90: Chapter 90 Hidden in the Wasteland, Hope in Peril

The turmoil in the Element Forest slowly settled.

The prodigies went into hiding, and the battlefield fell silent.

No one dared to harbor any improper thoughts toward that innocent girl.

Lin Yan silently withdrew his stance, engraving the strange "fortune variable" of this battle into his mind.

Li Qingxiao stood on the treetop, a breeze brushing through his eyes, sweeping away all worldly disturbances. He suddenly chuckled, whispering softly:

"Human strife can be counted, but the vastness of heavenly fate is beyond human control."

As the words fell, the poetic rhyme gently dissipated.

He had already seen through it; this stroke of heavenly fortune had long been destined for someone else, and human struggles to seize it were all in vain.

No matter how much scheming or slaughter ensued, it could never compare to the favor of the heavens.

There was no need to covet, no need to entangle himself.

Li Qingxiao lightly flicked his long sleeves, his figure riding the wind as he rose, his snow-white clothes drifting away, untainted by even a speck of worldly dust.

The killing intent throughout the Element Forest slowly loosened, as if a sharp string had been plucked away with the departure of the prodigies.

Lin Yan withdrew his gaze; there was no value in remaining on this battlefield any longer.

Because the prodigies had gathered here, most of the monsters and resource points on this battlefield had already been hunted or opened. Staying here was pointless; one could either wait in place for them to respawn or head to another battlefield.

Time was precious. Without hesitation, Lin Yan turned and headed toward another battlefield.

The wind and thunder along the way had not yet fully dispersed, and the remnants of elemental energy wandered slowly through the forest.

Occasionally, residual echoes would crackle between the thunder-struck trees, like the final lingering notes of this battlefield.

Lin Yan replayed everything that had just happened in his mind, especially that golden spirit fruit that had been "deflected" by heavenly fortune.

He vaguely realized—

So-called "luck" was never just a simple probability, but a tilting of rules at a higher level.

He looked down at the remaining luck scroll in his hand.

He was silent for a moment.

Finally, he slowly tore it open.

--- Reality · Wasteland Border ---

The vast wasteland was filled with yellow sand.

The once-prosperous land had long since collapsed and fallen into ruin, leaving only endless broken walls and desolate, dusty winds.

High temperatures and sandstorms intertwined, as if the heavens and earth had never known gentleness.

Yet, in the very center of this desolation, a spark was burning tenaciously.

That was the newborn bastion that humanity had built from scratch, expending countless resources and pouring in all their strength—

City of Hope.

The city was not yet complete; the tall alloy walls were only half-constructed, countless tower cranes stood against the sky, steel frames crisscrossed, and building materials were piled high.

The entire city resembled the skeleton of a giant beast just waking up, slowly growing amidst the sandstorms.

Lights burned day and night, and machinery roared incessantly.

There were no ordinary residents here, no bustling marketplace.

Only construction teams, rotating armies of Awakened, tightly organized official agencies, and heavily guarded research departments.

Everything was starting from zero.

Simple, immature, fragile.

Yet unbelievably tenacious.

Like the only spark in the darkness that refused to be extinguished.

But no one knew—

The weaker the light, the easier it was to be targeted by the abyss.

--- Outside the City of Hope · Thousand-Mile Barren Ridge ---

The gale was dead silent, and the black fog was heavy.

The sand and wind across the entire world seemed suppressed by an invisible force, and even the sound of the wind had completely vanished.

On the ridge, several slender figures in black robes stood quietly.

They stood with their backs to the broken world, facing the massive city in the distance that was still under construction.

No one spoke, no one moved.

As if they belonged to the darkness itself.

The leader's black robe was the thickest, and a hexagram pattern on his chest slowly rotated, dark and profound.

That was not a decoration, but a symbol of some kind of "authority."

Just by standing there, he caused the surrounding space to subtly distort.

Behind him, several black shadows stood in formation.

Pentagram patterns on their chests flickered in and out of existence, each exuding a sense of oppression far exceeding that of ordinary Awakened.

Further back were lower-ranking triangular marks and fragmented shadow patterns.

The hierarchy was strict, the order was cold, like a black web slowly unfolding.

No one spoke; only the sand and wind rolled silently in the distance.

A long time passed.

The leading black-robed figure slowly lifted his gaze, looking toward the brightly lit, still-forming city.

His voice was hoarse and deep, as if squeezed from the depths of the void:

"Humanity... is still struggling."

A simple five-character sentence, yet it felt like a negation of the entire world.

A pentagram-robed figure beside him lowered his head slightly, voice cold:

"The walls are incomplete, defenses are unstable, and the core array has not yet closed."

"This is the most vulnerable moment."

Another black shadow spoke slowly, his tone calm yet carrying a chill:

"The new fire has not yet taken shape; it is easiest to break."

"If we suppress it now, we can cut off its momentum for a century of revival."

No one refuted this, nor was there any need to.

Because they never discussed right or wrong; they only calculated "whether it can be destroyed."

The leading black-robed figure watched the city quietly, as if looking at a gravestone that had not yet set.

He slowly raised his hand, a wisp of pitch-black void swirling at his fingertips.

There was no light.

No temperature.

Not even the concept of "existence."

Wherever it passed, even the sand and wind seemed to pause briefly.

He spoke softly:

"Humans always like to weave false hope for themselves."

"Building cities, establishing rules, continuing the spark, rebuilding civilization."

He chuckled, the laughter devoid of emotion, filled only with the indifference of judgment.

"Ridiculous."

He clenched his fist slightly.

The power of the void retracted, then slowly spilled out between his fingers.

It was as if the world were being dismantled by him at will.

"All things in the world are fundamentally empty."

"So-called rise is nothing but obsession."

"All struggles are futile."

He slowly issued the command.

The voice was not loud, but it overcame the wind and sand, reaching the entire wilderness:

"While it is incomplete."

"Destroy it."

"Wipe out humanity's last spark."

At the command.

Deep in the black fog, shadows began to flow.

The triangular-marked ones scattered into the wilderness like a tide, blocking the outer paths.

The four-pointed star deacons infiltrated in sections, cutting off supplies and communication nodes.

The five-pointed star venerables stood by in silence, hidden in the deeper darkness.

The killing intent began to spread, like an invisible web, slowly tightening.

--- The distant City of Hope. ---

The lights were still bright, tower cranes were still operating, and construction machinery roared incessantly.

The Awakened army patrolled as usual, and the research institute's data streams refreshed continuously.

Everything seemed calm.

Only occasionally would some patrol squads pause briefly on the radio, then quickly return to normal.

As if nothing had happened.

And as if—

They had long been accustomed to this "calm before the storm."

No one pointed it out, and no one panicked.

Everyone just continued to execute their assigned tasks.

As if waiting for a pre-written point in time.

--- Wind rises in the wasteland. ---

Shadows spread silently.

The City of Hope was still growing.

And the darkness had already arrived at the border.