591: Chapter 591 Lord Ancestral Demon

Wutian heard this, and his heart contracted violently—as if gripped by an invisible giant hand and twisted fiercely.

He could hear the sound of blood rushing in his eardrums, beat by beat, heavy as a war drum, scalding as magma.

He opened his mouth, his throat dry and aching:

"Ancestor Demon Lord, my brother, he…?"

Ancestral Demon did not answer.

He just sat there quietly, like a statue of a demon god that had existed since time immemorial.

Even the flow of time became sluggish and heavy around him.

Then, he raised his hand.

This was a hand capable of holding up the sky, and one that had once torn apart the firmament.

At this moment, it merely extended an index finger and tapped lightly toward the void ahead.

The movement was very light, very slow.

Yet it shattered time and space.

Hum—

Silent ripples spread out.

The scene before him shattered suddenly.

It was not a complete picture—it was fragments.

Thousands of tiny shards of light and shadow, like a glass mirror smashed by a heavy hammer, like the cracks that suddenly burst open on a frozen winter lake, densely packed, covering every inch of the Void Realm before Wutian.

In every fragment, there was a Wuchen.

Countless moments, countless possibilities, countless torn trajectories of fate.

In some fragments, thunder was like a waterfall, tearing open the dim sky.

He stood in the center of the ten-thousand-foot lightning, head tilted back, his neck tensed in a resolute arc, long hair dancing wildly, covered in blood, roaring silently at the firmament.

It was not anger—it was a roar bordering on martyrdom.

In some fragments, the world was extinguished, leaving only ruins.

He knelt on the scorched earth, hands dug deep into the soil and rubble, knuckles deathly pale and protruding.

He lowered his head, dark hair falling to cover his face, only his constantly trembling, gaunt shoulders revealed something that had completely collapsed.

In some fragments, there was boundless, viscous darkness.

No light, no sound, no temperature, no direction.

Only him alone—a small, lonely figure, trekking through this eternal darkness.

His steps were slow, but he never stopped.

His back was swallowed by the darkness, only to emerge from deeper darkness, repeating over and over, like an endless torture.

Then, Wutian saw that fragment—

He smiled.

The curve of his lips was very shallow, very faint, even considered gentle.

But in this smile, there was nothing.

No relief, no liberation, no resentment, and no hope.

Just like the last glance at the trunk before the last leaf of late autumn falls; just like the last trace of warmth when burnt ashes scatter in the wind.

It was a smile after completely, resolutely seeing through all the joys, sorrows, loves, and hatreds of the world—

A smile of emptiness.

Exactly the same as when he dissipated.

"He is in that darkness."

Ancestral Demon's voice came from the refraction of light and shadow in every fragment, layered and overlapping, cold and clear:

"He will see much. He will experience much. He will lose much."

He paused for a moment.

This moment of silence was more palpitating than the harshest proclamation.

"He might also… find some things."

Wutian's pupils contracted to needle points.

He stared fixedly at the floating fragments filling the sky, his gaze like red-hot iron, wanting to brand every scene into the deepest part of his Soul.

His brother's bloodied back, the trembling while kneeling, the solitary walk in the darkness, that hollow smile that made his heart stop—

Repeatedly scorched his nerves.

A rusty, bloody taste surged up his throat.

He squeezed the words out from between his teeth, every word distinct, heavy as a thousand jun:

"Ancestor Demon Lord, my brother… can he still come back?"

Without the slightest hesitation.

Nor was there any need to hesitate.

Ancestral Demon's gaze finally moved away from the void and landed on Wutian.

In those eyes, originally as pitch-black as the eternal night and as deep as the Return to Ruins, for the first time, a fluctuation that could be called "emotion" was clearly reflected.

Not pity for an ant.

Not sympathy for a tragedy.

But a kind of nearly cold, stripping away of all appearances—

Scrutiny.

As if evaluating the raw material for a weapon, measuring the resilience of a Law.

"You want to find him."

The flat voice was not a question—it was stating an already certain fact.

"Yes."

Wutian's answer was categorical, without the slightest wavering, without any superfluous explanation.

All struggles, fears, and weighing of options had already been burned away the moment his determination ignited.

"Do you know what place that darkness is?"

"I do not know."

"Do you know if you can return alive after going there?"

"I do not know."

Wutian's voice was not high-pitched, but rather low and hoarse, yet every word was like black iron sinking to the bottom of the water, carrying an unquestionable weight:

"He is my brother."

"No matter where he is—beneath the Nine Netherworlds, or at the end of time, Soul Flying Away and Spirit Scattering, or eternally fallen into sinking."

"I will find him."

"Bring him back."

Ancestral Demon was silent.

He quietly looked at this Bloodline descendant before him.

His gaze was distant and vast, piercing through Wutian's tense shell, seeing the obsession boiling deep within his Bloodline, seeing through the countless rapid and dangerous tributaries downstream in the long river of time.

This gaze itself was a form of crushing.

Making Wutian feel that from flesh to Soul, he was completely pierced through.

After a long time, that seemingly eternal voice sounded again:

"You want to protect him, want to keep up with his footsteps, even want to pull him back from his predetermined trajectory—"

"Then, refining these twelve drops of Ancestor Demons Blood is the only path you must tread right now. Only in this way will you barely possess the qualification to peer into that 'darkness,' and have a sliver of possibility to touch the 'dimension' where he resides."

The finger resting on the armrest of the cold throne moved extremely slightly, as if brushing away a non-existent speck of dust.

