CHAPTER 80

  Overlord

  LUO FAN

  — ? —

  For months, the journey had felt endless, the landscape changing but offering little solace. My body was weakening, the White Vulture gnawing at my insides with unrelenting hunger. Still, I pressed on, driven by the promise of a final confrontation and the faint hope that I might find salvation, or at least the peace of an ending, at the Overlord’s Ground.

  When I finally arrived, an eerie stillness settled over me. The wind whispered through the skeletal remains of ancient trees, carrying the weight of battles long past. The very earth beneath my feet felt sacred, yet tainted—a place where warriors had clashed, leaving behind echoes of their despair.

  Then, a voice rang out, clear and commanding.

  ‘Beware the Corrupted Hero. He guards this ground as though it were his own domain.’

  The warning stirred a memory—a stone tablet I had encountered on my way here. It had spoken of a formidable dual-core grandmaster who had succumbed to his own dark core. His soul, twisted beyond salvation, had turned against his disciples. Now, this forsaken battleground had become his endless hunting ground.

  A chill coiled in my stomach.

  Three months ago, after slaying a three-headed beast within a dungeon, I had broken into the third level. It had granted me the ability to infuse qi into objects and strengthened my command over the wind. The power of my cores had also begun pushing back against the White Vulture’s corruption, delaying the inevitable. But it wasn’t enough.

  Even at this stage, level three was still novice-tier among cultivators. It was nowhere near enough to face a corrupted grandmaster.

  But I had come too far to turn back.

  As I stepped deeper into the heart of the Overlord’s Ground, a shadow flitted past me—silent, swift, and unnatural. My pulse thundered in my ears.

  Was it the Overlord?

  Or was it the Corrupted Hero the voice had warned me about?

  I barely had time to dwell on it. The moment I stepped further in, the ground trembled, and from the depths of the ruins, a horde of skeletal warriors emerged. Their hollow eye sockets burned with eerie light, and the rusted edges of their weapons gleamed faintly beneath the dim, overcast sky.

  At first, they seemed like any other reanimated dead—mindless, cursed to wander the battlefield. But then, my gaze caught the remnants of their tattered robes, the faded insignias barely visible beneath the grime of decay.

  Recognition hit me like a physical blow.

  These were not ordinary skeletons.

  They were the disciples who had come before me—those who had perished in their attempt to claim the Overlord’s Ground. And now, they had been resurrected into an endless cycle of death, stripped of their will, their bodies nothing more than puppets of the corruption that ruled this place.

  A low, unnatural groan rose from the horde as they charged.

  I had no choice but to meet them head-on. With my bamboo stick in hand, I struck, channeling every ounce of strength and qi into each swing. I fought with everything I had, the wind howling in response to my movements.

  Bones shattered. Weapons clashed.

  But no matter how many I cut down, they would rise again, their broken bodies pulling themselves back together as if bound by some cruel, unbreakable curse.

  An endless cycle. A battle I was steadily losing.

  Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw her—the Overlord.

  A lone figure standing at the edge of the battlefield, untouched by the carnage around her. Commanding. Terrifying.

  My breath hitched.

  A necromancer.

  She didn’t attack. She didn’t rush to strike me down. Instead, she stood still, smirking, her arms crossed with an air of detached amusement.

  With slow, deliberate movements, her hands traced intricate patterns through the air. Each delicate motion summoned more of her undead minions, as if she were an artist painting their existence into reality. She had no intention of fighting me herself.

  “You’re wasting your energy,” she mused, her voice dripping with honeyed malice.

  She was right.

  I was weakening, my breath ragged, my limbs trembling under the relentless assault. The skeletons wouldn’t stay down, no matter how many times I shattered them. Their broken bodies reassembled with unnatural ease, rising again and again.

  This was no ordinary battle.

  This was a war of attrition.

  “Why don’t you just give up?” the necromancer purred. “Join them. Become one of my precious minions.”

  I stiffened.

  There were fates worse than death.

  I staggered back toward the edge of the battlefield, gasping for breath, my mind racing for a solution. If I died here, it wouldn’t be an honorable end. It would be eternal damnation, my body twisted into an unholy puppet, forced to serve her for eternity.

  No.

  I refused.

  Then, an idea struck me. The wind.

  I reached for it.

  Summoning what little energy remained, I called upon the wind—the element that had always answered me, even in my weakest moments.

  At first, only a faint whisper responded. A weak, fragile current, struggling to obey.

  But I didn’t stop.

  I had spent months honing this skill, training tirelessly, even as my body withered from the White Vulture’s poison.

  This was my last chance to test my limits.

  I poured everything I had into it.

  The air trembled.

  Then, with a deafening roar, the winds came to life.

  A cyclone erupted around me, spiraling higher, gaining momentum. The skeletons lurched back, their cursed bodies caught in the vortex. One by one, they were lifted from the ground, bones rattling as the storm hurled them into the distance like broken dolls.

  For the first time, the battlefield stood silent—emptied of its relentless undead swarm. Even if they resurrected, it would take time for them to return.

