252: Pointing to the sky, the gods descend

The light dissipated.

A slender figure with a perfect, jade-like body stood quietly in place.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

His deep gaze seemed to pierce through the barriers of space, instantly locking onto the Main Peak Square.

There, the scene he had witnessed before his consciousness faded was still unfolding... the Main Peak Square of the Qingyun Sect.

The destructive aftershocks of energy, like raging waves and stormy seas, swept across the entire square.

Before this power, all surviving Qingyun Sect Disciples were as insignificant as candles in the wind. They were blown about in disarray; those with weaker cultivation even coughed up blood, their faces turning deathly pale.

Despair.

A despair that reached deep into their marrow shrouded everyone's hearts.

The Formation was broken.

Their final barrier had vanished.

Floating in mid-air, the Ghost-Masked Envoy looked down at the terrified and helpless faces below, letting out a satisfied and cruel sneer.

He enjoyed this feeling.

The pleasure of crushing hope bit by bit and watching his prey tremble in the face of death.

“It's over, bugs.”

His voice was raspy, carrying a hint of mockery.

His gaze finally landed on Zhao Linger, who was protected in the center by the crowd, still forcing herself to stand.

“Let's start with you.”

“That trash named Lin Fan probably cared about you the most, didn't he?”

He slowly raised his right hand. Black Qi swirled around a palm as withered as a ghost's claw, condensing into five fingernails as sharp as blades.

Without the slightest hesitation.

His figure flickered, appearing before Zhao Linger like a phantom. That life-taking ghost claw went straight for Zhao Linger's fair crown.

If this claw hit home, it would be enough to crush her head like a watermelon.

“No!”

“Sister-in-law!”

Fatty Zhang's eyes nearly split from rage. Dragging his body with a severed arm, he tried to rush forward like a madman, only to be pinned firmly in place by the Aura of that Nascent Soul Old Monster, unable to move a muscle.

All the Qingyun Sect Disciples instinctively closed their eyes, unable to bear watching this bloody scene.

Reflected in Zhao Linger's pupils was the ghost claw drawing closer and closer.

There was no fear on her face.

Only a deathly silent sorrow.

Junior Brothers and Sisters... Fatty... and... Lin Fan... I'm sorry, I couldn't... protect the Qingyun Sect.

Just as the cold wind from the claw touched the hair on her forehead.

A sudden change occurred.

A figure.

A figure in green robes.

Without any warning, without any spatial fluctuations, and without any Aura of magic power, he appeared out of thin air in front of Zhao Linger.

He just stood there quietly with his back to her, as if he had been guarding that spot since time immemorial.

That hideous ghost claw, capable of tearing through the protective Magic Treasures of Golden Core Cultivators, came to a screeching halt just three inches from his back.

It could no longer advance even half a fraction.

It was as if those three inches were not air, but an invisible chasm that separated life from death, and the heavens from all creation.

At this moment, time seemed to have been paused.

The wind stopped.

The raging aftershocks of energy calmed down.

The cries of the Disciples vanished.

The entire world fell into an eerie, deathly silence.

Everyone was stunned.

Whether it was the despairing Qingyun Sect Disciples or the Black-clad cultivators in mid-air, all widened their eyes, looking at this abruptly appearing figure in disbelief.

Who is this person?

Where did he come from?

The Ghost-Masked Envoy's pupils suddenly constricted to the size of dangerous needlepoints.

An unprecedented sense of horror, enough to freeze his Divine Soul, surged frantically from the depths of his heart.

His ghost claw was still held in an outstretched position.

But he discovered to his horror that the magic power condensed on his fingertips, enough to split mountains and shatter rocks, had vanished without a trace the moment it neared that green-robed back, like a clay ox entering the sea.

Was it neutralized?

No!

It wasn't neutralized; it was... annihilated!

He couldn't even feel how his magic power had disappeared.

It was as if the space behind that person was an absolute Domain of 'nothingness,' where no form of energy was permitted to exist.