"But, remember—"

"These twelve drops of Ancestor Demons Blood are a gift, and also a shackle."

The moment the voice fell—

Wutian's whole body shook violently!

In the deepest part of his Dantian, the twelve drops of Ancestor Demons Blood, forcibly imprisoned by supreme will, vibrated simultaneously!

Not a gentle response—but a violent, primal, unruly throbbing!

Like twelve primordial giant beasts forcibly locked together, the moment the Seal loosened, they simultaneously let out a low and hungry roar!

"Urgh—!"

Wutian let out a muffled groan, his face turned suddenly pale, and the veins on his forehead bulged.

He felt as if twelve frantically rotating, colliding, destructive vortexes had been stuffed into his body in an instant!

Flesh, Meridians, bones, and even the deeper Origin of life, were all emitting wails of being unable to bear the burden!

It was not simple pain.

It was a crushing of status, a rejection and tearing at the level of Law.

He instantly understood the cruel meaning of the word "shackle" in Ancestral Demon's words.

"They will grant you power, power far beyond your current limits of imagination, enough to let you run rampant in the current world, and even touch the so-called peak."

Ancestral Demon's voice remained steady, every syllable carrying the heavy imprint of Dao, smashing onto Wutian's mind:

"But remember, they are not one entity; they are only temporarily suppressed and harmonized by my residual will, maintaining a fragile balance."

"This 'balance' will not be eternal."

The towering throne beneath him began to blur at the edges, like a reflection disturbed by ripples.

"When your will grows enough to disturb this balance, or when you encounter an external force impact that exceeds your limit of endurance—"

Ancestral Demon did not finish.

But the unspoken meaning was more suffocating than any concrete description.

The balance breaks.

Twelve supreme Law Origins representing different extremes, clashing and destroying each other, will erupt, collide, and annihilate without buffer inside you.

At that time, the most thorough disintegration starting from within.

Form and spirit, Soul and Dao, every trace of existence will be torn by the chaotic Law storm into the most basic particles—

Returning to nothingness, eternally doomed.

"This is not a gift, but a trial."

Ancestral Demon's figure became increasingly illusory, his voice seemingly drifting from the extremely distant end of time, carrying an eternal desolation and profound meaning:

"The true Legacy deep within our Demon Race Bloodline has never been simple plundering and devouring. That is the path of beasts."

"The true Legacy is control, is mastery."

"Mastering your own heart, mastering your own power, mastering the rage and violence surging in your Bloodline; mastering the conflicts of ten thousand Dao, mastering the mutual restraint of Laws, until you master all the chaotic, tyrannical, destructive 'force' between heaven and earth, turning it into your own use, forging an 'Order' unique to yourself."

"If one day you can, by your own will, truly achieve Fusion of these twelve drops of blood, making them harmonize as one, endless and ceaseless, rather than relying on my will to forcibly 'bond' them—"

Ancestral Demon's black eyes, which seemed to carry the birth and death of the Universe, flickered slightly:

"At that time, you will have truly pushed open that door, and will have the qualification to know some buried truths, to face some already destined Karma."

Wutian gritted his teeth, resisting the terrifying throbbing in his body that was like overturning seas and rivers, cold sweat soaking his heavy clothes.

This power was vast like an inverted star sea, yet as dangerous as walking on a volcano about to erupt.

He looked at the majestic figure on the throne that was about to dissipate completely, and used all his strength to ask the last, and most desired to know, question:

"Ancestor Demon Lord… what exactly do you know? My brother, he… where will he eventually go?"

Ancestral Demon's figure was now as illusory as morning mist. Only those infinitely deep eyes, which seemed to have seen through the eternal night, remained clearly branded in the void, gazing at Wutian.

His voice was ethereal as a sigh, yet carried a certain weight of destiny:

"Between life and death, it is not just black and white. There is endless fog, and also… infinite possibilities."

"Obsession is a gut-piercing poison that erodes bones and burns the heart; it is also an undying fire that burns away thorns."

"This fire might first burn him to ashes, or perhaps… it can burn out a path of life from that boundless desperate situation, an unprecedented path paved with blood and fire."

"As for where he eventually goes…"

The light in those eyes flickered slightly, like the last glimmer of a star.

"No one can determine."

"Even I cannot."

The lingering sound was still echoing, not yet dissipated.

This towering throne engraved with the rotation of galaxies and the sinking of black suns, along with that figure who once suppressed the ages, burly as a pillar supporting the sky—

Started from the edges, turning inch by inch into the finest, softest points of light.

No sound, no eruption.

Like an ancient mural quietly erased by time, silent and soundless, returning to nothingness.

The pitch-black halberd floating to the side let out a low whimper like a Dragon's moan—seeming unwilling, seeming reluctant—eventually it also turned into a wisp of pure black smoke, curling into the void, leaving no further trace.

Around him, the twelve phantoms of thrones that once cast terrifying pressure and symbolized supreme authority, shattered silently one after another.

Like bubbles bursting one after another in the sunlight.

Like flowers in a mirror and the moon in the water, in an instant it became empty.

The majestic pressure that filled heaven and earth and made all things bow, retreated like a tide, instantly disappearing completely.

The wind seemed to start flowing again.

In the distance, faint, mundane sounds came.

As if everything that had just reversed Yin and Yang and shocked his Soul—the appearance of the Ancestor Demons, the gifts and warnings, the countless silhouettes of Wuchen in the fragments—

Was just a short, clear, and palpitating dream.