Chapter 161: Red Lotus Inferno · Hundred Ghosts Procession

Silence. Stillness. Oppression.

Chen Kong stared at the crimson figure steadily advancing toward him and Vivian, his palm gripping Vivian’s wrist growing slick with cold sweat.

The frantic pounding of his heart within his chest, the primal terror etched into his soul at the mere sight of Chen Xing—

All screamed at him: Run. Now. Escape this flame-walking monster, even if she is your own sister.

“Go!” Chen Kong hissed, dragging the still-dazed Vivian forward and sprinting full-tilt toward the steam train station.

Faster. Faster!

The icy stone pavement of the Upper City blurred beneath their feet. Wind howled past their ears like a shrill whistle, whipping Vivian’s loose strands into a wild frenzy.

Yet the silent gaze behind them, the suffocating pressure pressing against their backs—far from lessening as distance grew—only deepened, thickened, becoming heavier with every step.

“Red Lotus. Astral Flame.”

Just as Chen Kong and Vivian had put some distance between themselves and Chen Xing, a cold, detached voice cut through the air behind them.

The next instant, a wave of searing heat slammed into them—so intense it warped vision itself.

A wall of fire.

Cutting off their path.

The flame was an eerie, deep crimson—its glow like congealed blood. The air thickened with the faint scent of iron and the acrid stench of charred flesh.

It felt as though all of Hell’s Astral Flame had poured into this place. Every flicker pulsed with a chilling aura of death.

Trapped in this furnace of fire, every breath Chen Kong took scorched his lungs.

Without hesitation, he raised his right hand toward the sudden inferno.

A silver pattern flared across his forearm—Void Pattern · Return to Dust.

Where his palm met the flames, the Red Lotus Inferno began to waver, melting like ice under sunlight—fading, dissolving—revealing a narrow gap behind.

Hope.

The moment the opening appeared, Chen Kong’s heart leapt. His expression sharpened with exhilaration.

But that hope shattered instantly beneath a flood of cruel reality.

More, fiercer waves of deep crimson flame surged through the rift—filling it instantly, then blazing hotter than before.

Refusing to yield, Chen Kong unleashed his Void Pattern again, pouring every ounce of his Stellar Energy into forcing the passage open.

Yet despite the relentless absorption, the Red Lotus Inferno regenerated faster—far faster—than his Return to Dust could keep up.

“How… is this possible?”

Chen Kong’s voice cracked, his face draining of color.

His Stellar Energy was collapsing. But Chen Xing’s flames showed no sign of end.

“Kong,” a voice cut in coldly from just behind him.

He whirled around—Chen Xing stood ten paces away, in the middle of the street.

The crimson glow of the Astral Flame flickered across her face, casting shadows that danced in her blood-red eyes—icy, expressionless, yet hauntingly beautiful.

“Still think this is like when we were kids?”

She slowly drew her Yao Dao from her back.

A soft metallic whisper, and a blade emerged—ancient in design, its blade a deep, dark red, its hilt wrapped in knotted rope.

Her gaze fixed on the silver pattern pulsing on Chen Kong’s hand.

“Your Void Pattern is remarkable. It can suppress most Stellar Envoys in this world.”

She tilted her head. “But only for ordinary beings.”

With a flick of her wrist, she raised the blade—its edge catching a sliver of light, flashing like a blade of ice across her face.

She held it horizontally, tip brushing the ground. Dark red Stellar Energy seeped down the blade, spreading across the stone like blood.

“As long as my Stellar Energy replenishes faster than your Return to Dust can consume it… your so-called ‘return to dust’ is nothing but wasted effort.”

She drove the blade into the pavement.

Hummm—

A low, resonant hum filled the air.

Ripples of dark red Stellar Energy patterns flared across the stones around her—circular, intricate, unnatural.

From within those runes, countless twisted shadows erupted—wailing, writhing, rising in a mass.

They were souls—shattered remnants of the dead.

Tattered, agonized Dark Stellar Envoys.

Fanged, monstrous Stellar Beasts.

Even mechanical specters—rusty, oil-stained, forged from gears and metal.

Each exuded an overwhelming aura of death and hatred. Their crimson eyes locked onto Chen Kong and Vivian—hunger in their gaze, like a pack of starving ghosts.

Chen Xing stood at the center of this ghastly procession, her silhouette sharp against the writhing darkness—like a demon returned from the depths of Hell.

Even the Astral Flame dimmed slightly around her, as if afraid of the creature who commanded it.

She lifted her head, her red eyes glinting with a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps.

“Come on, Kong. Let me see what you’ve become these past years.”

A slow, chilling smile tugged at her lips.

“But if you fail to satisfy me… you might just become my 151st ‘collection.’”

The moment the words left her lips, the hundred ghosts roared.

Bloodlight erupted into the sky.

Spirits howled through the air.

The tide of wailing souls surged forward—like a storm of death, crashing toward Chen Kong and Vivian.

But faster than any ghost was the bullet in Chen Kong’s hand.

In the flash of gunfire, a storm of Void Pattern Bullets erupted—raining down like silver needles, striking the oncoming spirits with precision.

Each one pierced, shattered—unraveling into raw, formless Stellar Energy.

Yet the ghosts fell too slowly.

The tide kept rising.

And though Chen Xing stood alone—her presence alone was enough to dwarf an army, overwhelming, suffocating.

“Grrrr—!”

After sacrificing countless souls, a single Dark Stellar Envoy—its eyes burning red—broke through.

Before Chen Kong could react, a flash of silver sliced through the air—piercing the specter’s skull with perfect accuracy.

He turned.

Vivian stood beside him, her Second-Hand Dagger drawn.

The blade—shaped like a slender second hand—glowed faintly. Its intricate gearwork spun slowly, like time itself slipping away.

The danger was clear.

“Don’t lose focus,” Vivian said, voice calm, eyes unflinching. No fear. Only resolve.

Chen Kong hesitated for half a heartbeat—then nodded sharply. “Got it.”

Back-to-back, they stood firm.

A silent understanding passed between them—forged in instinct, in trust—forming an invisible wall.

Vivian’s blade danced like a silver serpent, slicing through the encroaching shadows.

Chen Kong fired again and again, detonating silver bursts of light across the battlefield.

Together, they began to thin the tide.

For a moment, the chaos receded.

The roar of ghosts dimmed.

The fire still burned.

The spirits still surged.

But two figures—shoulder to shoulder—held their ground.

Gunfire roared.

The blade sang.

Yet they both knew—this was only the prelude.

Because the true obstacle wasn’t the ghosts.

Nor the fire.

It was the one standing beside her Yao Dao—cold, still, unyielding.

Her.

She was the real hell.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end