Chapter 92: If the Future Cannot Be Changed, Then Seeing It Is Meaningless [8,000-Word Epic Chapter]

Deep within the underground drainage tunnels of Yujin Base.

At this moment, Tian Dao and Benjamin had long abandoned any pretense of defense.

They were trading blows like madmen—fists flying, no restraint, no mercy.

The ferocity of the battle surpassed even the wildest expectations of the Dimensional Audience.

As both combatants pushed their bodies to the absolute limit, their physical forms began to break down.

Boom!

After another brutal exchange—one that sent shockwaves through the damp, submerged space—both men staggered backward, instinctively retreating to catch their breath.

Crack… crackle.

A sound like shattering metal echoed through the tunnel.

On Benjamin’s right cheek, the nanometal exoskeleton fractured into a web of cracks. Then, in a grotesque cascade, large sections peeled away, revealing the black-tinged mechanical bones beneath.

No longer the sleek, cold machine of a high-tech warrior.

Now he was a nightmare—an armored ghoul, half of his face stripped bare, like a man flayed alive.

And that was just the face.

The core of his chest—the Power Core—was also failing.

The continuous Overlimit State had caused catastrophic overload.

It had melted part of his metallic torso, exposing roughly one-third of the Core to the damp, fog-laden air of the tunnels.

Wires snapped. Pipes ruptured. And a torrent of shimmering blue energy fluid spilled onto the flooded ground.

Where it touched the water, it bloomed into eerie, pulsating rings of bioluminescence.

All of this painted a single, grim truth:

If Benjamin didn’t end this fight soon… he wouldn’t last much longer.

But Tian Dao wasn’t faring any better.

Slumped against a broken concrete pillar, he leaned forward, his face pale from blood loss, coughing weakly with each breath.

His left arm hung limp—bones shattered, like a broken willow branch.

But those were minor wounds.

The real crisis?

The starlight in his vision was fading.

Once, his eyes had been as deep and radiant as the void of space—azure, luminous, alive with celestial fire.

Now, only a faint, ghostly blue glow lingered in his pupils.

The rest? Devoured by darkness.

Like a candle in a storm—wavering, trembling, on the verge of being extinguished.

Yet Tian Dao didn’t seem to care.

Instead, he chuckled—a dry, tired laugh.

“Huh… I must look a real mess right now.”

“Thankfully, Kalolin didn’t see me like this. Otherwise, she’d be furious. Screaming at me again for ‘showing off’.”

“After all… I’ve always said I’m the strongest, haven’t I?”

He coughed again, then lifted his head to stare at Benjamin across the ruined tunnel.

His voice carried a quiet, almost wistful tone.

“…You’ve got a full Nano-Metal Body. An advanced Power Core. I don’t know how much Ironcrown Family poured into you… but if they’d channeled that into a few third-tier Stellar Envoys? They could’ve fielded a whole squad.”

“For a single Miracle Stone… you really went all in, didn’t you?”

Benjamin, still breathing steadily, adjusted his remaining Stellar Energy with calm precision.

“Yeah. Because once a third-tier Stellar Envoy is active, the other families watch closely. If only Byron were out here… it’d be fine.”

“But if they see another high-tier envoy sent out? Especially one like me?”

He paused.

“The secret of the Miracle Stone wouldn’t stay hidden for long.”

“After all… in the world of Stellar Envoys, very few people are truly blind.”

Then, after answering, he turned the question back.

“Vector Control. Star-Eclipse Eye. I don’t know how Dragong managed it… but having both on one body? He clearly invested a lot.”

“But judging by your condition… your eyes are nearly gone, aren’t they?”

Tian Dao didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he pushed himself up from the pillar.

His movements were slow, painful—but deliberate.

He locked eyes with Benjamin.

“Yeah. My vision is fading.”

“But before it’s gone… I’ll still have time to kill you.”

A beat.

Silence.

Then, without warning, they lunged forward—like two ghosts rising from the dead.

Boom!

Fists tore through the misty water vapor like blades.

Benjamin’s crimson-laced iron fist struck Tian Dao’s face.

Tian Dao, weakened by dwindling Stellar Energy, couldn’t fully repel the blow. He could only absorb part of it.

His head snapped sideways. Blood trickled from his lip.