What kind of ghost thing is this!

The Ghost-Masked Envoy roared in his heart, instinctively wanting to pull back and retreat.

But he soon discovered with even greater terror.

His body could not move.

It wasn't just him; all the Netherworld Palace Cultivators he had brought were now like insects trapped in amber, frozen in mid-air in various poses.

And on the square.

Zhao Linger and Fatty Zhang were staring blankly at that incredibly familiar back just inches away.

That back wasn't particularly burly.

Yet at this moment, it seemed to hold up the heavens.

Blocking all the wind and rain, all the danger, behind him for their sake.

First came daze.

Then came disbelief.

Finally, an indescribable wild joy, like a volcanic eruption, boomed from the depths of their hearts, instantly sweeping away all despair and fear.

Fatty Zhang's lips trembled, his large frame shaking violently with excitement.

He wanted to speak, but found his throat seemingly blocked by something, unable to make a sound.

Large teardrops, mixed with blood, rolled down from his eyes.

“Lin...”

“Lin... Brother Lin?”

He used every ounce of his strength to finally squeeze that name out of his throat.

His voice was trembling and raspy, yet filled with the wild joy of recovery and endless grievance.

Hearing that name, Zhao Linger could no longer hold herself up; her body went limp, and her tears fell like a broken dam.

It was him.

It really was him!

He was back!

At everyone's most desperate and helpless moment, he had returned!

Lin Fan did not turn around.

He simply raised his hand calmly and gave a light wave.

A gentle force brushed past, steadily lifting the wounded Fatty Zhang and the other injured Disciples, sending them to the safety zone at the back of the square.

Only after doing all this did he slowly speak.

His voice wasn't loud; it was very plain, yet it clearly reached everyone's ears and the depths of their Souls.

“You dare touch my people?”

This question carried no Killing Intent.

No anger.

It was as if he were stating the simplest of facts.

But to the Ghost-Masked Envoy's ears, it was no less than the roar of the Nine Heavens' divine thunder!

He felt the invisible force binding him suddenly vanish.

Having regained his freedom, he felt no joy; instead, he immediately retreated frantically, putting several hundred feet of distance between himself and Lin Fan, staring fixedly at that back with a face full of suspicion and uncertainty.

“You... who exactly are you?”

The Ghost-Masked Envoy forcibly suppressed the horror in his heart and shouted sharply.

He frantically pushed his Divine Thought, wanting to probe the other's cultivation.

However, when his Divine Thought approached within three feet of the man's body, it was as if it hit an invisible wall and was instantly bounced back, sending a sharp pain through his Sea of Consciousness.

No cultivation!

In his perception, the man before him was a complete and utter Mortal!

Could a Mortal appear before him silently?

Could a Mortal bind him and all his subordinates out of thin air?

Could a Mortal block a full-strength strike from his Golden Core Peak with just his back?

Impossible!

Absolutely impossible!

The only explanation... A flash of realization crossed the Ghost-Masked Envoy's eyes, followed by endless greed.

“So that's it!”

“I wondered what kind of expert you were, but you're just relying on a powerful Magic Treasure that can hide your presence and has its own defensive barrier!”

He thought he had seen through the truth.

A supreme treasure capable of completely blocking Divine Thought probes was a legendary existence even in the Spirit Realm.

He hadn't expected it to appear in the hands of a Lower Realm ant!

“Kid, I admit that turtle shell of yours is indeed impressive.”

The Ghost-Masked Envoy's voice became arrogant again, carrying a hint of condescending scrutiny.

“But a Magic Treasure is an external object after all. Activating it must consume a massive amount of your magic power, right?”

“I'd like to see how many rounds of attacks from my Netherworld Palace your turtle shell can withstand!”

“Hand it over, and I might consider leaving you an intact corpse!”

With that, he issued an order to the Black-clad cultivators behind him, who had also regained their freedom but were still lingering with fear.

“Form the Formation!”

“Blast him to pieces for me!”