C18 The Buddha!

In the Savage Lands, a vast distance from Thvelond Mount, an army of 100,000 demons lay in formation, an unbreakable torrent of steel.

The air was thick with a tyrannical and ferocious aura, suffocating and unbearable.

Above, 50,000 Glowscales hovered, their golden bodies shimmering like miniature suns. Their bloodthirsty eyes glinted with violence, and their murderous intent billowed, engulfing the whole universe.

"Leader, what does the Young Lord intend by stationing us here?" one Glowscale inquired, gazing toward the cloud-shrouded Thvelond Mount.

"I'm not sure, but we must follow the Young Lord's command," another Glowscale replied with a resigned sigh, feeling as though their beast tide was mere fodder, a ploy to draw out someone of significance.

*Rumble!*

Suddenly, clouds near Thvelond Mount churned wildly, resembling a vast white ocean.

"What's that?" a Fellbeast bellowed, terror flashing in its crimson eyes.

"Zheng!"

A sword aura, streaked with mottled Chaos Energy, cleaved through the sky, its length rivaling a glittering starry river.

"Dukes of the Human Clan, retreat at once!" the lead Glowscale bellowed, his voice thundering across the heavens.

In a flash, panic seized the 100,000 demons, throwing them into disarray. With a resounding boom, they scattered in a frenzied escape.

The sky erupted with the brilliance of 50,000 Glowscales dispersing in all directions, their golden glow like a burst of spectacular fireworks.

Such was the renown of a duke, whose mere sword aura could sweep the heavens, reaching from east to west!

Boom!

At that moment, a golden mushroom cloud rose slowly in the distance from Thvelond Mount. In the apocalyptic golden radiance, 100,000 demons were reduced to ash.

Amidst the swirling dust, a stooped figure with a glowing longsword in hand stepped forward, covering hundreds of thousands of miles in a single stride, racing toward the Fell Lands.

On that day, the Guiltlands were rocked by a massive earthquake.

At the border between the Guiltlands and the Fell Lands, titanic figures clashed in combat.

The battle was said to be exceedingly fierce. Onlookers could see nothing but the distant firmament where more than a dozen luminous silhouettes collided with ferocious intensity.

With each impact, fiery blood rained from the heavens, splattering across the mountains and instantly flattening the towering ranges.

The spectacle was horrifying, akin to an ocean of spiritual energy. This was the warfare of the dukes, high above the earth, tens of thousands of miles in the sky, where each collision still unleashed cataclysmic force upon the land.

The vast terrain was rent asunder, with cracks stretching thousands of miles, weaving a web that nearly obliterated the realm.

The sword aura was resplendent, its might oppressing the heavens; the dukes' divine power was unmatched, dominating the whole universe.

The outcome of that battle remained unknown, but in its aftermath, the Fell Lands fell eerily quiet.

The following day, a mage ventured into the Fell Lands and returned with astonishing news.

A supreme duke of the Human Tribe had battled ten Wing Commanders of the Beast Tribe at the border of the two continents. In a single day, he slew three peers, severely weakening the Beast Tribe of the Fell Lands and halting their bloodthirsty scheme to invade the Guiltlands.

The identity of this duke was a mystery, but there was no doubt that he would be hailed as a hero across the Guiltlands and indeed among all of humanity.

Two days after the Guiltlands trembled.

A new day dawned!

At Thvelond Mount, the foremost sect of the nine continents, Sablewings, stood proudly.

Behind Sablewings lay the Thvelond Temple, a sacred pilgrimage site for all disciples of the Thvelond Sect.

Before the Sablewings, a vast White Jade Plaza stretched out.

The White Jade Plaza was so expansive that its edges seemed to vanish into the horizon. At that moment, it was teeming with life, transformed into a sea of pale blue as every disciple of the Thvelond Sect gathered.

Surrounding the White Jade Plaza, eight ancient bronze cauldrons stood sentinel in all directions, with thick incense sticks burning within, wafting a subtle scent of sandalwood through the air.

