468: Chapter 468 Buried Earth World

And at this moment, no one knew.

Just as the Ladder to Heaven completely collapsed and all the losers were forcibly teleported away—

Just as the million miles of mountains and rivers fell into deathly silence, and countless traditions were heartbroken—

In another completely isolated, independent space-time dimension where even the flow of time was different, a completely different world was silently unfolding.

The sky was a perpetual leaden gray.

This gray was thick, oppressive, and low, like a giant cloth soaked in dead water, covering the dome of the world, making it hard to breathe.

There were no sun, moon, or stars, no clouds or rosy light, only a uniform, suffocating gray that seemed to have never changed since the creation of the world.

The earth was boundless and scorched black.

The soil was pitch black as ink, as if it had been repeatedly soaked, scorched, and solidified by eons of death.

Stepping on it would not raise dust, but only leave a clear footprint that seemed to have been corroded—this footprint would exist for a very, very long time, as if reminding everyone who stepped here: You have been here, but you will eventually return to dust.

Withered trees stood, but they could no longer be called "trees."

They were twisted, strange, and hideous, their branches piercing the sky at unreasonable angles, like the frozen posture of some creature struggling in pain before death, or like corpses nailed to crosses.

Rather than trees, they were more like tombstones—tombstones erected for the world itself, for every living being that died here.

What permeated the air was not Spiritual Qi.

It was "Burial Qi."

Burial Qi, thick enough to be inseparable, flowed slowly like viscous liquid, wrapping everything.

It carried the smell of decay, the smell of death, the smell of rot, and some ancient resentment that had settled for eons and could not dissipate—this was the curse of countless dead souls before they died, the wail emitted by the world itself.

Breathing here, what one inhaled was not Life Qi, but the intent of death; what one exhaled was not murky air, but the gradually fading Life Qi, the gradually dimming soul fire, and the gradually departing life.

This place was precisely the one among the nine trial grounds of the Shangqing Secret Realm, known as the forbidden zone for the living—

The Burial Land World.

An absolute dead zone that even a Supreme would not easily step into, where even the undead could not rest, and where even the Dao was unwilling to manifest...

"Hum—"

A subtle ripple appeared in space, like a stone thrown into a pool of stagnant water, spreading circles of visible ripples—but those ripples were also gray, as if dyed by this world.

Five figures appeared on a vast, scorched black plain at almost the same instant.

The leader.

He wore a Burial Robe as black as the deepest night. There were no patterns or decorations on the robe, yet it seemed to be absorbing the surrounding light, the surrounding temperature, and everything around it on its own.

His face was as pale as a corpse, without a hint of blood, as if it had never been illuminated by the sun or touched by vitality.

And those eyes—the pupils were pure ink black, without whites, without luster, without focus, only two rotating, slow, dark masses that seemed capable of devouring souls.

He was surrounded by faint gray air currents that slowly circled and squirmed within three feet of him. One could faintly hear extremely subtle wails, cries, curses, and whispers—that was the sound of dead souls, the whispers of the dead, his innate companions.

Every step he took, the scorched black soil beneath his feet would squirm slightly, as if the infinite dead souls and endless withered bones buried beneath the soil were awakening, trembling, and cheering because of his arrival.

Burial Son—a monster from the mysterious ancient Burial Land lineage, born with death as a companion, feeding on Burial Qi, and using dead souls as servants.

Beside him, the auras of four Prodigies of different races exploded outward.

The vitality that was out of place in this dead world briefly illuminated the surrounding darkness, but it also attracted the prying eyes of certain existences deep within the Burial Land—existences so ancient they were indescribable, so powerful they were despair-inducing, currently slowly awakening from their slumber, casting indifferent, scrutinizing, and hungry gazes.

The Void Insect Race woman had four pairs of transparent insect wings on her back, each wing flowing with natural spatial Dao patterns, tearing open cracks in the Void Realm with every slight tremor.

Her skin was dark gold, not metal, but more like some crystallized carapace, hard enough to resist a blow from a Supreme.

The most bizarre thing was her eyes—there were no pupils, only endless data torrents surging, calculating, deducing, and predicting within them.

