The Ethereal Domains

Chapter 379: Trapped!

Trapped! . . .

During the intense confrontation between Cha Eun Xiao and his loyal comrades and adversaries, limb after limb was forcibly detached from their respective torsos, and one head after another became separated from the shoulders. Scattered across the battlefield were lifeless forms, some of which were bereft of their heads, with only blood gushing forth from the gruesome neck-stumps.

As for Cha Eun Xiao and his devoted associates, their hands were stained with the blood of their foes, having endured numerous wounds throughout the fierce combat.

Upon taking a decisive turn in the winding streets, their destination was a nearby forest, offering a sanctuary from the chaos.

In this critical moment, even though Bing Xinyue was acutely aware that what she witnessed was a mere illusion, perspiration dampened her palms. She whispered in a hushed mantra, "Hurry! Hurry up... Turn there. Safety lies within that forest..."

Finally, a cry erupted from Feng Zhiling, and he soared into the air like an obsidian arrow released from its bowstring. His trajectory aimed directly for the corner leading to the forest. Once they cleared that corner, the safety of the forest beckoned, granting them a significantly higher chance of survival.

At this juncture, Bing Xinyue was seized by a paralyzing dread, her heart gripped by unspeakable turmoil.

Frantically looking upward, she spotted a black-clad figure atop a rooftop, an imposing presence resembling a colossal mountain. In his hand, a sword emitted a dazzling brilliance that outshone the sun.

This sword was adorned with flowing lights, its luminosity so profound that it seemed to transcend the boundaries of reality. Even before Bing Xinyue could fully comprehend the sight before her, the sword was launched like a shooting star across the heavens.

The sword moved with such astonishing swiftness that it appeared to defy the constraints of time and space, executing a strike that transcended the very fabric of reality itself.

The radiance of the sword had barely begun to shine when it was already hurtling towards its target.

Feng Zhiling had reached the apex of his ascent, and his velocity had begun to decrease. In a mere heartbeat, he would descend into the forest, where the promise of safety awaited.

Yet, in that crucial moment, the sword streaked across the sky like a shooting star, penetrating Feng Zhiling's body from back to front in the blink of an eye.

Without any discernible slowing down, it pierced through him, allowing his warm, crimson blood to adorn its blade. The sword, now stained with the life force of Feng Zhiling's heart, gleamed with a savage, blood-red hue. Unwavering, it continued its trajectory, traveling another hundred meters before impaling itself into a nearby tree.

Bing Xinyue's world shattered as she beheld this grim tableau.

In the heavens above, Feng Zhiling remained suspended, his lithe form hanging in mid-air. His gaze lowered to observe his chest, now conspicuously hollow, devoid of life.

Cha Eun Xiao's countenance remained a portrait of serenity and composure, while his eyes retained their characteristic icy and unwavering gaze. There was no hint of panic in his demeanor, as if the concept of life and death held no sway over him.

It was almost as if he regarded the precarious situation with an indifference that bordered on indifference to the very notion of existence itself. Gazing upon the gaping wound in his chest, Feng Zhiling displayed an enigmatic smile, his countenance marked by an undeniable weariness and solitude.

However, there was a marked absence of vocalization from him. He merely lifted his eyes skyward, his visage radiating an unusual sense of tranquil pride.

In his ashen and lifeless eyes, the seeds of pride and desolation remained steadfastly entrenched. Cha Eun Xiao suspended himself in the air, his unwavering gaze fixed upon a distant horizon. The cold, lonesome intensity in his eyes, paired with the steadfast pride and unwavering resolve etched upon his face, seemed to communicate sentiments from the depths of his soul.

"In this world, it was I who was betrayed by others, yet I never betrayed anyone. That is my pride," his unspoken thoughts seemed to declare. "When others were imperiled, I did all within my power to aid them. When my nation faced dire threats, I did what I could. Even now, as I find myself in this dire plight, there is no one to extend a helping hand. Yet, I harbor no regrets."

Though he refrained from articulating these sentiments aloud, the profound pride and indomitable spirit that radiated from him seemed to convey these unspoken truths to all who beheld him.

Bing Xinyue's heart, at that very instant, ceased its rhythmic beats. She stood motionless, her mouth agape, her gaze transfixed upon the figure that hung suspended in the heavens.

Finally, Feng Zhiling could no longer maintain his airborne stance. His descent commenced, and he fell earthward, his posture resembling that of a kite severed from its tether. Even as he plummeted, his onyx tresses billowed wildly in the turbulent wind, dancing in the air. His head remained lofted, a symbol of the unwavering pride with which he had regarded the world.

Within Bing Xinyue's heart, a profound sorrow enveloped her.

A horde of shadowy assassins, garbed in obsidian attire and wielding swords that gleamed with a kaleidoscope of colors, surged forth relentlessly toward Feng Zhiling's descending form. Their blades descended with an unmistakable intent to dismember his lifeless body.

The figure that had once exuded power and strength now hung powerless, its will to live extinguished, descending in silence.

"No!" Bing Xinyue's restraint crumbled, and she could no longer concern herself with the veracity of the situation or the rationality of her actions. Overwhelmed by grief, she let out a heart-wrenching scream, descending with the swiftness of a lightning bolt, as if a resplendent rainbow streaking across the land. Her destination: the beleaguered figure surrounded by a corona of sword lights.

Overwhelmed by an agonizing pain in her heart, Bing Xinyue charged forward with unwavering resolve. It was as though her very core had been shattered into a myriad of fragments, each throbbing with a torment that promised to endure for all eternity.

"You all should go die!" Her voice resonated with a fierce determination as she stormed into the midst of her adversaries, cradling the lifeless form of Cha Eun Xiao.

Her countenance bore only the visage of unyielding righteousness, a stark contrast to the turmoil that raged within.

Cha Eun Xiao's body retained a lingering warmth, but the ebbing breaths marked the inexorable descent into cold lifelessness. Only his eyes remained fixed forward, their gaze unyielding, bearing an unsettling calmness and stoicism.

In the face of this harrowing reality, Bing Xinyue felt her own self unraveling. Her trembling hands bore the indelible stain of culpability, having been unable to intervene earlier. Her hands, she realized with mounting despair, were now coated with the blood of Feng Zhiling.

Lost in a sea of sorrow, Bing Xinyue's anguished cry pierced the heavens. In an instant, her sword was unsheathed, ringing out with a resounding "Clang!" She silently infiltrated the ranks of the black-clad assassins, their eyes ablaze with crimson malevolence. Her voice, choked with anguish, bellowed, "All of you should go to hell! Die! Die! Die!!"

Unbeknownst to her, she had tapped into the wellspring of her most profound cultivation power. In the realm of Han-Yang, such might should have shattered the very foundations of reality itself, but the world around her remained intact. She existed solely within the realms of her grief over the loss of Feng Zhiling, her thoughts consumed by that profound sorrow.

...

Atop the icy mountain, Wan-Er and Xiu-Er breathed a sigh of relief. They gestured, and the kaleidoscope of vibrant lights dissipated into the ether.

The scroll remained cradled in Wan-Er's gentle grasp, an exquisite and delicate artifact.

In truth, they had never vanished from Bing Xinyue's view, for the scene she bore witness to was not as it had seemed. It was Bing Xinyue who had vanished, drawn into the scroll herself.

What an extraordinary treasure it was, capable of ensnaring a formidable cultivator like Bing Xinyue. A wistful sigh escaped Wan-Er's lips as she remarked, "At last, we have succeeded. As for this woman... Sigh.".