Chapter Sixty-Six: They Have Grown Even Stronger!

The female Sphinx held her head high, her scarlet gaze shifting arrogantly between the several male Sphinxes before her. To the males, her eyes were like those of a peerless human beauty casting flirtatious glances their way—impossible to resist. One look from her, and their adrenaline surged uncontrollably.

Inevitably, this only intensified their struggle, driving the contest for dominance to new heights.

Roars and snarls—sharp, grating, and savage—echoed through the ancient forested mountains. Crimson blood spattered the air as the Sphinxes clashed, and wherever they fought, mossy trees toppled in great swathes, earth and stone flew, and dust billowed up in clouds.

In but a short time, the battle had entered a fevered pitch never before seen. To win the exclusive right to mate, each Sphinx fought with every ounce of strength, stretching their bodies to the very limits.

“It seems this little fellow will be the victor,” Fang Zhuowei observed from above, his deep gaze penetrating time and space like an ancient burning sun, settling on the largest of the male Sphinxes.

This one was the most imposing—a giant among them. Two-thirds of its once-white, needle-like fur had already transformed into the black coat that marked greater maturity and power.

In contrast, the other males had scarcely a third of their fur turned black. For these Sphinxes, black fur was the symbol of adulthood. Unlike the white, the black coat was tougher, more resilient, endowing these twice-evolved spore creatures with even greater physical might.

“The genes of this unknown lifeform react in strange ways under the catalyst of the spores. Both juvenile and mature phases are delayed to an astonishing degree. I must say, these are peculiar creatures indeed,” Fang Zhuowei murmured as he continued his notes.

Spores imbued with the unknown creature’s cells grew at a glacial pace—so slow that their lifespans could be measured not just in centuries but in millennia. For countless thousands of years, generations of white-furred Sphinxes lived and reproduced, yet remained juveniles. Only when their fur turned pitch-black did they break free from the shackles of childhood.

When their coats became as dark as night itself, it signified that the feeble days of youth were behind them. Their organs matured, their bodies grew strong, and their lives entered a new and formidable stage.

As Fang Zhuowei had anticipated, the largest male Sphinx ultimately triumphed. He drove off his rivals and, at the last moment, killed one outright—severing its neck with a single brutal bite, the blood flowing in a crimson stream.

The struggle was fierce, but the outcome was what mattered. With his superior strength, the victorious male won the favor of the beautiful female, securing the precious right to mate.

And so began the era of the Sphinx horde.

After winning the right to breed, that very year the Sphinx king, with overwhelming force, became the undisputed ruler of his kind—ascending the throne of blood and bone.

For hundreds of thousands of years, the Sphinxes had lacked a king, but now, at last, they had their first sovereign—one to rule them all.

In the third year of the Eternal Night, the era of the Sphinx horde dawned.

After several years of unchecked growth, the Sphinxes reached their peak, their numbers swelling to an astonishing fifteen thousand.

More importantly, in those years, three offspring of true royal bloodlines were born to the tribe. Two were the progeny of the Sphinx king and queen; the third was born of a twice-evolved male Sphinx and a common female.

These three, marked from birth by a faint black coat, inherited noble blood and the exceptional genes of their twice-evolved forebears. If they survived to maturity, within five years they would surely evolve into twice-evolved beings themselves—without obstacle or hindrance.

While the Sphinx clan hid deep within the great mountains, the Ancient Apes were not idle.

In the vast capital city of Li, crowds surged like tides, filling every street and avenue. This was the final line of defense for the Ancient Apes—and for the Li Dynasty itself. There could be no retreat.

At the behest of the white-haired elder and the noble youth, the ruler of Li, Ming, had assembled a massive workforce of ninety thousand from within the city. Many of their ancestors had helped build the city’s walls centuries ago by decree of the ancestor Chi. Having grown up steeped in these traditions, they were well-versed in the arts of construction and became the earliest craftsmen after Chi.

It had taken Ming months to gather these laborers from across the land. Proud and secretive, always considering himself the power behind the throne and harboring deep resentment toward the cultivators, he was no fool. He knew too well that he could not withstand the monstrous and evil abominations outside the city on his own.

To secure his iron throne, he needed the white-haired elder and his companions, as well as the thousands of cultivators stationed beyond the walls.

As for the Eight Great Sacred Grounds, he did not even dare to hope; though they lay within his territory, they had always acted independently. Indeed, if they so wished, they could overturn the dynasty in an instant.

In the fifth year of the Eternal Night, flames roared into the sky, piercing the endless blackness with their searing glare. The construction of dense fortifications was underway, frantic and all-consuming.

Drawing inspiration from the mountainside walls built by ancestor Chi, the white-haired elder planned to erect countless low walls before the city gates, hindering the advance of the pale, hideous monsters.

In the days of the old agrarian kingdoms, soldiers would raise earthen and stone barriers around their cities in times of war. Thus the city wall, with its supporting military structures, rose to prominence as the age’s defining line of defense.

Moreover, they dug deep pits along every approach to the city, planting the bottoms thick with sharp spears.

Then, one night, from the boundless darkness, a chorus of piercing, mournful howls erupted from the sunless depths of the forest.

And with those cries, the pale horde burst from the night—countless monsters, fangs bared and claws outstretched.

After years of recuperation, these creatures—born to feast on flesh and drink blood—were ready once more to launch their assault upon the Li Dynasty.