Wandering Swordsman |

At noon, under the blazing sun, two crimson suns strangely overlapped in the center of the sky, their scorching white light like molten gold being poured, turning the entire desert into a distorted and swaying mirage.

The air seemed to be boiling, and as far as the eye could see, the outlines of the sand dunes were blurred and swayed like ghostly shadows; there was no longer any reality in the world.

Hua Tianyou felt a sudden darkness before his eyes, followed by a burst of blood-red light that filled the sky—the yellow sand beneath his feet instantly transformed into a surging sea of ​​blood, and countless withered bones rose from the abyss, extending their chilling claws and howling as they lunged at him: "Give me back my life! Give me back my life!" Those were the souls of enemies he had personally slain on the battlefield... Haunted by vengeful spirits and consumed by resentment, he roared and wildly brandished his sword, but the blade, instead of slicing through the air, could not sever the illusions. Instead, he sank deeper and deeper, his eyes losing all clarity, leaving only madness and despair.

Not far away, Shen Mo was also trapped by illusions.

He saw Murong Qing standing in the middle of the sea of ​​fire, his white clothes stained with blood, turning back with a smile, but being swallowed by the flames in the next instant; Situ Meng knelt on the scorched earth, clutching the Gongbu sword he had given her tightly in her hand, before her tears fell, she had already turned to ashes.

The pain was like ten thousand needles piercing his heart, like a thousand blades tearing at his bones, almost ripping his soul apart.

His eyes were bloodshot, and a low, almost beast-like growl escaped his throat as his fingertips trembled and reached out into the void—

But just as he was feeling extremely sad, a warm golden light suddenly appeared deep within his mind.

That was the power of the Buddha's relics, which had long been integrated with his flesh and blood, pure as the first snow and majestic as the morning bell.

Golden light emanated from his eyes, spreading silently like a tiny yet unshakeable aura.

In an instant, the flames died down, the souls vanished, and the illusion shattered like glass. Shen Mo suddenly opened his eyes, his vision clear and lucid.

His gaze swept across the room and he saw Hua Tianyou looking like a madman, his veins bulging, slashing at the empty void with his sword. His eyes no longer belonged to a living person, but to a walking corpse about to be swallowed by the illusion.

"Oh no!" Shen Mo's heart tightened, and he dashed out like lightning.

With one step, the sand solidified and remained still; with the second step, the sandstorm automatically parted; with the third step, he stood before Hua Tianyou. Without hesitation, his right index finger swiftly shot out, aiming directly at Hua Tianyou's ancestral aperture between his eyebrows. Before his fingertip even touched flesh, a surge of dark demonic energy, carrying a clear, melodious Buddhist chant, flowed like a dragon into the abyss, penetrating deep into the soul—"Awaken!"

That single word resounded like a thunderclap, or like the tolling of an ancient temple bell, piercing through layers of illusion.

Hua Tianyou trembled violently, as if struck by lightning, his pupils suddenly contracting and then dilating.

The sea of ​​blood before their eyes collapsed, and the wailing of the dead abruptly ceased.

Reality surged back like a tidal wave: scalding sand, blinding light, chapped lips... a wave of authenticity washed over us.

His legs gave way, and he collapsed to his knees. Cold sweat poured down his face, soaking his clothes. His hands dug into the sand, his knuckles turning white, and his voice trembled like a candle flickering in the wind.

"I...I was just...hallucinating?" He gasped, looking up at Shen Mo, his eyes filled with lingering fear and disbelief. "Those souls...they were so real...were they all fake?"

Shen Mo looked down at him, his expression calm, but he couldn't hide the seriousness in his eyes: "When two suns overlap, illusion arises from extreme yang. If I don't wake you, then it will be dangerous."

Upon hearing this, Hua Tianyou felt a chill run down his spine, a coldness shooting straight from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.

He looked down at his trembling hands and felt a wave of dizziness.

If Shen Mo hadn't intervened in time... he would probably have already fallen into a deep illusion, collapsed from exhaustion, and been buried by the yellow sand, turning into another unknown skeleton in this boundless desert.

He swallowed hard, his voice hoarse and rough: "Thank you, my lord!"

