103: Chapter 103 Charge

The players' final charge!

**

The command to charge was like a drop of cold water falling into boiling oil.

The entire battlefield exploded.

There was no formation, no tactics, and no order to speak of.

It was a torrent converged from hundreds of millions of wills unafraid of death, a chaotic yet pure suicidal tide sweeping through heaven and earth.

"Pot Lid Army! Forward!!"

Immovable as a Mountain's voice was as steady as ever, yet it carried an unprecedented tremor.

He didn't draw his sword; he simply hoisted that pitted, door-sized tower shield that had accompanied him through countless battles more firmly onto his shoulder.

Behind him was the "Rustic Legion" that had once been mocked by countless people.

With door panels in one hand and pot lids in the other, they lacked uniform armor and had a hodgepodge of equipment, looking like a ragtag mob thrown together at the last minute.

But at this moment, they stood hand in hand and shoulder to shoulder, forming a "human wall" stretching for miles—fragile yet indestructible.

Facing the black sun that could erase the very laws of reality, they took their first step.

There were no shouts, no slogans.

On their faces was a nearly pious, peaceful smile.

That pitch-black evil sun seemed to finally notice this group of ants as tiny as dust.

It didn't call down thunder, nor did it tear the earth asunder.

It was merely a beam of light.

A beam of light whose color defied description—as if "nothingness" itself had been manifested—swept gently from the core of the black sun.

Wherever the beam reached, time and space froze.

Immovable as a Mountain and the comrades beside him had the smiles on their faces frozen forever in that instant.

They didn't turn into flesh and blood, nor did they turn to ash.

The moment they touched the light, their bodies, along with the pot lids and door panels in their hands, were deconstructed into hundreds of millions of the purest, most dazzling data streams.

That wasn't death, but a "sublimation."

Every data stream shimmered with a unique light, representing every trace of their existence in this world—every laugh, every battle, every resurrection, every conversation with an NPC—all condensed into this final flash.

Like a grand, reverse meteor shower, hundreds of millions of light spots converged into a river, surging majestically toward the faintly pulsing creation furnace and the blurry spirit of the Old Ancestor standing before it!

Buzz—

The Old Ancestor's spirit body jolted the moment it received this first torrent of will.

His illusory outline solidified visibly.

The faint spark within the creation furnace also surged, turning into a blazing inferno!

"It's working!"

Someone roared in the Alliance Channel.

That single shout completely ignited everyone's madness!

"Divine Wind Battalion! Everyone! Delivery, move out!!"

Charge to the End stood atop a giant Flying Sword modified beyond recognition, its blade covered in dense rows of runic bombs shimmering with the halo of "Power Of Faith."

Laughing wildly, he was the first to pilot this "ultimate bomb," hurtling toward the black sun in the sky like a cannonball.

"Hahahaha! This life was worth it!!"

Following closely behind were thousands upon thousands of light trails.

Those were all the members of the Divine Wind Battalion.

They piloted all sorts of flying dharma treasures, each person laden with every explosive they could carry.

Their charge was like a swarm of moths rushing toward the sun.

"Sisters, touch up your makeup; we're going to be the brightest stars!"

The female player with the ID Appearance is Justice unhurriedly took out a small mirror on her high-speed flying treasure and applied her brightest lipstick.

Beside her, Skillful Hands Mending gently stroked a pet pig that had been with her for years, placing it into her spirit beast space and setting it to "permanently sealed."

"Piggy, live well. See the new world... for me."

She looked up, tender tear tracks on her face, but her eyes were full of resolve.

The next second, together with countless comrades, they crashed without hesitation into the evil god's light screen descending from the sky to intercept them.

Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

A cosmic-level, most magnificent firework display erupted across the sky!

Every firework represented the complete demise of a player.

Their deaths held no pain, only ultimate brilliance.

Countless streams of will, even more dazzling than those from the Pot Lid Army, rose from the heart of the explosions, flowing like rivers into the sea, all merging into the Old Ancestor's body.

