507: Chapter 507 The Palace Clan

Then, this gaze settled upon Jian Tanghuang.

"Hum—"

A silent resonance seeped out from the depths of every inch of space in the plaza.

This was not the trembling of the wind, nor the ripple of energy, but the Law itself—issuing an instinctive wail the moment it was beheld.

Deep within the gold-blue Dragon eyes, the glimmer of billions of rotating stars slowed by an insignificant fraction in an unmeasurable instant.

It was not doubt.

Doubt belongs to the lost, to the hesitation when facing the unknown.

Yet in his eyes, there was no unknown.

From the moment he opened his eyes—no, from the instant the concept of "his existence" was born—every person standing here, every heartbeat, and the trajectory of every thought was already spread out before his eyes like a painting.

Nor was it surprise.

Surprise is the ripple that rises when expectations are overturned.

Yet his expectations were inscriptions carved into the cornerstone of time, written on the first line of the prologue of the Laws of the Myriad Heavens and Worlds—unchangeable, irrefutable, and unquestionable.

This momentary hesitation was so brief that the word "instant" seemed redundant.

It was so brief that it felt like nothing more than the natural, slight opening and closing of eyes as Eternity awoke.

Jian Tanghuang suddenly felt her heart go empty.

It was not pain, nor fear, but a more thorough exhaustion originating from her very existence.

It was as if something tightly entwined with her life's Origin had been gently plucked away by an invisible hand—like picking a leaf or brushing away a speck of dust.

There were no traces, no remnants, not even the tangible feeling of loss, only a sudden, deep-seated void in her Soul.

She had no time to grasp it, no time to react.

The gaze had already moved on.

"Hum—"

The trembling of space suddenly intensified.

The gaze shifted and landed on Jianzi.

The pure white sword robe was unstained by dust, and every fold seemed to contain supreme sword logic.

The grey eyes were as still as a deep pool, yet the depths held an eternal, undying sword light.

The knuckles gripping the sword were distinct, fitting the curve of the hilt, as perfect as if outlined by the Heavenly Dao itself.

Every detail was clearly reflected in those Dragon eyes—no, not reflected, but dismantled, read, from the most microscopic particle vibration to the most vast torrent of fate, all clearly understood in an instant.

This time, there was no hesitation, no scrutiny.

Only—confirmation.

A cold, absolute confirmation that traversed endless time and spanned countless epochs.

It was as if when he stood at the source of time, he had already seen that at this coordinate in the future, such a figure would arrive as promised.

It was as if Jianzi's existence was merely a footnote he had long written in the Book of Fate, a punctuation mark that was bound to appear, a variable that had been calculated, expected, and permitted.

The gaze was silent, yet it shook the Soul:

"You have come."

"I have been waiting."

Subsequently, the gaze turned toward the black robe.

"Boom——————!!!"

This time, it was no longer trembling.

It was collapse.

The stars deep within the gold-blue Dragon eyes were suddenly extinguished.

All that remained was pure, absolute—coldness.

And so—

"Crack, crack, crack, crack, crack——————"

The cornerstone of the plaza let out an unbearable groan.

One hundred and eight towering stone pillars, symbolizing the source of the Dao of the Sword, sank three inches in unison!

It was not a fracture, but rather, as if pressed by a seal, they were forced deep into a lower layer of the spatial structure by some incomprehensible power!

On the pillars, the ancient array patterns, which had remained immortal after being washed by the Sword Intent of the ages, now shattered like thin ice, blooming with countless spiderweb-like cracks!

Deep within the cracks, there was no stone, but broken spatial faults, and threads of Law that had been forcibly torn apart!

At the tops of the stone pillars, the one hundred and eight Sword Master phantoms that had guarded this place since the primordial era flickered violently like candles in the wind, emitting silent wails, nearly dissipating!

Light does not need to attack darkness—where light exists, darkness naturally vanishes.

The black robe's body shuddered violently.

In the hundredth of an instant that he met that gaze, the ground he stood upon, the domain his body occupied, the "point" where he was permitted by the Law to exist—was rewritten.

By those gold-blue Dragon eyes, with authority transcending the Law, with power overriding concepts, the Foundation of his existence was redefined.

This space was written as: "A place where traitors should not exist."

And so—

Space refused to carry him.

The Law began to reject him.

Existence itself denied him.

He was violently cast aside by his own "attribute of existence."

"Whoosh——————"

A silent, yet shrill scream, sharp enough to tear apart the Soul, echoed madly in the depths of everyone's consciousness.

The black robe flew backward.

It was not pushed by force, but expelled by "concept."

The black Daoist robe dragged a trail like thick ink through the Void Realm—that was not an airflow, but the remnant trace of the fact that "he once existed here" being rapidly erased.

The hood was lifted by an invisible force.

It was not the wind, but the concept of "concealment" losing its meaning under that gaze.

A pale face was exposed to the air.

A few strands of hair, in extreme terror, lost all color from the root, turning into a deathly grey-white.

"No——!!!"

The black robe opened his mouth to roar.

