Yang Zicang respected their choice.

Most of them were humanoid skeletons who had died many times over; the ability to hold the wisdom to understand language was already a privilege that was not universally granted.

Most of the time, cowed by the few physically stronger enforcers under the command of their captain, they remained rigid and silent.

Thus, to try to find someone who had existed hundreds of thousands of years ago in a sea of bones was not the sort of thing you could verify with just a glance.

Receiving the “Undying King’s ” command, these skeletal legions began, under the leadership of those bone-men who could comprehend the orders, to carry “pillars ” inscribed with ancient scripts and painted scrolls, heading deep into the continent in batches.

Good news arrived over thirty years later: another squad had returned, bringing back definite intelligence.

Upon being summoned, it rapidly approached the cave entrance beneath this gray-black mountain range.

{We have brought back news of that ancient sovereign, milord! }

Now quite fluent in the Human tongue, this squad leader knelt at the cave entrance. It could sense the presence of that being within the dwelling without needing much light.

Indeed, even after decades had passed, this milord’s gaze remained just as sharp, showing not a trace of age, let alone his seemingly unchangeable skin.

Partially retaining memories of a human life, this squad leader sighed inwardly with envy as it lowered its head.

“What news bring you? “

{We found an area of particularly distinct energy in the north of this continent. Had a warrior not fallen and glimpsed its hidden magnificence, we might have missed that region forever. }

The squad leader took several broad “iron bones ” from the warriors behind him, on which a map had been inscribed.

{Throughout these years, we also searched the continent for people who still preserved ancient memories. From them, we learned some occurrences from back then. }

Yang Zicang gestured with his hand, and it rose respectfully to present the items to him.

Gazing at this hard-won map, Yang Zicang focused his mind and instantly inscribed the pattern of a “Level 1 Memory Magic Rune ” within his thoughts, etching it into his memory as permanently as a photograph.

He lifted his head, revealing eyes that burned with a faint, razor-sharp killing intent beneath his long hair. Years of experience had taught Yang Zicang and his companions that, when facing Bone Men of lower intelligence, projecting the murderous aura of the “Azure Dragon Collapses Heaven ” style was ironically the easiest way to avoid conflict.

Having kept this cultivation method activated, Yang Zicang saw no reason to suppress his aura, even now.

Feeling the pervasive, chilling murderous intent sweep through the cave like an autumn gale, the squad leader felt every joint in his bones tremble minutely. He dared not lie. Dropping to one knee, he bowed his head and spoke.

{Some say he is your eternal friend, your kin, your brother… your unwavering follower as you are the world’s sinner… and that the sinner is Wǔ Zhèng. }

The name struck Yang Zicang’s heart like a thorn. Of course. It had to be him. He had suspected it since first hearing the news; this man was the only one it could be.

The only “contractable graduated trainee techniques ” he still held were the eight secret arts that Wu Zheng had once fulfilled.

“He… ” Yang Zicang stopped himself, closing his mouth firmly.

There was no need to ask; Wu Zheng must have also turned to bone.

{He is guarding the demon king’s remains that plunged the world into catastrophe, in a peculiar zone north near the ancient inland sea. }

“Is that so… ” Feeling the commission contract in the model, Yang Zicang let out a deep breath.

Even after being stripped of all his martial skills, that child had still climbed back to the peak of martial power in this world with his own fists.

Single-handedly guarding the Demon King… for over seven hundred thousand years!

Truly a heroic story that shines across time and space.

Yang Zicang’s voice trembled with agitation as he said ardently, “That is the child. Why do you call him a sinner? “

All the hollow eyes at the door were fixed on Yang Zicang. The squad leader raised his head and spoke slowly:

{His offspring—that once great solitary wanderer, a hero who twice crossed the continent in his life, appearing in various cities to help people defeat monsters—at the end of his life, he couldn’t resist the temptation of the demon sword and accepted the deal to transform his life form and be resurrected. }

A flicker of shock instantly ran through Yang Zicang’s eyes!

Resurrection!

These two words struck like a giant hammer, hammering fiercely into Yang Zicang’s mind. It was a long time before he regained his composure.

Only then did he barely manage to suppress the desire ignited by this piece of news.

Reviving Morrie in such a way… Wait a little longer. Since this bizarre world already offers a second method, there might be other, even better ways.

After all, he himself was someone who had died once, and wasn’t he reborn with a perfect human body in this world?

As long as this possibility exists, as long as he gathers enough intelligence, then he will surely find that method one day.

“My Xiao Wu, Wu Zheng, has a child too.” Yang Zicang smiled. “Truly a tiger father begets no dog of a son—a hero and a devil in one.“

He lifted his head, staring down at the few bone-men whose bodies trembled faintly at his muttered words.