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  I turned my focus to the Overlord, closing the distance in a few swift, desperate strides. My bamboo stick trembled in my grasp, its tip hovering just inches from her throat.

  But I hesitated.

  Her smirk widened, the mockery in her gaze as sharp as any blade. “If you want to finish your training,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement, “you’ll have to kill me.”

  My grip faltered. The principle ingrained in me since childhood surged forward—women were to be protected, respected, never harmed. It was a belief I had upheld my entire life, and now, in this moment of survival, it became a wall I couldn’t break through.

  She laughed softly, the sound slicing through the tense air. “What’s the matter, my righteous priest? Has your righteous path led you to hesitation?”

  Her words stung, burrowing deep beneath my skin. Ruan Yanjun’s warning echoed in my mind.

  "If your enemy discovers your weakness, they will exploit it without mercy."

  I clenched my jaw, pushing away the weight of hesitation. Instead of focusing on her face—on the taunting curve of her lips—I closed my eyes and reached out with my senses, searching for the pulsing energy of her dark core. It was unmistakable, a beacon of malice thrumming beneath her skin.

  When I opened my eyes, the smirk was gone.

  In one decisive motion, I lunged, driving my bamboo stick toward her chest. She reacted instantly, summoning a shield of dark energy that crackled and shimmered like fractured glass. My weapon struck it—hard. The impact sent a sharp jolt up my arms, my fingers numbing from the sheer force.

  Her laughter returned, sharper, crueler. “How did you even make it this far?” she sneered, thrusting her hand forward.

  A surge of black energy erupted from her palm, thick and suffocating. I barely had time to react. I leaped to the side, narrowly avoiding the attack as it slammed into the ground, leaving behind a smoking crater where I had stood just moments before.

  I rolled to my feet, chest heaving, sweat dripping down my forehead.

  The next attack came instantly. Tendrils of dark energy lashed out like striking vipers, relentless and precise. I barely managed to deflect them, twisting and parrying with my stick as the air cracked around me.

  She was toying with me. Testing my limits.

  "Still holding back, are we?" she taunted, her voice ringing through the chaos. "How noble. How pathetic."

  I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to block out her words. She was not a woman. She was not a person. She was an evil soul that needed to be destroyed.

  The hesitation within me burned away, replaced by a surge of cold determination.

  This ends now.

  I lunged forward, ducking beneath her next strike and closing the gap between us. My stick pulsed faintly as I channeled the last remnants of my light core into its length.

  Her eyes flickered with the barest trace of wariness as I drove the stick toward her chest.

  This time, her shield shattered. The energy barrier cracked like brittle ice beneath the force of my strike, sending shards of light scattering into the air.

  She staggered back, her expression contorting with fury. “So, you finally decide to fight?” she sneered, levitating above the battlefield. Shadows coiled around her like a living entity, swirling into a massive orb between her hands.

  The sheer force of it warped the air, cracking the very space around us.

  With a flick of her wrists, she hurled the orb toward me—a roaring tempest of destruction, a force meant to obliterate everything in its path.

  And yet, as I looked up, I recognized the set-up.

  “When your enemy throws everything into one final blow, they always leave themselves vulnerable,” Ruan Yanjun’s voice echoed in my mind. “Seize that moment to end it.”

  The Climactic Finish.

  A ridiculous name, but it was devastatingly effective—an upward strike designed to exploit an opponent’s moment of weakness. This was my opening, and I couldn’t afford to waste it.

  As the orb hurtled toward me, I sidestepped with a burst of speed, the edge of the shadowy mass grazing my shoulder as it roared past. The necromancer’s eyes widened in shock, her focus shattered as she realized her attack had missed.

  I didn’t give her time to recover.

  With a surge of energy, I leapt into the air, closing the distance between us in an instant. My grip tightened around my weapon as I channeled every ounce of my strength into a single, decisive strike. The stick arced upward, a flash of light cutting through the darkness.

  The necromancer screamed, her voice a mix of rage and terror as the strike connected. The force of the blow tore through her chest, unraveling her form into a swirling mass of dark mist. Her voice echoed through the air—a haunting wail of agony—before she disintegrated completely, consumed by the very shadows she had once commanded.

  Silence fell.

  The battlefield was empty. Even the skeletons did not return.

  I swayed on my feet, barely able to remain standing. Then, a sudden wave of energy surged toward me—the remnants of her spiritual essence, rushing into my body with overwhelming force.

  The power burned through me, filling me, consuming me. My dark core pulsed violently, absorbing the energy even as it threatened to tear me apart. I clenched my fists, gritting my teeth, refusing to let it overwhelm me.

  Then, suddenly—it was over.

  I collapsed onto my knees, gasping for breath. My body trembled, but the energy within me felt… changed.

  Stronger.

  I exhaled shakily, barely able to comprehend what had just happened.

  I had breached the fifth level of cultivation.

  Not the fourth. The fifth.

  I had skipped an entire realm.