At the center of the eight Sacred Cauldrons, there once stood a black cauldron. However, it has since transformed into a white cauldron, now under the control of Zopyrus. The crowd was immense, swelling into the thousands. Every disciple from Thvelond had gathered, for today was unlike any other—it was a day of judgment. The day to judge the mouse.

With a resounding "Bam!" in front of the Sablewings, Clarkson delivered a punch straight to Zopyrus's nose.

"Puchi!" The force sent the mouse's slight frame hurtling backward, his nose collapsing with a crunch. Blood sprayed from his mouth in an elegant arc, splattering against the cold white jade of the White Jade Plaza.

Coughing violently, the mouse lay on the ground as more blood spewed from his mouth, staining the earth beneath him. His small body was curled up, the frigid chains binding him tightly, cutting into his skin and leaving trails of blood. He had been tortured nearly to death.

"Reporting to the Lord, the Chief Elder's disciple no longer possesses the strength to resist and poses no further threat to our Thvelond disciples," Clarkson announced, wiping the blood from his hands and bowing with a fist to the Thvelond Temple, his voice booming.

"Stand down," commanded the authoritative voice of Hephaistos from within the Thvelond Temple.

"Fellow disciples of Thvelond, you all know this individual. I'll spare further words. This person, taking advantage of his status as Senior Buteo's disciple, deserted the battlefield twice, abandoning over a thousand of our Qi Condensation disciples to save himself. The decision of his punishment is yours to make!" Hephaistos's voice carried across the White Jade Plaza, stirring the air with its intensity.

"Kill!" "Kill!" "Kill!" The chants erupted from the crowd. The White Jade Plaza was alive with a sea of people, the faces of the young Thvelond disciples twisted with frenzy, their eyes blazing red with a hellish fervor.

The Thvelond disciples roared and howled in madness, like demons from the abyss, all clamoring for one outcome for Zopyrus—death.

"Kill!" "Kill!" "Kill!"

At White Jade Plaza, the crowd was on the verge of madness. The deafening battle cries were like thunderbolts from a clear sky, the terrifying sound waves echoing in every direction like the tumultuous sea.

"Since the disciples have made their decision, then I shall—"

"Wait!"

Abruptly, an aged voice from outside White Jade Plaza interrupted Hephaistos mid-sentence, silencing the raucous cries of the disciples.

"Whoosh!"

In that moment, thousands of disciples turned as one to peer through the faint mist at the edge of the plaza.

There, a bloodied figure with a glowing longsword in hand was slowly making his way toward Thvelond Temple.

The sight was heart-wrenchingly tragic.

It was Clements, his disheveled white hair stained with blood, hanging loosely over his shoulders, the blood thick and flowing.

His wounds were grave. His black garments were drenched in blood, tattered beyond recognition.

A short spear protruded from his shoulder, emitting a divine glow, nearly shredding his entire arm. A sword blade was embedded in his chest, splitting the bone. A golden feather was lodged in his thigh, blood oozing around it.

The horror was palpable. These were shards of Quasi Holy Weapons, embedded in Clements's shattered body, nearly bringing him to death's door. It was difficult to fathom the ferocity of the battle he had endured.

Clements's face was smeared with blood, his injuries severe. These were Quasi Holy Weapons, after all, with the power to shock the heavens, wielded by the Beast Tribe's Wing Commander, capable of apocalyptic destruction.

Yet now, broken and embedded in Clements's flesh, the destructive Divine Light threatened to erase his very existence.

"Crack crack!"

Suddenly, in the midst of the disciples' incredulous stares, the shining longsword in Clements's grasp began to fracture. With a soft cracking sound, in the final moment, it shattered explosively.

In an instant, the destructive Divine Light soared skyward like an exploding miniature sun. Divine Weapon fragments scattered in all directions, their terrifying screech propelling them far away, piercing through several mountains with their unstoppable force.

Boulders crumbled and clouds dispersed; the very void seemed to shatter in terror.

