615: Chapter 615 A ​​Golden Light

He looked up.

On the plains, a scene of extreme absurdity was unfolding.

The wind swept through the blood and dust, yet it could not disperse the near-maniacal greed that permeated the air.

Dozens of streaks of light, like startled fish, darted crazily through the gaps in the crowd, which was in Chaos due to the slaughter; each turn stirred up even more surging waves of rage and roars.

At the very front, a blood-red long saber was the most eye-catching; the blade hummed, as if singing a song of bloodlust.

A Yao Race powerhouse with a lion's head and human body, his mane bristling like raging flames and his giant copper-bell eyes bloodshot, was pursuing relentlessly at a speed that tore through the air.

Each time his sharp claws reached out, they almost touched the scorching hilt, and the Yao power overflowing from between his fingers had already scorched the surrounding air until it warped.

Ecstasy—a kind of ecstasy from being on the verge of reaching the pinnacle and controlling absolute power—had filled his heart like venom.

He seemed to have already envisioned the glorious scene where he wielded this Primordial Spirit Weapon to slaughter all enemies and leave a million corpses in his wake.

Then—there was no sign. No warning.

It was as if time had been abruptly cut by an invisible hand by a single frame.

A golden light.

It was not falling rain, nor was it pervasive mist; it was a line condensed to the extreme, faster than a flash of Divine Sense, surpassing the limits of eyesight, flashing past his eyes—no, from the boundary of his "perception," and vanishing.

It was so fast that his retinas could not even retain an afterimage, so fast that his surging Yao power still maintained the violent posture of reaching forward to capture it.

The world seemed to fall silent for an instant.

His forward momentum halted abruptly, his claws closed, but what he grasped was only a mass of void air and the pathetic whimpering of the airflow stirred up by his claw wind.

In front of him, it was empty.

The scorching, oppressive Saber Qi from just before, the radiance of the Spirit Weapon that was within reach, along with that tangible fantasy, had all vanished together.

It was so clean that it was as if they had never appeared.

Only a few wisps of dust at the spot drifted down slowly.

The lion-headed Prodigy was stunned.

He even subconsciously blinked his fierce eyes, suspecting if it was a hallucination caused by the intense battle.

No. His vision was clear.

There were only the other points of light still being chased on the plains, and the crowd, as bewildered and angry as he was.

"Who?! Who snatched my saber?!"

A furious roar exploded, the sound waves carrying monstrous Yao power rolling outward, shaking the nearby Cultivators until their blood and Qi churned.

His copper-bell-like eyes were blood-red, scanning the surroundings frantically, but all he saw were faces equally filled with astonishment and suspicion.

No one answered. In fact, no one even looked at him.

Because a scene just as eerie and chilling to the bone was unfolding simultaneously in every corner of this bloody plain.

In the southeast, a Feather Race Prodigy with brilliant light wings on his back, whose movement technique was as elegant as lightning, leaving streaks of afterimages in the air with every tremor of his wings, had chased the scroll of Primordial Divine Spell, which was suffused with Dao charm, to within a hundred zhang; his jade hand had already reached out—

A golden light flashed. The bamboo scroll vanished into thin air.

The Feather Race Prodigy lunged into empty space, his figure stumbling, nearly falling into the biting gale of the nearby battle group.

On the northwest side, monstrous black mist writhed like a living creature; a Demonic Cultivator was hidden within, and countless pitch-black tentacles formed from the power of Souls and resentment stretched out from the mist, weaving into a net that was cornering a small, translucent white tree flowing with nine-colored rosy light.

The tentacles closed in, certain of success—

A golden light flashed. The small tree was nowhere to be seen. The dense tentacles lost their target and suddenly tangled together, nearly causing the main body within the black mist to have its Devilish Qi dissipate.

In the very center, a low chant of Buddhist sutras sounded; a Buddhist Vajra holding a pestle for subduing demons had a solemn appearance, and the hundred zhang around him was already enveloped by golden Buddhist light that had condensed into a substance, turning into an impenetrable cage.