But Tian Dao wasn’t just a target.

As Benjamin struck, Tian Dao’s own fist slammed into his face.

Vector Control — Tenfold Compression!

A flash of black light.

The compressed vector energy struck Benjamin’s already damaged face—ripping through the nanometal, twisting the mechanical structure into grotesque shapes.

Sparks erupted like dying stars.

[Warning! Core component damage detected! Severe system degradation!]

The alarms screamed in Benjamin’s mind.

But he didn’t react.

Not because he was unaware.

Because in that moment, there was only one thought in his mind:

Kill him.

This was the boy—just a first-tier—yet he was breaking through Benjamin’s defenses.

Benjamin had fought second-tier Perfection units before, and even in Overlimit State, he’d held his own.

But this first-tier? This tiny, bloodied child?

He couldn’t finish him.

No matter how hard he tried.

It wasn’t just frustration.

It was fear.

Because if he failed now…

If this boy survived… grew stronger…

The entire world of Stellar Envoys would change.

And for the Ironcrown Family—current rulers of the system—change was the worst possible outcome.

They didn’t want chaos.

They didn’t want a new king.

They wanted stability.

Control.

And this child… this monster… threatened all of it.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

In the dim, flooded tunnels, two figures—exhausted, broken, near death—continued to fight.

Like marionettes with fraying strings.

They traded blows, one after another, until Benjamin finally caught Tian Dao off-balance.

A brutal punch to the abdomen.

This time, no Cosmic Repulsion. No rebound.

No resistance.

Just flesh.

For the first time in the battle, Benjamin felt the impact.

A black flash.

Tian Dao’s body flew backward like a ragdoll.

He skidded through the water, leaving a long, bloody trail.

Then—CRACK!

He slammed into the wall beneath the massive drainage pipe.

Three concrete pillars shattered under the force.

And then—silence.

Dust and debris rained down.

The camera zoomed in.

On the screen, the Dimensional Audience saw Tian Dao—slumped in the wreckage.

Silver-gray hair matted with gray concrete dust.

Blood soaked through his clothes, staining his torso.

He looked dead.

But instead of sorrow?

He was smiling.

A wide, genuine grin.

Like he’d just won.

And then, some viewers noticed something strange.

Each time he laughed, blood seeped from his mouth.

As if his entire mouth was full of it.

Just as the audience began to wonder…

Benjamin’s voice came from off-screen.

“…What…? When…?”

The scene shifted.

Benjamin reappeared—shocked.

Because on his chest—right where his Power Core should be—was now a gaping, ragged hole.

Tian Dao slowly raised his head.

Smiling.

“I’ve been waiting for you to focus entirely on killing me.”

“From that moment… I knew you’d never see it.”

Benjamin’s eyes widened.

Then the screen cut to the final exchange.

Tian Dao, caught in the punch, had opened his mouth.

And there—on his tongue—was a tiny, obsidian-black Hei Cang.

A single, silent, deadly weapon.

As he flew backward, the Hei Cang shot forward—like a black comet.

Piercing through Benjamin’s chest.

No warning.

No escape.

Not even a scream.

The audience gasped.

Because ever since Tian Dao gained the Hei Cang, he’d only used it with his fingers.

They’d assumed that was the only way.

But Vector Control wasn’t limited to the hands.

It could be used anywhere within a 9mm radius of any body part.

Benjamin knew this.

It was in his database.

But in the final moment, Tian Dao had deliberately exposed a weakness.

And Benjamin, consumed by the need to kill, had focused only on that.

He never saw the truth.

The Hei Cang—hidden in the mouth—had been the real trap.

The final, quiet blow.

Back to Benjamin.

He stared at the hole in his chest.

No emotion.

No pain.

Just quiet.

Then, in a cold, mechanical voice:

“Mission… failed.”

Thud.

He fell backward.

His body hit the water with a splash.

As the ripples spread, the last thing he saw was Tian Dao—leaning against the wall, slowly lifting his face.

The Star-Eclipse Eye—once brilliant—was now completely dark.

But his smile?

Brighter than ever.

And in that moment, Benjamin remembered something Tian Dao had said earlier.

> “Miracles don’t come to cold machines.”

And now, he understood.

Too late.

