107: Chapter 107 The First Ray of Divine Light

"Go home."

"Let's build a damn brand-new home."

Immovable as a Mountain's voice was like a stone thrown into a deathly abyss; it stirred no echoes, only sinking heavily down.

Go home?

Returning to Dust was already a wasteland; their homeland had long since turned to charcoal under the pursuit of the Holy Lands and the erosion of the apocalypse.

Did they even still have a home?

Dead silence was the battlefield's eternal requiem.

The survivors sat or stood like a group of puppets with their souls snatched away, maintaining the postures they held at the final moment before the battle ended.

The wind stopped, and the energy turbulence triggered by the tearing of laws completely subsided with the return of the new god to his position.

In the air, that nauseatingly sweet smell—a mixture of ozone, blood, and the remnants of the Evil God's murmurs—still stubbornly occupied the depths of everyone's nasal passages and souls.

Outlaw Zhang San slumped to the ground, leaning his back against a massive piece of metal wreckage that still held some warmth—it was a finger bone of the pangu project mecha.

He tried to review this victory from a tactical level, but what galloped through his mind weren't sophisticated calculations or game theory, but rather the vivid faces of those who, in the final charge, had smiled and shouted "For the golden coffin" before turning into streaks of light.

The price of victory was a chasm called "Loss" that could not be measured by any data.

Ninth Prince Ji Haoyue leaned on a broken sword, barely managing to stand.

His eyes were hollow; his worldview and pride had been crushed to powder together by that world-changing "Strike of Creation."

The Daoist techniques and divine abilities he had studied his whole life, and the belief in the survival of the fittest he adhered to, were as fragile as a joke before this group of "Otherworldly Demons" and the "God" they had crowdfunded.

He looked around blankly and saw not far away the Sword Saint, Returning to Dust, who had once been his enemy.

This old sword cultivator, who had lived for nearly a thousand years, was currently stroking his life-bound Flying Sword in a daze.

On the blade, the corrosion and cracks that had surfaced due to the Evil God's pollution were like unhealable scars.

Was this world... truly saved?

Why did it feel even more desolate than when it was being destroyed?

Just as this oppressive despair was about to swallow everyone's sanity, an imperceptible change occurred.

The first to notice were the surviving Lifestyle Players, who were most sensitive to environmental changes.

"Eh?"

Led by Skillful Hands Mending, several female players sniffed almost simultaneously.

"That weird smell... has it faded a bit?"

At first, no one believed it.

Everyone thought it was olfactory fatigue from being in a harsh environment for so long.

But the change was sweeping across the entire world in an indisputable, gentle, and firm manner.

The sweet, fishy stench occupying the air was dissipating at a speed visible to the naked eye, as if quietly sucked away by an invisible sponge.

In its place was a freshness like the first clear day after rain, mixed with the fragrance of earth and grass.

Next was the earth.

The bottomless, pitch-black rifts torn by the Evil God's descent, where filthy energy still flowed slowly like lava emitting an ominous red glow, began to cool and solidify, eventually turning into the purest crystals shimmering with spiritual light.

The earth stopped its morbid, weak throbbing that resembled heart failure.

It was healing.

"My... my meridians!"

A cry suppressed with extreme shock came from Ninth Prince Ji Haoyue.

He discovered with horror that the meridians in his body, which had been eroded and blocked by turbid spiritual energy, were being flushed and cleansed by a vast, warm, yet will-less energy.

That energy originated from every inch of space between heaven and earth, pure to an inconceivable degree.

He just subconsciously performed a minor cycle, and the cultivation bottleneck that had been stagnant for so long actually showed signs of loosening!

This wasn't anyone's gift, nor was it the effect of some heavenly treasure.

It was the world itself breathing.

It was undergoing a self-healing process called "Purification" that reached every living thing.

All survivors, whether players or native cultivators, felt it.

The players were pleasantly surprised to find that the negative statuses on their system panels from the "Evil God Aura"—continuous mental pollution and attribute weakening—were disappearing one by one.

Their constantly dropping "SAN values" were also locked back into the safe green zone.

As for the native cultivators, they underwent a baptism akin to shedding their mortal shells.

Their Dao hearts, their souls, and the spiritual energy they relied on for survival were all "reset" to the most perfect and original state at this moment.

At that moment, everyone understood.

It was "Him."

It was the "new heavenly dao" whom they had personally pushed onto the divine throne, only for him to fall silent in an instant.

He had no emotions, no words; he was just like the most dutiful "Game Administrator." After maintaining the server's stability and clearing the most fatal viruses, he began to execute low-level commands to fix bugs and optimize the world.

This will was grand, just, and carried a deep sense of compassion.

It brushed equally over everyone, whether they were heroes who had saved the world or cowards shivering in corners.

Under his gaze, all living beings were equal.

Everyone slowly raised their heads and looked toward the sky.

That dazzling light of creation had long since dissipated, merging into the world's sea of laws, leaving no trace.

The Ancestor... was truly gone.

He had turned into rules, into protection.

He gave this world new life, but he also took away that soul who could banter with them, issue tasks, and act like a spoiled child in the name of "exchanging for a golden coffin."

A huge sense of loss, accompanied by the hope of new life, flooded everyone's hearts like a tide.

At this moment, the eastern horizon brightened.

It wasn't a red sun, nor was it ten thousand rays of rosy light.

It was a single... golden light.

A pure golden light that carried no temperature yet seemed to contain infinite vitality tore through the final darkness before dawn.

Like a paintbrush, it redyed the sky—a canvas smeared filthy by war—into the purest azure.

Then, a second ray, a third... thousands of golden lights poured down like a waterfall.

The light fell upon the ruins of Returning to Dust; those hideous broken walls and debris actually had their sharp edges softened under the glow.

The light fell upon the survivors, smoothing the fatigue on their faces, warming their cold bodies, and illuminating the haze called "bewilderment" deep in their eyes.

Sword Saint Returning to Dust subconsciously raised the ancient sword in his hand.

The golden morning light flowed over the blade, and the rust representing the Evil God's pollution actually dissolved inch by inch under the light's kiss, turning into specks of light that drifted away with the wind.

The blade became as smooth as a mirror again, reflecting his old face which was filled with shock and awe.

He had lived for nearly a thousand years and seen countless sunrises, yet never once had one made him feel such a majestic and pure will of "Life" as today.

This wasn't the sun's light; it was the world's light.

It was this world, having survived the catastrophe, opening its eyes and announcing its return.

"It's... it's so damn beautiful..."

An unknown player murmured to himself.

He was covered in blood, his equipment long since tattered, and dried tear stains remained on his face.

But in his eyes, the sky full of golden light was reflected, shimmering with a brilliance more dazzling than the light of the heavens.

He slowly, with a piety akin to a pilgrimage, lay down on the ground.

The earth was no longer cold but carried a new, reassuring warmth.

He closed his eyes, facing that first ray of morning light of the new era, and used all his strength to take a deep, deep breath.

That fresh air, full of infinite vitality, surged into his chest as if washing away and carrying off all fatigue, pain, confusion, and sadness.

A brand-new world, a world belonging to them, exchanged for with their lives and everything they had.

The story has only just begun.