269: Chapter 269 External Crackdown, Altar Anomalies

Lu Changyuan had Shadow One and Shadow Two find a safe stone platform on the perimeter of the altar.

The stone platform was positioned on the left side of the altar's edge, backed against a stone wall that extended down from the dome. The wall was carved with ancient Array Patterns; most of the lines had been worn smooth by time, but the remaining parts were still emitting a very faint, dark golden spiritual light at a glacial rhythm.

The platform stood nearly three feet above the ground; standing on it allowed one to take in the entire view of the Seal chains at the center of the altar and the camping positions of the various factions on the perimeter.

Shadow Two cleaned the surface of the stone platform, dragging the tip of her short sword along the crevices at the edge, flicking out the stone powder and dust that had accumulated for thousands of years. With each flick, the sword tip brought out a fine, grayish-white powder that floated for less than a breath under the icy blue cold light before settling.

Shadow One unfastened a waterproof bamboo tube from her waist and placed it in the innermost corner of the platform; the oilcloth Seal at the bottom of the tube made a very light, muffled sound as it struck the stone surface.

The surviving factions also found places to camp, but they almost unanimously chose to set up within fifty zhang of Lu Changyuan.

Shopkeeper Qian took off his Dharma-breaking robe, spread it on the ground, and sat down with his back against the stone wall. He tilted his head to look at the narrow-bladed straight sword at Leng Feng's waist, his gaze lingering on the sword scabbard buckle for nearly five breaths.

The Gold-Rank Enforcer of the Rogue Cultivator Alliance sat on the ground, leaning against a half-person-high boulder. The bandage wrapped around his left arm had been replaced with a new one; he balled up the old discarded bandage and stuffed it into his Storage Pouch, pressing down on the cloth bundle with his fingers—pressing extremely hard, as if forcing something that shouldn't be seen deep into the bottom of the pouch.

No one dared to stay too far from Lu Changyuan. It wasn't because of the Heavenly Dao oath; it was because those two corpses were still lying in the Death-Stilling Formation at the junction of the first path of survival, and the grayish-white scorch marks on the severed surfaces had yet to fade.

Lu Changyuan sat cross-legged on the stone platform, placing the black crystal before his knees. The crystal pulsed on the dark copper alloy floor, its rhythm answering the writhing of the Seal chains at the center of the altar.

He pressed his hand onto the crystal, his fingertips touching its surface. That layer of icy cold—that slight temperature difference that grew warm with every rapid pulse—traveled through his fingertips and deep into his Dantian.

Just then, the communication Formation Plate at his waist lit up again. The deep blue transmission lines—just like last time—were on Elder Wei Changfeng's encrypted frequency.

He unfastened the Formation Plate and pressed his thumb onto the receiving node.

Elder Wei Changfeng's voice came from the Formation Plate. This time, he didn't even bother to restrain himself; his voice was suppressed with excitement, yet his speaking speed was nearly half a percent slower than usual—the old habit of the military Elder to keep himself from getting carried away when extremely excited.

"The Fortress Chamber of Commerce district—it's gone mad. Several shops that hadn't signed contracts before are now chasing me to join. The prices—they've choked back the quotes of those shopkeepers themselves."

The sound of pages being flipped rapidly came from the Formation Plate—at least a dozen pages—with very short intervals between each flip. Elder Wei Changfeng was leafing through an account book. When he reached a certain page, his finger paused on the paper; the sound of friction stopped for less than half a breath, and then he continued reading.

"Spirit-Returning Pills—a fifty percent premium over yesterday. Barrier-Breaking Talismans—a thirty percent premium. And it's still rising."

He paused. A very light swallowing sound came from the Formation Plate, and then his voice dropped by less than half a degree—not out of calmness, but to save the biggest number for last.

"The first batch of profits—once you come out—will be at least several tens of thousands of Spirit Stones."

Lu Changyuan did not speak immediately. He rotated the crystal at his fingertips. The crystal's pulse beneath his finger pads—sometimes fast, sometimes slow—was just like the numbers Elder Wei Changfeng reported—a rise, a pause, then another rise.

"Those things you killed in the ruins today—" Elder Wei Changfeng's voice dropped another degree, as if he were smiling, but hadn't quite let it out—"compared to what we've earned outside—which side is more? You do the math."

Leng Feng, hearing this from the side, pulled the corner of his mouth up by less than half an inch. He leaned against the stone wall on the side of the platform, his narrow-bladed straight sword lying horizontally across his knees. The spiritual light on the sword blade brightened slightly when he heard the words "fifty percent," then returned to a steady state. He raised his observation lens to his eyes and scanned the center of the altar; the Spiritual Pressure reading in the lens jumped up by less than half a notch, and the crack at the edge of the lens expanded by less than a millimeter. He lowered the lens and rubbed his thumb over the crack on the glass—it wouldn't wipe away; it wasn't a smudge.

Just then, the Seal chains at the center of the altar let out a piercing metallic groan. The first chain link—snapped.

The sound of the chain link snapping was amplified several times over in the vast space of the altar. It wasn't the crisp crack of metal shattering, but a muffled thud emitted when something extremely deep and heavy was forcefully torn apart. The sound spread from the center of the altar in all directions, hit the dome, bounced back, and reverberated between the stone walls. With each bounce, the volume dropped by less than half a percent, but the pitch rose instead, eventually turning into a very sharp, thin tremolo—like a string that had been taut for thousands of years finally breaking.