Drip… drip…

Drops of water fell from the ceiling, landing on Benjamin’s lifeless body.

Once a superweapon—an Ironcrown Family prodigy, forged with the latest New Federation tech, nearly reaching second-tier Perfection in Overlimit State.

Now just a broken husk.

An abandoned piece of industrial waste.

Left to rot in the dark.

A moment later, Tian Dao exhaled.

He leaned back against the wall.

Completely spent.

And the Dimensional Audience felt a pang.

Because now… the signature azure eyes were gone.

Replaced by two black, hollow sockets.

No light.

No hope.

Just endless night.

Tian Dao had won.

But at what cost?

His Star-Eclipse Eye—gone.

And for fans who’d followed him since the beginning?

It felt like watching a star die.

Because Tian Dao wasn’t the main character.

But he was the one who felt like it.

Not just in screen time—second only to Chen Kong.

But in heart.

In presence.

In that quiet, unexpected kindness beneath the arrogance.

He wasn’t just popular.

He was beloved.

And now, he was fading.

Leaving behind the image of a boy—broken, blind, bleeding.

And the audience couldn’t take it.

Then came the next moment.

“…I’m kinda hungry,” Tian Dao murmured, voice soft.

His remaining right hand trembled as he fumbled through his pockets.

His fingers brushed something familiar.

And suddenly, his pale face lit up—like a child who’d found a lost treasure.

“Found it! The last one…”

But before he could pull it out…

The ground shook.

Another tremor—violent, sudden.

Some distant battle had reached here.

The candy slipped from his fingers.

Plop.

It fell into the murky water.

“Wait—”

Tian Dao, blind, leaned down.

Fumbled.

But his hands brushed nothing.

The candy had vanished—swept away by the current.

Zoom in.

The candy floated in the dark water—bumping past Tian Dao’s fingers, then disappearing into the shadows.

“…Never mind,” Tian Dao sighed, defeated.

“Guess it’s gone.”

He stood up, unsteady.

Then, with his teeth, he bit into the black eye band wrapped around his right hand.

Tugged.

Pulled it off.

And then—replaced it.

Covered his eyes.

Again.

And as he did, the audience noticed something.

Sweat poured from his forehead.

His right hand trembled.

Not from exhaustion.

From pain.

And then—like a memory—someone recalled a line from the past.

> “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

> “Yeah… it used to hurt. But after eating a candy? It went away.”

Now, it made sense.

Tian Dao wasn’t hungry.

He was in pain.

And he was just… trying to distract himself.

The audience watched, hearts aching.

He finally finished.

Then smiled.

“Good. Now when Kalolin wakes up… she won’t notice anything’s wrong.”

“And this hand? I’ve done this before. I’ll just tell her I got hurt during training.”

“Kalolin’s so dumb… she’ll never suspect.”

As he spoke, his necklace—Kalolin’s small dolphin pendant—flickered.

A soft, barely visible glow.

Then, a sound.

A whisper.

Only he could hear it.

The Quantum Center’s unique resonance.

A signal.

A voice.

Only for him.

Only for them.

And even blind, Tian Dao turned.

And walked.

Not fast.

Not sure.

But home.

The walk that should’ve taken a minute… took ten.

Because the tunnels were destroyed.

Broken pillars. Collapsed ceilings. Traps everywhere.

He stumbled.

Fell.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

But each time—his hand stayed on the necklace.

Even when it cut into his palm.

Even when it worsened his wounds.

He didn’t care.

“Can’t break this,” he whispered.

“Kalolin would be mad if she knew I ruined her gift.”

The audience watched.

Silent.

Heartbroken.

He reached the control room.

But instead of going in…

He sat.

Leaning against the door.

Red warning lights flickered above.

Tian Dao looked up.

At nothing.

At darkness.

And laughed.

“Maybe I’ll never see again.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Because if the future can’t be changed… then seeing it is pointless.”

“But I did change it.”

“So even if I can’t see… it’s okay.”

“Because someone else will.”

“Smart as I am? I can already picture the scenery… just from their words.”

“So what does it matter if I can’t see?”

His tone was light.

Carefree.

But the audience heard something else.

A quiet sorrow.

Because this was the boy who once stood before Doctor and said:

> “I’ll see the farthest sky… from the highest peak.”