At this moment, this data stream was flashing at an unprecedented speed, so fast it almost connected into a light screen, clearly frantically analyzing the rules, structure, and weaknesses of this strange world.

"Is this... the Burial Land?"

She spoke, her voice crisp but with a distinct mechanical texture, every word sounding as if the volume and frequency had been precisely calculated.

Her transparent insect wings trembled at high frequency, unable to be suppressed—that was not fear, but a certain instinctive rejection reaction engraved deep in her Bloodline.

Just as life rejects death, just as light rejects darkness.

"Death rules... are almost materialized. Spatial coordinates are polluted by Death Dao laws, and the degree of disorder exceeds estimates. Gravity parameters are abnormal, and energy absorption efficiency has dropped to seven point three percent... The suppression of our senses and spiritual perception has reached a dangerous threshold."

Every word was as calm as if stating a report, as if reading a medical report unrelated to herself.

But the calmer she was, the more one could hear the deep, undisguised disgust—that was life's instinctive rejection of death, the natural resistance of living things to a dead zone.

"Truly... a wonderful place."

Burial Son, however, took a deep breath.

The movement was slow, intoxicated, and self-forgetful, as if tasting a peerless vintage, as if embracing an old friend reunited after a long time.

A sickly flush appeared on his pale face, and a look of satisfaction flashed in his pure black pupils—that was the expression of an addict finally getting satisfied, the expression of a wanderer returning to his hometown.

"The Burial Qi here... is so pure it makes the soul tremble. I can hear... billions of dead souls singing deep in the soil, can feel... ancient Death Dao laws flowing in the air, can touch... the heartbeat of this world. Good, truly a good place."

As he spoke, the gray air currents around him became more active, as if infected by his emotions, circling, entangling, and rejoicing around him, vaguely condensing into painful human faces and reaching hands, only to quickly dissipate.

On the other side, a giant from the Rock Demon Race.

He was a zhang tall, standing there like a small mountain, like a city wall, like a statue that would not fall.

His skin was dark brown rock, covered in natural chapped patterns—these patterns were not scars, but the imprints of time, the totems of the earth.

Within the patterns, magma-like light flowed faintly; that was his Bloodline, the source of his power.

On top of his head grew several twisted purple crystal clusters, each slowly absorbing a certain energy from the air—but at this moment, the light of these crystal clusters was significantly dimmed, as if suppressed and devoured by something.

"This place is making my rock heart cold! Every inch of soil is rejecting the Earth Pulse Fire within me! Uncomfortable, very uncomfortable!"

He roared, stomping heavily.

The scorched black ground cracked into several fissures, bottomless—but those fissures quickly healed themselves, like a grinning mouth closing, as if mocking his helplessness.

"The spatial structure is unusually stable and filled with... obscure traps of deathly silence."

The one speaking was the Illusion Sea Race youth. He was shrouded in hazy, flowing water light, his figure appearing real yet illusory, as if condensed from water mist, ready to be blown away by the wind at any moment.

His lower body rippled like water waves, without a fixed form, separated from the scorched earth beneath his feet by a layer of flowing water film—he was unwilling to touch this land, even through his footwear.

He raised his right hand, ripples of space appearing at his fingertips, as if touching an invisible net, as if playing a silent tune.

"It's not a naturally formed spatial fold... it's artificially arranged. No, not entirely artificial... it's like the remnants of some ancient ritual, intertwined with the death rules of the entire Burial Land world, spreading like a spider web, complex like a maze. Some traps even my 'Water Moon Eyes' cannot fully see through... must be careful, every step may trigger unknown dangers."

His voice was ethereal and wispy, yet carried unprecedented gravity.

The last one, the Ghost Face Race assassin, never spoke.

He wore a tattered gray-black cloak, the material of which was very special—it almost merged with the shadows when the light was dim, and absorbed all colors when the light was bright, forever presenting a gray color between existence and nothingness.

He wore a ghastly white mask on his face. The left half of the mask was an exaggerated laughing expression, with corners of the mouth split to the ear roots, revealing a row of sharp teeth; the right half was a twisted crying expression, with drooping corners of the eyes, tightly pursed lips, and clearly visible tear stains.