Then the second link. The third link. The sound of the chains breaking link by link began, spreading from the center of the altar toward the dome. The interval between each break grew shorter and shorter; there was nearly a three-breath gap between the first and second links, while there was less than two breaths between the third and fourth. Shards of spiritual light that exploded when the dark golden chain links snapped rained down from the air. Each shard, the moment it touched the dark copper alloy floor, burned out a tiny circle of dark golden sparks. After the sparks died out, a very fine, faint scorch mark remained on the floor.

Across the entire dark copper alloy floor of the altar, the ancient Array Patterns lit up simultaneously. Dark golden spiritual light surged up from the lines on the floor. The speed of the surge was not fast, but extremely uniform; the spiritual light in every line rose at the same rate. It stopped when it reached calf height, then began to spread horizontally, as if the ground had been injected with a layer of translucent dark golden liquid. The spiritual light washed over the soles of Leng Feng's boots, over the footsteps of Shadow One and Shadow Two, over the Dharma-breaking robe Shopkeeper Qian had spread on the ground, over everyone's ankles, and then continued to spread toward the perimeter of the altar.

The black crystal in Lu Changyuan's palm began to vibrate. It wasn't the slight pulse from before—it was a vibration. The radial fine lines of dark gold on the bottom of the crystal all lit up, each line radiating outward. The spiritual light radiated projected fine, faint lines into the air; the direction of these lines was perfectly aligned with the array core at the center of the altar, as if the crystal were using these lines to point toward the center of the altar.

Leng Feng's observation lens—the glass cracked instantly when pointed toward the center of the altar. It wasn't an external impact—it was Spiritual Pressure. The Spiritual Pressure reading in the lens jumped to a value he had never seen before. The cracks on the lens extended from the edge toward the center; the speed of the extension wasn't fast, but the path of each crack was extremely clear, as if someone inside the lens were tracing outward with their finger. Leng Feng moved the lens away from his eyes; the glass was already covered with at least a dozen cracks. The patterns of the cracks shimmered with a very faint dark golden reflection under the icy blue cold light—the same color as the spiritual light of the Seal chains.

"My Lord—" Lu Changyuan did not wait for him to finish. He stood up from the stone platform, pressed the black crystal into his palm, palm facing down. The lines from the bottom of the crystal projected onto the dark copper alloy floor—the direction of the lines—all pointed toward the center of the altar.

At the center of the altar—more than half of the Seal chains had snapped. The remaining chain links were dragged downward in the chain reaction of the breakage. Each time a link fell, it carved a brilliant dark golden arc in the air, then slammed into the floor, creating a deep, muffled echo. That thing which had been wrapped in layers of chains for thousands of years—that vague human silhouette—was becoming clearer and clearer as the chain links fell away layer by layer.

"Leng Feng—notify Shopkeeper Qian and the others—retreat to fifty zhang outside the altar perimeter—do not approach the center."

Leng Feng stepped off the side of the stone platform, his pace nearly twice as fast as usual. His narrow-bladed straight sword was already drawn in his hand, the tip pointing toward the ground. The spiritual light on the sword blade carved a very short, brilliant ripple on the layer of dark golden spiritual light that had surged to calf height.

"Shadow One, Shadow Two—" Lu Changyuan's words were only halfway out when the entire underground space shook violently.

The magnitude of the shaking was so great that the cold-light Spirit Stones on the altar dome, which had remained motionless for thousands of years, all flashed simultaneously. The light changed from a constant glow to a very brief flicker, then stabilized again. But the color temperature had changed—from the icy blue leaning toward a warm tone, it turned into a very pale dark gold, as if the spiritual light of the Seal chains had invaded the interior of the cold-light Spirit Stones, staining the light source color that had been constant for thousands of years.

From the direction of the foyer, a terrifying roar came. The roar penetrated the passage that was at least several miles long, rebounding repeatedly against the stone walls of the passage. Each time it rebounded, the fragments of ancient Sword Cultivator trial Sword Intent that had remained on the stone walls for thousands of years chimed simultaneously. The deepest and most complete sword style flow chart in the secret chamber of the side hall—the cyan spiritual light inside the carvings flashed in the midst of the roar, then began to flicker at an extremely fast frequency, like a sword buried for thousands of years responding to the commotion in the distance.

The entire underground space—the dome, the floor, the stone walls, the cold-light Spirit Stones, the Seal chains, the ancient Array Patterns, the residual Sword Intent—everything at the same instant was vibrated into resonance by that same roar.

Lu Changyuan held down the sword hilts of Shadow One and Shadow Two; both of their short swords had been drawn out by half an inch. The sword scabbard buckle made a very light, crisp click the moment his fingertips pressed down—and then it stopped.

"Sheathe your swords. Prepare."

He pressed the black crystal back into his palm. The crystal no longer vibrated. The pulse—it also stopped. The crystal in his palm had become a completely still, extremely cold, and heavy stone. But the dark golden fine lines on the bottom of the crystal were all lit up, each one extending toward the center of the altar at an extremely slow speed, as if the crystal were doing one thing—listening—waiting—accumulating.