“Take me to see him.“

{Yes. }

The great army marched, traversing ten thousand miles; a thousand mountains stood silent and lifeless.

Near the pole, the black-sand wilderness spread before them, like a land smote by a tremendous force, filled with cracked ravines as far as the eye could see.

-｛Distributor Loki Tata Mingqi shares my current experience.｝

Yang Zicang paused, mildly surprised, as he reflected on this mental voice.

-｛Distributor May Valkyrie actively broadcasts my present experience.｝

Unfamiliar with what had occurred, Yang Zicang sensed momentarily and cast the question aside for now.

As his increasingly upright figure strode forward, the fine crunching of countless fragmented bones sounded beneath his feet.

In the distance, colossal skeletons like mountains stood sentinel—relics of ancient beasts. Dusk cloaked this dead land, their ribs piercing the sky, casting savage silhouettes in the fading twilight.

{It’s right behind that thing. } The squad leader spoke, following not far behind Yang Zicang.

Yang Zicang nodded. As he pressed deeper into the landscape, a lone mountain peak loomed ahead.

“And that solitary peak?“

“According to some reminiscents here, that is his son, the Beauty Demon Lord, reborn for the one-thousand-and-seventh time. “

“The Beauty Demon Lord… ” Yang Zicang sighed softly. “Even the reborn body of a Demon Lord has become this strange. Wu Zheng, who fought against him, likely finds it hard to recognize him now. “

“It is said that His Excellency… has indeed lost his life several times. “

The Skeletal Captain, following behind, stepped forward to Yang Zicang’s side:

“My King. Among those like me who have never died after resurrection, there are very few. If it is possible, I hope you can seal all of the Beauty Demon Lord’s powers, allowing… allowing His Excellency’s will to rest. “

-｛Distributor February. Di’an is recording what I witness.｝

Yang Zicang raised his hand, ordering his army to remain there, while he alone headed toward Wu Zheng’s location.

Wind swept across the wasteland, emitting a sobbing sound.

The deeper he went, the more the air was filled with a decaying stench.

That solitary peak vanished from sight after some distance, replaced by other unexpected visions. The magnetic field here was chaotic; countless mirage-like visions appeared every few steps, disorienting his perception.

No wonder it had been so hard to find all these years. Indeed, a battlefield of this magnitude remained a place of dread for many, even after countless ages had passed.

At last, Yang Zicang spotted a somewhat stalwart figure in the distance.

It was surprisingly the silhouette of a human.

As the distance kept closing, Yang Zicang felt as if every step he took was traversing through the dust of time.

He suddenly sensed an unusual fluctuation—a drowsiness that tensed his nerves, coming from a pitch-black, curved bone spur ahead.

The black bone, twisted like an ivory tusk, stood abruptly in the middle of the skeletal wasteland.

—{…blazing across the sky… like silent wrath… }

This spike was compacted tightly, segment by segment, like the spine of a dinosaur, exuding an aura of dread.

—{radiance silenced… life torn away… }

Its lofty tip was tightly wound with clusters of thin black chains, as if concealing something intoxicatingly precious.

The human silhouette vanished the moment this thing appeared, only to blurrily reappear hundreds of meters away, like a phantom bait luring one forward.

“Wu Zheng. ” Yang Zicang called out.

The distant human figure remained unmoved, but as Yang Zicang shouted, a faint glow emerged from the chains atop the bone spur, then quickly faded.

｛Silent Night!｝

“Damn it, that thing isn’t even here. “

Yang Zicang dashed forward. After a hundred paces, the bone spur vanished again, reappearing several hundred meters away. The faint murmur that was once audible also weakened.

“You can’t fool me. “

Yang Zicang moved swiftly, running several kilometers along the twisted crevices in the ground before he sensed the true location of the stabbing bone spires that repeatedly flickered in and out of existence.

Here, he finally saw the silhouette of that human figure: at times, he was a man of kingly stature; at other times, he was a hulking skeletal frame; and then again, he would merely appear as a child of about ten years of age.

Whispers echoed all around him.

— {Burned dry were tear-stained blossoms, sorrow gave way to grief… }

As he drew closer, more blurry figures gradually emerged around this apparition, both men and women among them.

Some carried giant swords on their backs, others stood beside wooden staves; one lady bore a slender, long sword across her back, while a burly man with flowing silver hair gripped a massive greatsword.

“Wu Zheng… “

Yang Zicang’s footsteps began to slow down.

— {Neither can one resist, nor easily evade… }

The nearer he approached, the clearer the voices became.