  So this was the reward promised by the Ancient Training Ground—a rapid, unnatural ascent in power. But was it truly worth it?

  If I had a choice, I would have preferred to cultivate at my own pace, in the safety of the real world. Not trapped in this forsaken realm, where danger lurked behind every shadow and death was a constant companion.

  Reaching for my fallen stick, I used it to steady myself and slowly rose to my feet. The chamber was empty now.

  And then—a faint red glow caught my eye.

  Where the necromancer had once stood, a plant had emerged from the cracked ground.

  Its roots twisted outward, pulsing with a deep crimson light.

  The Ironblood Root.

  So the book hadn’t been wrong after all. The herb was here, and this place truly was the graveyard of fallen heroes.

  A resting place for those who perished in pursuit of power.

  I reached for it with shaking hands, cradling it as if it were salvation itself.

  Perhaps… it was.

  A glint of gold caught my eye beside the spot where I had taken the root. I bent down and found an ancient key, its surface worn yet gleaming with an eerie luster. Picking it up, I turned it over in my hand, studying its intricate engravings.

  What was it for?

  I scanned my surroundings, my heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and unease. Could there be a hidden door somewhere, a passage that this key would unlock?

  Perhaps… my way out of this place.

  The shadow from earlier swept across me again, its presence so abrupt and overwhelming, reminding me that it was far too soon to lower my guard.

  I turned quickly, my breath catching in my throat, and found myself face-to-face with a man clad in black. His eyes burned a fiery crimson, glaring at me with an intensity that rooted me in place.

  He didn’t resemble Ruan Yanjun in appearance, but his presence—his sheer command over the space around him—was hauntingly familiar. It was something ancient, something primal, a power that resonated with the darkness within me. My body betrayed me as I felt my dark core react, thrumming in acknowledgment of his.

  I didn’t need to ask. I knew.

  Like Ruan Yanjun, he was a bearer of an ancient demonic core, one powerful enough to rival the immortal Devil of the South.

  A sharp gasp escaped me as a chilling realization surfaced. The tale of a demonic core bearer who had descended upon the world five centuries ago, defeated only by the combined might of the Seven Heroes.

  Could it be him?

  Was this devil sealed within the Ancient Training Ground to prevent him from unleashing destruction upon the human realm once more?

  Was he the infamous Corrupted Hero?

  Or worse… was he once one of the Seven Heroes?

  As he began to approach, my instincts screamed danger. I immediately shifted into a defensive stance, but his gaze locked onto mine with a crushing intensity. It gripped me like invisible shackles, paralyzing me where I stood.

  His steps were slow, deliberate, and predatory, each one sending a fresh wave of dread through my body.

  When he was just a step away, he reached out, his clawed fingers cold as they gripped my chin. His touch burned like ice, sending a wave of dread coursing through me.

  “His core resonates in you,” he said, his voice low and reverberating, like a distant echo that burrowed into my mind.

  I swallowed hard but didn’t answer, my fingers tightening around my staff, ready to strike if he so much as moved. If the stone tablet’s warnings were true, then this Corrupted Hero had come to kill me, just as he had slaughtered every cultivator who ventured here before.

  "Tell him I’m here," he whispered. His red eyes bore into mine, and I felt as though he was carving the message directly into my soul.

  Then, just as suddenly as he appeared, he released me and vanished, dissolving into the shadows as though he had never been there.

  I staggered back, clutching my chest, gasping for air. My legs trembled, threatening to give out beneath me.

  He didn’t kill me.

  Was the message meant for Ruan Yanjun? Was that the reason he let me live?

  I didn’t linger. Confused and shaken, I stumbled away from the Overlord’s Ground, my legs unsteady beneath me.

  As I emerged from the oppressive darkness, a familiar voice greeted me.

  ‘Congratulations, disciple. You have completed your training.’

  The voice was calm, even serene—yet it did nothing to quell the chill in my bones.

  My throat was dry, my breath ragged. I forced out the only words that mattered. “Where is the exit?”

  ‘You have the option to leave now or advance to a more challenging ground using the key you found.’

  I quickly shook my head. "Just send me back."

  ‘As you wish.’

  The moment the words faded, the world shifted.

  In the blink of an eye, the battlefield was gone. The eerie presence, the oppressive weight of unseen forces—it all vanished as if it had never existed.

  I was back.

  The underground chamber stretched before me, empty and silent. The stone tablet loomed ahead, unchanged, as if mocking the torment I had endured.

  Without wasting another second, I moved to reseal the door, my hands shaking as I secured every last mechanism. I couldn’t allow that place to be breached again—not by me, not by anyone.

  Only when I was certain the seal was intact did I turn away and begin the long ascent up the stairs, each step heavier than the last.

  My mind reeled with the weight of what had just happened.

  The message.

  The Corrupted Hero.

  The warning.

  It swirled in my head like an unrelenting storm.

  By the time I reached the temple doors, my body finally gave out.

  The last thing I felt was the cold stone beneath me before darkness consumed me whole.