Shen Mo didn't answer, but gently patted his shoulder before turning to look at the distorted heatwave in the distance. His black robe fluttered slightly in the wind, his back view as solitary and aloof as a knife.

Hua Tianyou knelt in the sand, gazing at that figure, his heart overflowing with respect for Shen Mo.

The night was as dark as ink, splashed across the boundless sea of ​​sand.

The scorching yellow sand of daytime is now as cold as iron. The wind howls from the far west, carrying biting frost, and howls as it sweeps across the dune ridges, as if the earth is whispering a thousand years of mourning.

The cold wind was like a knife, cutting painfully into my face. Even my breath condensed into white mist, which was then torn apart by the wind and scattered into the void.

Hua Tianyou huddled in a sheltered spot, wrapping his already worn-out outer robe tightly around himself, but still couldn't keep out the bone-chilling cold.

He looked up and saw that not far away, Shen Mo sat cross-legged on the top of a sand dune, his black robe as dark as night, without a speck of dust on him, as if the tyranny and filth of this desolate land dared not come within three feet of him.

His eyes were slightly closed, his breath long and deep, each exhale seemingly in sync with the heavens and earth: he inhaled when the wind rose, and exhaled when the sand fell; as the stars shifted and the constellations turned, his chest rose and fell like the tides echoing the moon.

A faint black aura swirled around him, yet a barely perceptible golden light emanated from him. Demon and Buddha coexisted within him, like yin and yang fish, head to tail, serene yet powerful.

This scene deeply shocked Hua Tianyou.

He suddenly recalled the look of fear and awe in his father Hua Shenyong's eyes when he talked about crossing this place: "Tianyou... when you return to the Heavenly Demon God Sect, do not even think about following my path. That central desert area... is beyond human reach, it is a natural barrier."

At the time, he didn't understand, only thinking that his father was old and timid. But now that he has personally stepped into this place, he understands that the four words "a masterpiece of nature" are filled with tears of blood.

As for Shen Mo? The central desert region had no effect on him whatsoever.

Hua Tianyou looked down at his hands, which were frozen purple—these hands had once slain thousands of enemies, but in the face of the true power of heaven and earth, they were nothing more than the limbs of ants.

His heart churned like boiling sand, his thoughts raced like a raging storm:

If the position of Heavenly Demon God had fallen into my hands back then...

Do I have the courage to face these two suns and quicksand?

Even if they manage to keep going, with the best of luck they will only end up like their father, barely surviving and facing death at the cost of their lives.

But my lord... he didn't "come out alive," but rather "made the desperate situation submit" through his own strength.

An unprecedented sense of awe and insignificance overwhelmed him like a sea of ​​sand.

He suddenly understood why the position of Heavenly Demon God belonged to Shen Mo, and why he couldn't compete with Shen Mo.

Shen Mo's power has long surpassed the scope of "martial arts". Even if his father, Hua Shenyong, were to return to his prime and wield his peak strength, standing in the middle of this sea of ​​sand, he would probably only be able to look up at Shen Mo's back, like a mortal looking up at the stars.

The cold wind was still biting, but Hua Tianyou's heart gradually calmed down amidst the shock and sudden enlightenment.

......

As the two crossed the last stretch of quicksand in the heart of the desert, the world suddenly lost its color.

The sun, which had been scorching and dazzling just moments before, was completely swallowed up by a gust of cold wind rising from the ground, carrying with it yellow sand.

The sky was as black as ink, and the vast sea of ​​sand seemed to be overturned by an invisible giant hand—the whole land was boiling with excitement!

The yellow sand was no longer sand, but a living thing, a raging torrent, a hundred million roaring ancient beasts, all rising into the air, swirling, condensing, and roaring in the sky, finally transforming into a hundred-zhang-long sandstorm dragon that stretched across the sky!

The dragon had no eyes or scales, yet it roared with a thousand wounds; it had no claws or horns, yet it possessed the power to tear through the void.

It opened its enormous maw, devouring light, devouring sound, devouring time itself.

The wind is no longer the wind, but a torrent of blades; the sand is no longer sand, but a millstone that grinds souls to dust. Between heaven and earth, only destruction remains.