— {I walk this path… my step is firm… but my heart… weighs heavy with doubt… }

— {How can I, do battle against such a foe? }

Voices rose and fell in succession, chanting this poem like an ancient record of a bygone history.

Was this a rebuke hurled at the Celestial Star?

An accusation against that comet, which brought catastrophe time and again, stalling even the very evolution of civilizations?

— {Every time I gaze up, a reaping sickle marks its path… }

A chilling tingle ran up Yang Zicang’s scalp.

Amidst the cascading whispers, he recalled the wish he had once made when first entering this place:

“I want to go to a relatively safe world of consciousness that is related to the core secrets of this world and to the statue, where I can acquire this world’s high-level abilities. “

Though never seen the Celestial Star in reality, there exists an uncanny unknown force that turns artifacts of civilizations surpassing their era into monsters.

Approaching him, he seemed to hear new, clear words after a brief pause.

——{In the heavens you stand, overlooking ten thousand souls; I burn the land with my life… pursuing… }

The emerging thought was pulled back by the next recited line.

——{Together… }

——{Transcending… }

——{For what I follow are the footsteps of the King… }

Yang Zicang halted his steps behind this now unfamiliar figure—one that he could recognize at a glance no matter how much it changed.

——{The Celestial Star crosses the great continent… }

The recitation from the kneeling man before him sharpened into absolute clarity until, suddenly, his neck froze stiff, and his voice stopped.

“What is the next line? “

Wu Zheng, hearing the faint, gentle voice from behind, felt a jolt, and his head grew stiff.

After a long while, the regal, majestic figure slowly turned his head, his deep and expansive eyelids fixed in shock upon the tall erect form standing beside him.

In disbelief, he murmured in a daze—

{I, too, cross the great continent. }

Yang Zicang’s chest tightened sharply.

He looked at the fortysomething man before him, who still bore the contours of the young boy he once knew, and slowly let out a long sigh of realization.

This was precisely the age of a man in his prime, possessing the greatest strength.

{The… Undying King? }

Wu Zheng’s broad shoulders were draped in a battered suit of armor, the surface riddled with cracks as if having weathered countless brutal battles. Beneath his right palm rested the hilt of a rust-eaten, broken sword.

This was no “Spiritual Artifact Weapon “—it was merely an iron blade forged by human hands.

The “brothers and sisters ” who had lived alongside him for decades also turned to look, their appearances just as youthful as before. Yet Yang Zicang knew they were nothing more than manifestations of Wu Zheng’s will—a desperate attempt to keep those brief years close to his side.

“It’s you… You’ve finally returned. Please, tell me, your attendant—my adoptive father… “

Yang Zicang’s features slowly shifted, morphing into the likeness of that middle-aged “attendant ” from long ago.

In that instant, something exploded within the armored man’s mind with a thunderous roar.

“Are you… the Deathless… King? “

A single tear slid from the man’s eye as his hand released the hilt of a massive iron sword deeply embedded in the earth beside him.

Yang Zicang reached out and patted his shoulder, his palm meeting not the warmth of human skin, but the icy, sinister touch of cold iron.

“Good child… don’t grieve. None of this is… none of it… “

He wanted to say, “None of this is real, ” but the words reached his lips like a blade cutting tongue and mouth, refusing to be spoken.

Sensing Wu Zheng’s state, he realized the man’s spirit was sustained almost solely by a strange, stubborn willpower.

All this time, he kept fueling his strength by endlessly revisiting those fleeting, shallow years, pouring all his power into driving himself forward.

The experiences of a mere few decades of shared journey were condensed into something like a poetic past.

Compared to seven hundred and thirty-seven thousand years, those few short decades together were but a fleeting moment—Yang Zicang suddenly understood somewhat what a “flash of light ” truly was. It could illuminate not just an era.

Looking up at the black, spire-like bone beside him, it was coiled by chains resembling spinal columns. At the very top of that sharp bone was not a treasure, but a skull as massive as an ox or an elephant.

And beneath the lowermost part of the bone, it seemed to suppress something; the surrounding area was piled high with thousands of skeletons radiating intense residual energy waves.

It wasn’t hard to guess that the skull wrapped in layered chains belonged to Wu Zheng’s son—the head of the “Beauty Demon Lord. “

Yang Zicang had no intention of further provoking Wu Zheng’s pain, so he refrained from asking more.

Through the perception of “Musing Night, ” there was no trace of the statue here. A pang of regret struck Yang Zicang. Wu Zheng seemed to have countless words he wanted to say, yet nothing could leave his lips.

After a moment’s thought, Yang Zicang asked, “Can you follow me out of here? “

Wu Zheng shook his head without a moment’s hesitation.

{I cannot leave. If I do, the Demon Lord will break free from his chains once more and reappear in the world. }