Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Crimson Moon Hangs High

Sword intent burst forth. The blue longsword carried Ye Wuya with a sharp whistle, soaring straight into the clouds! The speed remained blindingly fast as he shot after the figures he had glimpsed moments before.

Unbeknownst to him, dusk had fallen. At some point, Ye Wuya had entered a barren wasteland strewn with shattered stones and broken tiles, where only cracked foundations remained.

He unconsciously slowed, descending from the heights to skim just above the ground. In the darkness, he flashed by like a ghost.

This place was ancient, desolate, utterly devoid of life. Not a blade of grass grew; it was a forsaken land, empty of all humanity.

Suddenly, with a heavy thud, something crashed toward Ye Wuya.

He halted, gripping his blue sword tightly, eyes narrowing. It was a corpse.

The body had withered to little more than skin and bone, its features twisted into a mask of terror, as though it had seen something unspeakably dreadful.

The ruins were deathly silent, a thin black mist coiling over the ground. The pitch-dark night sent a chill down Ye Wuya’s spine.

"Where did this corpse come from?" he muttered to himself.

Abruptly, he rolled to the side. Another stone crashed down where he had just stood.

With a dull crack, the mummified corpse struck the ground and shattered into fragments, splintered bones scattering everywhere.

"Who the hell is tossing corpses around?" Ye Wuya cursed, his expression uneasy.

No sooner had he spoken than—

From the sky above, a rain of bones began to fall—a veritable storm of corpses, too many to count, descending like a macabre meteor shower.

Violent sword intent erupted from Ye Wuya. Sword energy whirled about him, and any corpse that came within two meters was instantly ground to dust.

In moments, bone fragments and powder piled around him; not a single whole skeleton remained.

"Is someone up there not pleased with me? Come at me again if you dare!" Ye Wuya shouted furiously at the sky.

Those who court disaster often find it—this saying proved all too true for Ye Wuya.

Once again, massive bones appeared in the sky above. These were enormous, twenty or thirty meters long, mixed with many human remains.

With a resounding crash, Ye Wuya was buried by a gigantic skeleton, dirt and gravel exploding high into the air. The weight was unimaginable; the very earth sank beneath the impact.

Thunderous booms echoed across the ruins for over ten minutes. When at last the barrage ceased, the area had become a netherworld of bones, terrifying to behold.

In the pale moonlight, the white bones glowed with a cold, mournful light.

Suddenly, within a ten-meter radius of where Ye Wuya lay buried, an earth-shattering explosion erupted. Sword energy raged forth, shredding everything within ten meters into dust.

At the center, Ye Wuya stood, his expression twitching. "Say it and it happens—just my luck!"

"Come on, try me again! If you’re not satisfied, just say so! You think you can resurrect, is that it?"

No sooner had the words left his lips than a furious roar resounded through the ruins, deafening as a thunderclap.

The clouds that had shrouded the earth parted. The pale moonlight suddenly blushed crimson.

As red light bathed the land, wailing ghosts howled, their cries chilling to the bone—sorrowful, desperate, and haunting.

The ruins grew oppressive and sinister, shadows flickering amidst the stones. Pebbles and sand danced in the air, trembling ceaselessly.

The howls grew louder, like the death knell of an ancient god, shaking the ground. Leaves swirled, a chilling wind swept by, and Ye Wuya’s nape prickled with icy dread—as if he had descended into Hell.

Clang! Clang! Clang! The forests shuddered. A dense trampling of footsteps resounded.

Under the blood-red moon, spectral white hands burst from the earth. Ye Wuya paled, stumbling back in panic as horror seized him.

Years of battle-honed reflexes kicked in. His sword flashed, sword intent erupting; the skeletal hand shattered to dust.

The stench of decay swept over him as rotting corpses and eerie, white bones climbed from the ground. Ghostly blue flames flickered in their eye sockets—terrifying, mindless, unimaginable. The night had become a living hell.

Bones crowded the land—countless, unending, mingled with the remains of monstrous beasts.

The entire wasteland was transformed into a vision of hell on earth.

Raising his blue sword high, Ye Wuya soared aloft, leaving the ground behind.

"Am I cursed or something?" he muttered helplessly.

He now hovered above a towering mountain range, the peaks stretching as far as the eye could see.

Perched atop a tree over ten meters tall, Ye Wuya surveyed a new and ghastly scene: endless bones of wild beasts, grotesque and gigantic. Some skeletal beasts below were four or five meters tall; the largest reached dozens of meters.

Most staggering was the hundred-zhang-long serpent skeleton in the distance, coiling through the forest, stirring clouds of dust and stone.

Ye Wuya’s heart quaked at the sight of the golden horn atop the giant serpent’s skull. Could this have been a flood dragon? If so, its next evolution would have been to become a true dragon!

He recalled the great serpent he’d encountered earlier on the outskirts—the one with a small bump atop its head. This must have been its descendant.

Who could imagine how fierce it had been in life? Its deathly gaze, its unwillingness and fury, were still palpable. The empty eye sockets stared toward the abyss, an overwhelming aura radiating from the dragon’s remains—a kingly presence that seemed to crush the very forest.

The flood dragon coiled around a lofty peak, separated from the abyss by two great mountain ranges. Now, it let out a wild, desperate roar toward the abyss encircled by nine towering peaks, the golden horn atop its head blazing with radiant light. It soared upward, trying to break free of this world.

Suddenly, the earth heaved. From the peak where the flood dragon lay, a towering black chain of demonic energy rose hundreds of meters into the sky, shooting straight for the serpent’s colossal skeleton.

With a thunderous bellow, the giant chain pierced through the dragon bones, coiling tightly around them. The flood dragon, bound and furious, thrashed through the clouds, roaring so violently that Ye Wuya’s head spun and he nearly toppled from his perch.

Slowly, the chain dragged the dragon down. In the end, it could not break free.

"This cursed place grows ever more mysterious and sinister," Ye Wuya thought, taking in the nine peaks encircling the abyss, the monstrous black chain, and the flood dragon’s immense bones—then glancing at the undead corpses stirring below.

His expression turned grave.

Above, the blood-red moon shed scarlet light across the land.

Every corpse roared in unison.