Chapter 39: Malevolent Spirits

Chapter 39: Malevolent Spirits

Dizhong Mountain Range, northern sector.

An unfathomable abyss split the land like a celestial scar, its nearby terrain coated in viscous, thread-like substances. From this chasm rose a jet-black tower piercing the heavens, its apex crowned by a colossal crimson eye flickering with dim light, vigilantly scanning the surroundings.

On the tower’s summit platform stood a humanoid figure, arms crossed. Over two meters tall, its ashen-red skin resembled flesh seared by relentless flames. Its eyes, sunken like smoldering coals, radiated unrestrained fury and annihilation.

“That’s the aura of an Abyssal Tide Legion warrior.”

Suddenly, a fissure split the crimson eye above it, and a rasping voice emerged.

“The Abyssal Tide Legion,” the figure intoned indifferently, “what are they?”

“According to data shared from other nodes, they are a formidable legion of renegades who abandoned divine faith. Their leader, Reversal Tide, is one of our greatest obstacles in seizing this world.”

“Abandoned faith?”

The crimson eye pulsed. “Your recent arrival from the prison dimension explains your ignorance. Long ago, this world revered a god-king named Imperial Omen, a deity worshipped by all living beings… Until their mysterious demise. The Abyssal Tide Legion arose millennia later, born solely to oppose us. They believe Imperial Omen forsaken them, thus pledging allegiance to Reversal Tide instead.”

“Foolish faith,” the Malevolent Spirits warrior scoffed.

“Do not underestimate them,” the eye warned. “Our forces at other nodes have engaged them repeatedly with minimal gains. The lifeforms here are far superior to those in the prison world you aided in conquering. Disregard your arrogance.”

The warrior ignored the eye’s caution, turning his gaze toward the Crimson Plains. Black viscous fluid surged from his body, solidifying into jagged obsidian armor studded with razor-sharp spines.

“I’ll test them myself.”

With that, he transformed into a streak of black light, tearing across the sky toward the Crimson Plains.

——

Crimson Plains, northern sector.

Duan Xing stared blankly at the furtive players lurking in the distance, waiting for him to slaughter Malevolent Spirits. He felt no urge to fight—no emotion at all. Countless foes remained, endless as the horizon.

Sitting motionless, he pondered abandoning the trial altogether.

How many had he killed? Too many to count. Yet his kills meant nothing. These creatures scoured every inch of terrain he’d cleared, ensuring no Vile Crystal remained to complete his trial.

Though his Runic Battle Armor recorded his victories, proving his kills exceeded the required quota, the overseers disregarded battle records. Only harvested Vile Crystals counted. Any loss during the trial was deemed part of the test.

As Duan Xing wrestled with despair, a violent energy fluctuation jolted him. He jerked his head northwest—a black comet streaked toward him, thick with deathly aura.

“Malevolent Spirits?!”

Recognizing the approaching entity as an intelligent foe, Duan Xing’s expression hardened. Rising abruptly, he slapped his left chest.

Click-clack-click. Gears whirred. His Runic Battle Armor blazed to life, waves of energy rippling outward. His unruly blue hair fluttered as twin blades materialized from his gauntlets.

The ground exploded as the Malevolent Spirits warrior landed, scattering debris. The creature’s grotesque visage locked onto Duan Xing, eyes gleaming with madness.

The clash was instantaneous.

Blades met armor in a flash. The Malevolent Spirits staggered back, eyeing the shallow gash on its chest with surprise. It twisted aside as Duan Xing’s blades slashed again, then retaliated with a brutal kick, sending Duan Xing skidding backward. The warrior pressed the advantage, fists pounding against his armor in a shower of sparks.

Duan Xing recoiled, struggling against the suffocating death aura.

“Die!”

The warrior’s frenzied assault ignited Duan Xing’s fighting spirit. This wasn’t his first battle against these beings, but this foe surpassed all predecessors—its regeneration and combat prowess far superior. Every wound he inflicted healed instantly, while his own injuries mounted.

His armor’s glow dimmed with each collision. After ten minutes of relentless strikes, Duan Xing faltered.

The warrior’s fist tore through his defenses, smashing into his chest. Duan Xing flew back, coughing blood, rolling to a halt in a cloud of dust.

As he gritted his teeth to rise, the warrior pierced the dust cloud, knees driving into his chest. Twin black spines pierced his armor, embedding deep.

Duan Xing collapsed into the earth, his fading eyes briefly returning to white.

Suddenly, his armor pulsed. A mechanism in his chest whirred to life, unleashing a surge of energy that hurled the grinning warrior backward. Healing waves enveloped Duan Xing, sealing his wounds.

Rising anew, Duan Xing radiated amplified power.

“What… was that?” he murmured, recognizing his father’s energy.

The warrior lunged again. Duan Xing met him head-on, blades clashing against fists in explosive impacts.

Each collision sent shockwaves rippling outward.

Though healed, Duan Xing remained outmatched—his skill and strength inferior. After an hour of carnage, he bled profusely, swayed unsteadily, but glared at his foe with undying resolve.

The warrior fared no better. Its shattered black armor cracked further, left arm dangling uselessly.

Duan Xing collapsed, spent.

The warrior sneered, conjuring a black spike, advancing slowly.

As the blade descended, a voice rang out:

“Tauntweaver!”

The warrior’s memories surged—hatred erupting unbidden. The spike veered toward the voice’s source.

But the rage vanished within seconds. The warrior’s will reasserted control, watching the fat figure dissolve into obsidian mist.

“Ruleforce interference?”

Before the warrior could finish Duan Xing, another cry echoed:

“Over here, bastard!”

Hate flared again. The spike spun backward—yet another target fell, triggering fresh waves of rage.

Meanwhile, the region-wide chat and forums erupted:

“Everyone, rally! Wealth God’s dying—we can’t hold much longer!”

“Calling all players to coordinate (see attached)! If Wealth God dies, who funds our red packets?!”

“Holy crap—he can’t die! I’m still counting on him to open my third Stellar Vein! Hurry, comrades, hold the line!”

“No way! I never got his red packet! Save him, save him!”

The news spread like wildfire. For weeks, Wealth God had bankrolled countless players’ second Stellar Veins. To many, he was a walking money machine—a source of easy profit. Even those who’d missed his bounty panicked at losing future opportunities.

Players stampeded toward the coordinates, desperate to save the one who’d made them rich.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end