All the disciples stood agape. Before them lay the remnants of a Holy Sword, forged from Aetherium, a companion to Clements through countless years. It was a Quasi Holy Weapon, now shattered to pieces.

It was hard to believe that the mere fracturing of a Holy Weapon could suffocate the atmosphere with such a destructive aura.

"Boom!"

Clements, panting heavily, stepped forward and landed next to the mouse.

Bending his aged body, he tenderly picked up Zopyrus's battered form. Turning to face the thousands of disciples gathered in the White Jade Plaza, he fell to his knees with a thud.

"Spare my disciple, I implore you!" His voice, laden with grief, echoed through the heavens.

In that moment, every disciple of Thvelond, including Hephaistos, was struck dumb.

This was the once young Supreme of Thvelond, one of the mightiest in the nine continents; the Chief Elder of Thvelond, a man who had once stood at the pinnacle of power; the Master of Maeander, hailed as 'Thvelond's Greatest Ever'.

He was Buteo, the bedrock of the entire Thvelond Sect, second in importance only to the Lord himself, irreplaceable and indispensable.

"Chief Elder!" "Chief Elder, please don't do this!"

In an instant, thousands of disciples raised their voices in shock, all kneeling before Clements.

Like wheat bending before the wind, they all knelt in absolute reverence to Clements.

The scene was fraught with an uneasy tension.

The Thvelond Sect as a whole wished for Zopyrus's demise, yet only Clements wished for his survival, and none of the disciples wanted to cross or harm Clements.

"Send him to the Gnashing Pit to await the Lord's return for judgment," came Hephaistos' sigh from the depths of the Thvelond Temple.

"Hephaistos, grant Zopyrus a bit more time. Kallisto still awaits his triumphant return," Hephaistos' words made Clements' bloodied body tremble. After a long contemplation, he slowly lifted his head, revealing eyes brimming with desolation behind his blood-stained visage.

Hephaistos, seated upon the Lord's throne in the grand Thvelond Temple, felt a profound ripple stir within his heart.

The sorrow of Clements was a secret known only to him and the old man himself. Clements had lost his mother to childbirth complications, and his father had passed away when he was just a boy, leaving him an orphan. His entry into the Thvelond Sect and his unmatched talent propelled him forward, eventually becoming the young Supreme of his era within the Sect.

Yet, his life was not as splendid as outsiders perceived. For the sake of Thvelond, he had given his all, even devising the 'Blood of Sin' plan to cultivate a legion of cold-blooded, fiercely loyal mages capable of murder. Buteo, a man born into darkness, was the first of this initiative.

Centuries prior, Clements had discovered Maeander and welcomed him into the Sect, nurturing his growth. Tragically, this prodigious figure, once hailed as the greatest in Thvelond's history, was treacherously murdered, leaving nothing behind but a pool of blood.

On that fateful night, Clements cradled the remnants of Maeander, his wails of grief echoing throughout Thvelond. His hair turned white as grief consumed him, his vitality sapped away as if he had aged decades in mere hours. From that moment, he entrusted the 'Blood of Sin' plan to Bucolus and retreated to a life of seclusion in the back mountains, renouncing his power and worldly concerns.

Clements chose a solitary existence in a secluded courtyard, no longer meddling in the affairs of the Sect. He frequently ventured beyond Thvelond, immersing himself in the mortal realm, sometimes for years or even decades without returning.

Three years ago, Clements brought Zopyrus and Kallisto into the Sect. However, Bucolus was at that time orchestrating the 'Slayer' plan, and Zopyrus unwittingly became an integral piece in this grand scheme.

Throughout his life, Clements faced tumultuous storms and never knew true peace.

"Just one day, only one day," Hephaistos thought, his mind a whirlwind of contemplation, as he let out a deep, resigned sigh.

"Thank you!" At the edge of the White Jade Plaza, Clements assisted the battered Zopyrus to his feet. Together, the elder and the youth, each with their own limp, made their way toward the solitude of the back mountains.

Behind the two, thousands of Thvelond Sect disciples stood in silent mourning.