He said sight didn’t matter.

But now, they knew.

It did.

It mattered more than anything.

Because for Tian Dao, the real fear wasn’t blindness.

It was losing.

Losing the people he cared about.

Losing the chance to protect them.

And so, he gave up his sight.

So they wouldn’t have to.

And the audience?

They couldn’t look away.

Because this wasn’t just a battle.

It was a choice.

And the boy who once wore confidence like armor… now wore only silence.

They remembered the man who always showed up.

Who saved the world.

Who laughed in the face of Perfection.

But now?

Now he was just a boy.

Twelve years old.

And alone.

And they realized—they had been the ones who put him there.

They’d handed him every burden.

Every impossible task.

And expected him to fix it all.

With no training.

No time.

No support.

Just faith.

And he’d done it.

He’d done it all.

But now?

Now he was just… tired.

And the audience felt guilty.

Because they’d never asked.

They’d never said:

> “Let us carry you.”

They’d just watched.

And waited.

And now?

They saw him—broken, blind, smiling.

And they wanted to scream.

> “Why not Yun Meng? Why not someone else?!”

> “He’s been saving everyone!”

> “Now it’s his turn!”

And then…

The door opened.

Outside.

A new sound.

Footsteps.

Heavy.

Unfamiliar.

The audience’s blood ran cold.

Because the ones who came weren’t allies.

They weren’t friends.

They were enemies.

And they’d come to finish the job.

The First-Rank Association Stellar Envoys.

They stood at the end of the tunnel—tense, afraid.

But not because Tian Dao was alive.

Because Benjamin’s final transmission had reached them.

He’d shared everything.

The Miracle Stone.

The memory of the fight.

The truth.

They knew what they faced.

And yet…

They had to act.

Because if they didn’t close the Infinite Maze…

They’d never escape.

One of them stepped forward.

Voice tight.

“Don’t be afraid. This kid’s done. He’s finished.”

“We kill him. We go in. We shut down the maze. Then we guide Isaiah and William here.”

The others nodded.

But no one moved.

Because Benjamin’s corpse.

The memory of the fight.

The way he died.

It was too real.

Too terrifying.

Even now, they couldn’t shake the feeling.

This wasn’t just a wounded boy.

This was a monster.

And then—Tian Dao stood.

Slowly.

One hand on the door.

His body swayed.

But his voice?

Unchanged.

“Wanted to rest a little longer… but I guess you’re here.”

“Fine. One or ten… doesn’t matter.”

“Because you’re not leaving.”

“We Embers? We’re not your playground.”

The Envoys stared.

No one spoke.

Because they knew.

They’d seen the footage.

They’d seen the truth.

And yet…

They were still afraid.

Tian Dao took a breath.

Then smiled.

“Kill me?”

“Please. I’m Tian Dao Siming.”

“I’ve never needed anyone.”

“And I won’t start now.”

“I may be on my last breath… but you? You’re just trash.”

“To pass… you’ll have to step over my corpse.”

“So… who’s first?”

The audience watched.

And in that moment—they saw it.

The old Tian Dao.

The one who never bowed.

The one who dared.

And then—on screen—flashed a memory.

From an early episode of The Prequel of the Stars: Embers.

> “Tian Dao, can’t you ever grow up? You’re stealing someone else’s meal again?”

> “Kalolin, it’s not stealing. It’s you being sweet enough to prep it for me!”

> “And tomorrow, I’ll carry your bullets.”

> “So if anyone wants to hurt you… they’ll have to step over my body first.”

Back then?

It was just a joke.

A lazy boy’s excuse.

But now?

It was a promise.

And the audience realized…

The dream had always been real.

It hadn’t started when he met Ruli.

It had started long before.

But it was too heavy.

Too painful.

So he never told anyone.

He just carried it.

And when he went to Ruli?

It wasn’t for a dream.

It was for confirmation.

For strength.

For courage.

And then—

Bang!

A gunshot echoed.

Silence.

And the audience finally understood.

> Some vows…

> …are only true when spoken in jest.

Because the truth?

It’s not in the words.

It’s in the choice.

And Tian Dao?

He’d chosen.

Even if it meant losing his sight.

Even if it meant dying.

He’d chosen to protect them.

And that… was the most powerful thing of all.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end