But that roar could not even escape his throat—the moment it was born, it was strangled within his vocal cords by the rule defined by that gaze: "The voice of a traitor is forbidden in this domain."

He could only open his mouth silently, like a fish out of water, opening and closing it in vain.

Black mist surged madly from his ten fingers, condensing into a shield.

Yet at this moment—before that gaze, all defenses became transparent illusions.

This was not a collision of power.

This was a confrontation between the writer and the written.

That gaze was the hand holding the pen, and he was nothing more than a typo on the page, circled in vermilion, waiting to be wiped away.

"Traitors of the Myriad Heavens and Worlds..."

That figure finally spoke.

The instant the voice sounded, all tremors in the plaza returned to silence.

It was not that the pressure dissipated, but because—this was a voice that was "permitted to sound," a declaration that this will "wanted you to hear."

All other sounds, whether the wailing of space, the shattering of the Law, or the screaming of the Soul, had to be silent for this.

"...have no qualification to stand here."

This Law was not "declared" only now—it had long been carved into the Foundation of heaven and earth, flowing in the covenant of the Myriad Heavens and Worlds, branded at the source of every river of fate.

It was only at this moment that it was manifested by those Dragon eyes.

"Thump!"

The black robe's feet finally touched the ground.

No, not touched.

It was plowing.

His feet plowed two deep tracks into the ground.

These were not trenches, but genuine spatial rifts—wherever he passed, the ground did not break, but simply vanished, exposing the absolute darkness beneath, where even Chaos did not exist.

For a distance of several hundred zhang, he slid for what felt like an entire epoch.

It was so long that he felt he had experienced countless cycles of Reincarnation from birth to extinction.

It was so long that every dirty secret, every despicable betrayal, and every strand of gnawing greed deep within his Soul was exposed, whipped, and judged under that gaze.

When he stopped, he was trembling.

This was the trembling of a Soul on the verge of disintegration.

It was not fear of death—death was already a luxury for him at this moment.

What he feared was "being seen."

That layer of disguise, woven with lies, tempered with betrayal, and soaked in the wails of countless departed Souls, had once deceived the scrutiny of the Heavenly Dao, fooled the intuition of his arch-enemies, and allowed him to be like a fish in water in the deepest darkness.

Now, under the gold-blue gaze, it was thinner than morning dew.

No, it was not even as good as morning dew.

Morning dew is still real.

And his disguise, under that gaze, was even stripped of the qualification of being "false"—the Foundation of its existence was directly denied.

He raised his head.

The hood had long since fallen off, and dark green pupils emerged from the shadows, nailing themselves toward the center of the plaza.

Killing intent boiled.

This was not an emotion, but the final counterattack of the essence of his existence—like a dying venomous snake baring its fangs, like a burnt-out star emitting its final light.

Yet his hands were shaking.

He could no longer hold onto his power.

He even began to forget the concept of "standing."

Why must I stand?

Do I deserve to stand?

What... exactly am I?

Those gold-blue eyes were digging these questions out one by one from the deepest part of his Soul, exposing them under the unquestionable light.

Every question was a knife carving out his heart and bones.

Every gaze was a punishment of Soul Flying Away and Spirit Scattering.

"The Legacy of the Sword clan."

That figure spoke again.

Each word was as clear as ice springs dripping on jade, and as heavy as stars falling.

It did not fall into the ears, but was directly carved into the essence of the listener's existence.

Each syllable was a Law, a definition, a trial.

"Gong Clan members have no qualification to touch it."

The moment the three words "Gong Clan members" were spoken—

"Ssh——————"

Like a red-hot branding iron pressed onto flesh.

The black robe's disguise completely disintegrated.

It was not torn apart by external force, but began to disintegrate from within.

Like a demon called out by its true name, it could no longer maintain the illusion.

The hood slipped off completely.

Revealing a pale, handsome face covered in dark purple veins.

These veins were like living creatures, squirming beneath his skin, each one exuding a disgusting, decaying aura originating from the deepest layer of the abyss.

His true face was exposed.

Not his appearance, but his essence—it was the essence of a "Gong Clan traitor" who had been expelled by his clan, cursed by his Bloodline, and backlashed by his oaths.

The gold-blue Dragon eyes stared at him.

No anger, no hatred.

Only a kind of pure, matter-of-fact coldness, like a human looking down at a worm at their feet.

This coldness was far more terrifying than the most intense hatred.

Because it meant that you did not even deserve the qualification to "be hated."

You were merely filth waiting to be cleaned up.

"Your very existence," the voice sounded again, stating the final verdict, "is the greatest defilement to this place."

"Step down."

"Or—"

Deep within the Dragon eyes, the gold-blue light began to rotate, turning into a vortex that swallowed everything.

Deep within this vortex, it reflected the scene of the Myriad Heavens and Worlds collapsing, returning to nothingness, and all existence turning into void.

"—Die."

The black robe's knees, at the moment that sentence fell—

"Bang!!!"

Smashed into the ground.

Above the plaza, there was dead silence.