the ripples on the surface of water after a stone is thrown in.

Inside the space, all sounds were instantly silenced—bullets stopped in front of the gun muzzles, flames from flamethrowers froze in mid-air, maintaining their surging shape, and even the rumble from the underground roots seemed to be muted. The entire ruins abruptly withdrew from the clamor and fell into an eerie silence.