Chapter Seventy-Five: The Ancient War (VII)

In midair.

The murmuring streams converged, twisting and darting like nimble serpents, their tongues flickering as they plunged madly into the bloated form that had already set one massive foot upon the threshold of the Sphinxes. In but a few short moments, this great beast, on the verge of ascending to royal Sphinx blood, swelled grotesquely, its flesh distending until it resembled a water-logged corpse left to rot for months, and still it continued to bloat, the swelling as yet unchecked.

A thunderous explosion shattered the air a moment later, deafening all who heard.

At the very instant the piercing blast erupted, it was clear to the naked eye: the ghastly pale spore creature split apart, its body bursting open. Chunks of jet-black flesh and blood, mingled with river and lake water stained deep with gore, spewed forth and scattered across the ground.

"Retreat!"

Even as the creature's body ruptured, the white-haired elder summoned all his strength and bellowed a command to those around him.

At his word, the surrounding cultivators—seemingly prepared in advance—dashed toward the towering city walls. Built not only to hinder the movements of these ghastly spore beasts, the walls also contained specially constructed recesses within, each designed to shelter several people.

Yet these concealed spaces were not for defense against the flesh-eating, blood-drinking monsters; rather, they were precautions against the elder’s Sea-Moving Secret Art.

This art, born of mysterious and grand Daoist scripture, ranged in power from simply summoning water to trap a foe, to conjuring a celestial river that could flood all beneath the sky. Against such spore creatures, only the full power of the Sea-Moving Secret Art would suffice. Thus, when the city walls were rebuilt, they were deliberately designed to include these special retreats.

After all, when the Sea-Moving Secret Art was unleashed in all its might, it spared neither friend nor foe.

The cultivators moved with swift discipline. The moment the white-haired elder gave the signal, they abandoned their battle with the pallid monsters before them, turned, and rushed into the hidden chambers within the walls.

“Unleash!”

Upon the ramparts, the white-haired elder’s voice rang out.

Seeing the moment had come, he let out a cold snort. Brilliant light burst from his hands. In the sky above, rivers and lakes of mountain-like scale came crashing down—a deluge like the Milky Way pouring from the heavens, more a tidal wave than a rainstorm, plummeting toward the earth with terrifying force.

A roaring thunder filled the air as surging white waves tumbled from the horizon, the silver crests chasing and overtaking one another. They grew taller and louder as they neared, until it seemed a thousand armies galloped forth beneath a sky split by thunder.

The spectacle was apocalyptic, shaking the heavens and earth with a clamor that seemed to herald the end of days.

Great waters, blotting out the sky, crashed to the earth in a relentless tide, instantly transforming into a monstrous flood that swallowed the city of Zhongli in moments.

As far as the eye could see, the vast floodwaters surged in rolling waves, roaring with earth-shattering force, hurling white foam as countless surging tides—like armies charging into battle—cried out, striving to cover every inch of ground.

The crests of these waves rose even higher than the newly built city walls. The onrushing flood, filled with a terror both primal and unfathomable, swept every pallid spore beast into its depths, drowning them utterly in the blink of an eye.

Though these pallid spore creatures had once come from water, their long lives on land had dulled their ability to breathe beneath the surface. Thus, in mere moments, nearly a third of their number were lost.

“Thank heaven…”

The white-haired elder gazed into the distance, watching as the monstrous pale forms were engulfed by the flood, and slowly released a heavy breath.

The greater the power of the Sea-Moving Secret Art, the more Daoist force it consumed. This single strike had drained more than two-thirds of his strength.

Yet the result was satisfactory—for now, at least, none of the monsters had survived. Some were crushed beneath the falling sea, others drowned by the floodwaters surging over the land.

Nor was it over yet. Though nearly exhausted, the elder’s remaining strength would allow him to continue controlling the floodwaters gathered below.

“What’s that?!”

The elder’s eyes flashed.

On the high wall, the white-haired elder stood pale, his body stained with blood.

He had fought with everything he had. Now, his strength was spent, his Daoist power utterly depleted, his body so battered that it seemed a mere gust of wind would shatter him.

“You wretched beasts, where did you come from?! Why this venomous attack upon my Ancient Ape Clan?!”

His voice was broken, grief-stricken, his bloodshot eyes wild with anguish.

Not far off, a handsome youth and a striking woman were in similar straits. By now they were both near collapse, their meager reserves of Daoist power wholly exhausted in the struggle.

A deep, jarring roar broke the silence.

At once, all of the pallid spore creatures recoiled and withdrew in perfect unison.

As the lesser monsters blocking the city gates moved aside, several immense figures bearing ancient wings advanced toward the elder. Foremost among them was a beast whose body was nearly covered in black fur, emanating a terrifying, overwhelming aura. Its eyes no longer shone with sickly pale light, but blazed with piercing crimson.

These figures were none other than the spore beasts that had achieved a second stage of evolution.

“You… you are the king!”

The elder’s eyes bulged wide, staring in shock and disbelief at the monstrous form before him.

When dawn broke, he peered out his window, and, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, finally allowed himself a brief rest.

With his strength somewhat restored, he skipped breakfast and hurried to Tang Jinhua’s house.

There were only a few households nearby. His third aunt’s family lived closest to him, and if wild boars had indeed come down from the mountain, there was a good chance her home would also be “visited.”

She explained, “It was just after ten last night. I was half-asleep when I heard something running around in the yard. I thought it was just a stray cat, so I didn’t pay it any mind. But this morning, as I was tidying up, I found several claw marks on the door…”

“Your third uncle says, judging by the size and depth, it’s likely a bear from the mountain…”

Tang Jinhua whispered, a look of lingering fear in her eyes.

Thank goodness, when they’d installed the door, they’d chosen a solid wooden one, reinforced with an extra security layer inside. If a bear really had broken in, they might have been eaten alive last night.

“So, Fangzi, did you hear anything last night?” Tang Jinhua asked.