A bronze mirror engraved with the four ancient seal characters "Illuminating Mountains and Rivers" was charging left and right within it, yet it could never Breakthrough this impregnable barrier of Buddhist light.

The Vajra smiled, slowly pressing down with one palm, intending to collect it—

A golden light flashed. The bronze mirror vanished silently. In the vast Buddhist light, only emptiness remained, reflecting the Vajra's suddenly frozen face, which was full of disbelief.

A single breath. In just a single breath.

The dozens of streaks of treasure light that had spewed out from the bronze cauldron had all vanished without a trace.

It was not intercepted by a stronger force, nor was it taken away by faster speed; it was as if it had been gently wiped away from this bloody painting by an invisible giant hand.

On the plains, the remaining sounds of battle were cut off as if by a sharp blade, stopping abruptly.

The clanging of weapons stopped, and the roaring explosions of Spells ceased.

The Cultivators who were fighting for their lives the moment before remained frozen in place, in postures of attacking, parrying, or chasing.

They held blood-stained weapons, their bodies covered in wounds from enemies or themselves; the fierce expressions on their faces had not yet faded, but they were already covered by a deeper bewilderment and emptiness.

Everyone gazed blankly at the battlefield that had suddenly become empty, looking at the trajectories where those treasures had once flown, now leaving only void wind.

"The... the treasures?"

A dry, trembling question was squeezed out from someone's throat.

The next moment, a wave of confusion erupted.

"Who took them?! Who?!"

"I didn't see! The ice crystal divine sword in front of me, it was about to be in my hands, and suddenly it was gone!"

"A golden light! I saw it too! A light so fast it didn't even seem like light!"

"What on earth is it? Could it be a Restriction? An illusion?!"

The noisy sound waves collided with each other; everyone tried to find an answer on others' faces, but received only the same panic and anger.

Like a pack of starving beasts that suddenly discovered the fat meat in their mouths had vanished into thin air.

This violent sense of loss quickly turned into a manic rage with nowhere to vent.

Just then, someone, who knows who, suddenly raised their head, their blood-red eyes staring fixedly at the space above the altar—

That bronze cauldron, which had always been floating quietly, ancient and heavy, was still rotating slowly and unhurriedly, as if all the commotion, slaughter, and fighting below had nothing to do with it.

The mottled rust on the cauldron, under the dim sky light, revealed a kind of cold mockery.

"It's it... it must be that broken cauldron!"

"Right! The cauldron took the treasures back! It's playing with us! Treating us like monkeys!"

"Damn thing! I fought for my life, only to put on a show for a dead object?!"

"Destroy it! If we can't get the treasures, we'll destroy this damn cauldron!"

The spearhead of anger shifted instantly, and the flame of shared hatred ignited in every pair of eyes.

The Cultivators of various races who were fighting to the death just a moment ago now, because of a shared feeling of being fooled, vaguely had a stance of joining forces to attack the cauldron.

Violent Spiritual Pressure, surging Yao power, chilling Devilish Qi, solemn Buddhist light... all kinds of distinct powers began to stir, locking onto that silent giant cauldron.

However, just as this boiling, imminent rage was about to erupt—

A voice that was completely out of place with the atmosphere, carrying clear shock and bewilderment, sounded softly; yet it was like a drop of ice water falling into boiling oil, causing all the clamor to suddenly freeze.

"Mas... Master." Blood Butcher's voice was dry, filled with disbelief, "How... how on earth did you do it?"

The voice was not loud, but on the dead-silent plains where a pin drop could be heard, it clearly drilled into the ears of every Cultivator. Every word was like a heavy hammer striking the eardrums.

"Swish!"

Everyone, as if pulled by the same invisible thread, turned sharply toward the source of the sound.

The edge of the hill whose peak had been trampled flat.

Luo Xiaojiu had returned there at some point and was standing quietly.

The strong wind blew past, lifting a few strands of hair at her temples, and her clothes fluttered slightly.

And beside her...

Time, space, and thought seemed to be completely frozen at this moment.

Everyone's pupils shrank to the size of needle points, nailed firmly to the girl's body.

That Primordial long saber they were chasing, blood-red as blood, was being held casually by her fair hand, the tip of the saber pointing diagonally at the ground.