The boundary between laughing and crying blended at the bridge of the nose, extremely bizarre, making one's hair stand on end.

He didn't even move, just stood there quietly, and his aura began to quickly fade, flicker, and dissipate.

His figure rippled like water, gradually becoming transparent, as if about to completely merge into the shadows of this world of death—this was the talent of the Ghost Face Race, shadow assimilation.

They were born assassins, hunters walking in the cracks between light and dark, shadows that even fate could not capture.

Five people.

Five peerless Prodigies from different powerful races.

After a brief exchange, their Divine Thought had spread like a spider web, covering every inch of land within a hundred miles.

Their energy was hidden but not released, yet it had already formed an array, ready to attack or defend.

Burial Son took half a step forward.

His pure black eyes locked onto a direction deep in the scorched plain—there, he sensed some kind of call, some kind of attraction connected to the Origin of the Burial Land, some kind of thing that made his Bloodline boil.

However—

Just at the moment when the five people's Divine Thought was tense, killing intent hidden, energy circulating, and about to move.

Just the instant before they took their first step.

"Click."

An extremely light, extremely slow, yet eerily clear sound of footsteps rang out from the scorched earth a hundred feet in front of them.

The sound was not loud.

But in the Burial Land world, which was so dead silent that there was not even the sound of wind, in this absolute silence where only the wails of dead souls existed, in this quietness where the five could even hear each other's heartbeats—

This footstep sounded like a thunderclap.

It sounded like the collapse of heaven.

It sounded like something had stepped hard on their hearts.

"Swish—!!!"

The hair on the five people's bodies stood on end!

It was not a metaphor.

It was real, actual hair standing on end!

The gray air currents around Burial Son exploded, dancing wildly like a group of enraged snakes!

Data streams in the Void Insect Race woman's eyes flashed crazily, almost overflowing from her eye sockets, her pupils shrinking to the size of a needle tip!

The rocks on the surface of the Rock Demon Race giant's body tightened inch by inch, making creaking sounds, as if the whole mountain was trembling!

The water light around the Illusion Sea Race youth rippled violently, almost unable to maintain a human form!

And that Ghost Face Race assassin who was about to hide in the shadows—his figure instantly solidified, forced out of his semi-transparent state, his breathing under the mask suddenly stopped, and his chest heaved violently!

Five majestic, violent, and terrifying auras, like five volcanoes that had been suppressed for ten thousand years, erupted at this moment!

The scorched black ground cracked, sank, and collapsed in layers with them as the center! The Burial Qi in the air was stirred, forming five gray tornadoes, rushing straight to the lead-gray dome!

The dead souls within a hundred miles let out terrified hisses at this moment and fled in all directions!

They turned their heads suddenly.

Five pairs of eyes—pure black eyes, data eyes, rock fire pupils, water moon eyes, and the cold, ruthless assassin's eyes under the mask—simultaneously, fixedly, and incredulously stared at the direction from which the sound came.

Then—

They saw it.

On that pitch-black scorched earth that had been soaked by death for eons, in that absolute dead zone that even Burial Son felt was "wonderful," on that cursed land that even dead souls dared not approach—

Unknown when, a figure had appeared.

White clothes.

Like snow.

Untainted by dust.

Untouched by Death Qi.

Unaffected by Karma.

He just stood there quietly.

With his back to them.

Gazing at the perpetual lead-gray sky deep in the Burial Land.

The wind blew—a breeze had started from somewhere, not knowing where it came from, not knowing how it dared to blow here—fluttering the hem of his snow-white clothes, fluttering his ink-black long hair, fluttering the small, clean world around him that was out of place with the whole world.

He just stood there like that.

Quiet as a painting.

Clean as a dream.

Like a touch of blank space in a drop of ink, like a sigh in the deathly silence, like the only living person among billions of dead souls.

With this decaying, dead, resentful, cursed, desperate Burial Land world—

Utterly out of place.

Yet it felt as if—

He should have been here all along.