The Old Ancestor's spirit body began to emit a faint golden glow, and beneath his blurry features, hundreds of millions of smiling faces seemed to flicker constantly.

Ninth Prince Ji Haoyue was completely speechless.

He sat slumped on the ground, staring blankly at everything.

He understood loyalty, devotion, and sacrifice for the sake of protection.

But he couldn't understand... this carnival-like march toward death.

This was a "Dao" he had never seen before—a Dao that composed a hymn out of destruction itself and viewed the end as glory.

The spirit of these people was as resilient as no living being and as crazed as heavenly demons.

"Their 'Dao'... is not in form, but in intent."

A raspy voice sounded beside him.

It was the Sword Saint Returning to Dust.

This peak representative of the traditional path of cultivation leaned on his life-bound Flying Sword, his body trembling slightly.

In his eyes, the aloofness and pride of the past were gone, replaced by a complex light mixing shock, confusion, and... awe.

His sword was born for protection, yet he had spent his life obsessed with the "form" of sword moves, sword intent, and sword heart.

Yet the people before him had crude combat methods and acted like madmen, but every single one of them was implementing the ultimate true meaning of "protection" in the most resolute way.

They weren't fighting.

They were using "existence" as a brush and "extinction" as ink, stroke by stroke, rewriting the word "world" upon this canvas of despair.

Returning to Dust's rock-solid sword heart let out a crisp cracking sound at this moment.

...

In a distant, unknown fold of the void.

Fairy Yunshang, dressed in a black gown, stood silently before a throne built of obsidian.

Before the throne, a giant water mirror clearly reflected every scene on the Guixu Battlefield.

She watched as those players, like moths to a flame, turned into a sky full of light rain and merged into the Old Ancestor's body.

There was no emotion on her beautiful face, only a nearly cold calmness, as if she were admiring a work of art.

"Truly... a magnificent sight," she murmured softly.

"Chief Apostle," a figure also cloaked in black robes behind her bowed. "Should we take action to stop them? If this continues, the godhead of that 'core' will be truly ignited."

"Stop them?"

The corner of Fairy Yunshang's mouth curled into a cold, confident smile.

"Why stop them?"

She extended a slender finger and gently traced the dazzling rain of light in the water mirror, her eyes glazed and feverish.

"The furnace fire isn't bright enough yet..."

"Let them burn to their heart's content. Use an unprecedented, grandest, and most tragic death for the new god..."

She paused, a flash of undisguised greed and ambition for supreme power crossing her eyes.

"...to weave the most magnificent wedding gown for me."

...

On the battlefield, the charge continued.

The Demolition Office Director led his "Demolition Squad," no longer attacking the evil god's main body, but frantically dismantling the mountains and lands polluted and distorted by the evil god's power.

In this most simple way, they practiced their professional instincts until they were erased by a stray beam of divine light.

In the final moments of her life, Gossip Reporter Little Trumpet was still using a memory crystal to record the panoramic view of the battlefield, naming the footage "We Were Here."

Outlaw Zhang San stood on the command platform, watching all of this calmly.

He didn't charge; he was the final coordinate.

A second before his command platform was locked onto by the evil god and swallowed by light, he simply smiled gently and left one last message in the Alliance Channel.

"Everyone... it was a pleasure knowing you."

On the World Channel, that slogan was being spammed until it was a blur, yet it never stopped.

[For the Old Ancestor's golden coffin!]

[For the Old Ancestor's golden coffin!]

[For the Old Ancestor's golden coffin!]

This joke, which had persisted from the beginning, had now become the most sacred prayer in this world.

The Old Ancestor's spirit body had completely transformed into a golden giant that towered between heaven and earth.

The light radiating from him was now even capable of rivaling the black sun in the sky.

With his eyes closed, he silently bore the majestic power converged from hundreds of millions of souls, lifting him toward godhood.

His body was being reshaped, and his divine soul was ascending.

From beneath his feet, golden chains of divine law began to spread across the ruins of the entire world, repairing the rules erased by the evil god.

A brand-new world was slowly being reborn beneath his feet at a visible pace.