That yellowed bamboo scroll, flowing with Dao charm and causing the Feather Race Prodigy to chase it madly, was floating beside her left shoulder.

That precious tree, hung with nine-colored Dao fruits and translucent white and warm, was floating quietly outside her right shoulder, the nine-colored light flowing, illuminating her small earlobes.

That ancient bronze mirror engraved with "Illuminating Mountains and Rivers" and having an Aura that suppressed the heavens, its mirror surface slightly tilted, reflecting half of her calm profile.

Not just these.

An ancient sword that was broken but had Evil Qi soaring to the heavens, a battle saber covered in cracks but dense with Dao patterns, a spear whose cold point seemed capable of piercing the Void Realm, three divine medicines of various shapes and forms spewing with the essence of life, two animal skin scrolls permeating with the Aura of the primordial age, seven fragments flowing with Chaos Qi, as if carrying the secrets of the beginning of heaven and earth...

Dozens of Primordial relics and supreme treasures that had caused the plains to flow with rivers of blood and made countless Prodigies and experts tear off their masks to fight to the death, were now, like the most docile stars, or like the most devout subjects, surrounding her body in layers.

They emitted magnificent lights—sometimes scorching, sometimes cold, sometimes majestic, sometimes deep—interweaving into a dreamy and blurry halo, setting off the girl in the center as if she were a deity sitting in a treasure vault of the galaxy.

The fine golden light dust, not yet completely dissipated, like mischievous elves, jumped and flickered on her hair tips, shoulders, and clothes, outlining her exquisite profile in a mix of light and shadow, with a breathtaking beauty of tranquility.

And she, seemingly unaware of the torrent of treasures around her that would make the outside world go crazy, just tilted her head slightly, examining the most dazzling blood-red long saber in her hand with great interest.

The blade was as smooth as a mirror, clearly reflecting the slightly upturned corners of her lips, and a hint of undisguised, slightly smug smile in those clear eyes.

Then, she parted her red lips slightly, and a whisper, slightly teasing, yet one that made all the Cultivators on the plains who had pricked up their ears almost lose their minds and spit three liters of blood, drifted clearly away with the wind:

"Hmm... this saber is not bad, red enough, flashy enough, I like it."

"..."

"..."

Dead silence.

A dead silence, deeper, more thorough, and more suffocating than when the treasures disappeared before, shrouded the entire blood-colored plain.

The wind seemed to have stopped, the clouds seemed to have frozen, and even the rotation of the bronze cauldron on the distant altar, in the frozen perception of the crowd, seemed to have become infinitely slow.

Everyone, whether Yao Race, Feather Race, Demonic Cultivator, Vajra, or other Human Race Cultivators, had expressions on their faces that had completely stiffened, congealing into a kind of extreme absurdity and blankness.

Their eyes were widened to the extreme, their eyeballs almost popping out of their sockets, "nailed" firmly and unblinkingly to the girl on the hill surrounded by treasure light.

Their brains were completely blank.

Their thoughts were shattered by this scene that exceeded the limits of understanding.

We... fought for our lives, killed until rivers of blood flowed, chased until the sky went dark...

Those treasures... all... are they all with her?

When?! How did they get there?!

That golden light... could it be—

An answer that made everyone's Soul tremble, like a cold viper, slowly coiled around their hearts.

"Roar——!!!"

The lion-headed Prodigy was the first to break free from the boundless shock and sense of absurdity.

But what surged up after was a rage and humiliation a hundred times greater than before, almost burning his Divine Soul to ashes!

He let out a roar that shattered the clouds, and his violent Yao power could no longer be suppressed, shooting into the sky!

And this roar was like the last spark that ignited the powder keg.

"Boom——!!!"

On the plains, the brief, eerie silence was completely shattered.

A murderous intent and greed, even more violent, more insane, and more unified than when fighting for the treasures before, erupted like a volcano that had been silent for ten thousand years!

Countless blood-red gazes, carrying a monstrous Aura, like a blood-colored tsunami, instantly locked onto the slender figure on the hill!