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Chapter 196. The War Truly Begins.
The horizon bled crimson. The sun, if it had existed, was swallowed beneath a swirling storm of ash and clouds twisted by dark energy. Winds tore across the plains, carrying the scent of smoke, blood, and the acrid tang of magic. Every fortress, every training ground, every outpost in Malakar shuddered under the weight of what was coming.Kirin stood atop the shattered ridge of Hollow Ridge, a vantage point overlooking the central battlefield where Malakar’s armies had assembled. Thousands of soldiers, cultivators, and wandering mercenaries filled the plains below, their armor glinting faintly in the unnatural light. Banners whipped violently in the storm, bearing the emblems of sects, noble houses, and independent clans alike.And yet, despite the sheer number of them, the tension was palpable. Fear coiled in the hearts of men and women alike, not just at the scale of the demon hordes they were about to face, but at the aura that now descended upon the realm like a storm of molten ir
Chapter 195. The Broken Temple.
The wind was sharp, slicing through the mountain passes like a cold blade. Kirin trudged through loose stones and shattered cliffs, every step sending small avalanches tumbling downward. He didn’t speak, didn’t pause, because he could feel it—the pull of ancient energy, faint but persistent, like a heartbeat buried beneath centuries of ruin. It led him here, higher into the mountains than he had ever dared, to a place where even the air seemed thin with history and forgotten battles.The temple appeared suddenly, half-buried beneath rockslides and snow. Its roof had collapsed in places, and vines crawled over its stone walls, as if nature itself sought to erase it. The doors were cracked, splintered, and one massive hinge hung loosely. It should have been quiet, empty, lifeless—but the air was thick, humming faintly with lingering Qi. Kirin stepped closer, hand gripping the hilt of his sword.Inside, the temple was a tomb of shadows and dust. Stone statues, eroded and broken, lined th
Chapter 194. Cost of Victory.
Ashen Peaks was quiet now. Too quiet. The screams and clashes of the previous day had faded, leaving behind only smoke, ash, and the metallic scent of blood. Kirin walked among the remnants of the battlefield, boots crunching over shattered rocks and broken bodies. Thousands lay scattered, their faces twisted in shock, agony, or the grim peace of death. The horizon, once alive with crimson portals and writhing demons, had dimmed to an eerie twilight, the air still trembling from the energy that had collapsed the portal.The soldiers who survived stumbled past him, some dragging the wounded, others staring in disbelief. They spoke his name in awe, voices trembling with gratitude. Kirin was a hero in their eyes, a lone force who had shattered the impossible and driven back the enemy.But Kirin did not feel triumph. He felt a hollow weight pressing against his chest, a gnawing emptiness that mocked every cheer. His eyes scanned the field, stopping on faces he would never forget—friends,
Chapter 193. The Raid of Ashen Peaks.
The winds howled across the jagged ridges of Ashen Peaks, carrying the scent of sulfur and scorched stone. The sky, already bruised with the crimson glow of distant portals, seemed to close in around Kirin and his small strike team as they approached the enemy stronghold. From a distance, the portal pulsed ominously—a jagged tear in the fabric of the realm, flickering with dark, undulating energy that churned like a storm frozen in place. Around it, a fortress of stone and ash had formed, demonic sentinels crawling along the ridges, their eyes glowing with malice.Kirin’s black hair whipped across his face, strands sticking to the sweat on his forehead. His hands flexed involuntarily, the hum of chaos energy coursing beneath his skin. His body had grown in strength and precision since the last breakthrough—Mid Soul Nascent now solidified—but even so, the sheer number of demons here made him pause for a heartbeat. Not out of fear, but calculation. Every movement, every strike, had to c
Chapter 192. The War Council.
The war room was a cavernous hall beneath Malakar’s palace, its stone walls etched with runes that pulsed faintly in the dim candlelight. Smoke from torches curled along the ceiling, carrying the scent of wax, oil, and old stone. A massive round table dominated the center, cluttered with maps, scrolls, and diagrams of Malakar’s lands. Around it sat the kingdom’s generals, sect leaders, and nobles, each adorned in the finery of authority—robes embroidered with gold, armor polished to a mirror sheen, eyes glittering with pride and caution.At first, Kirin felt out of place. He had walked into the hall with his black robes, bloodied sword strapped to his back, and the unmistakable aura of chaos essence crackling subtly around him. His presence drew glances, some curious, some wary. Many of the nobles exchanged whispers, frowns etched into their faces. Here was the cursed boy who refused allegiance, the lone wanderer who had cut down demons without flinching, standing in their sacred coun
Chapter 191. Oath of Vengeance.
The battlefield was silent now, save for the hiss of smoldering fires and the occasional groan of the wounded. Kirin stood atop a small hill, a mound of corpses human, demon, and those twisted hybrids that had spilled through the rifts. The air was thick with smoke, the coppery tang of blood, and the acrid stench of charred flesh. The chaos had ended, for now, leaving nothing but the remnants of what had once been a thriving valley.Kirin’s boots sank slightly into the blood-soaked soil. His sword was sheathed at his side, black lightning flickering faintly along the blade’s edge, a whisper of the energy coursing within him. He surveyed the devastation below. Villages razed, soldiers decimated, and yet… still, a part of him felt calm.For years, he had fought merely to survive. Every swing of his blade, every drop of sweat and blood had been about living to see another day, about avoiding chains, curses, and death. But this—this was different.The wind tore across the hilltop, whippin
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