Chapter Sixty-Two: The Dreamlike Colors of the Rainbow
Buzz!
A majestic violet radiance rippled through the void, its regal glow illuminating the world. Beneath this light, Yang Li of the Myriad Demons Sect stood tall and proud, like a peerless demon lord, surrounded by an atmosphere of awe and reverence.
Within the mountain, silence reigned. Under the violet blade's gleam, Luo Hao was struck into the depths of the mountain, his fate uncertain. The watching martial artists fell into a hush, for the difference in strength between the two was simply too vast. One was suspected to be at the peak of the Blood Gathering Realm, while the other was merely at the seventh level of the Qi Spirit. That Luo Hao could contend with Yang Li for so long despite such disparity astonished many.
Moreover, the martial techniques Luo Hao displayed exceeded all expectations, able to withstand the Demonic Blade’s God-Slaughtering Art. Clearly, the skill he deployed was of extraordinary grade.
The seven disciples of the Tianhai Sect were silent at first, then gradually retreated into the crowd. As for avenging Luo Hao—well, if you can do it, be my guest. Better a friend's death than one's own.
“Hmph. Dead or alive, I want to see him. Even if you must dig three feet into the earth, drag that brat out of the mountain for me!” Yang Li, crowned by the Myriad Demons Bell, brimmed with imposing might, his black hair flying like a true demon lord reborn.
“Yes!”
At Yang Li’s command, the disciples of the Myriad Demons Sect bowed respectfully and immediately dashed toward the crater in the mountain, a hundred miles distant.
The mountain’s surface had been blasted open, a vast gaping chasm like the maw of a giant beast, deep and dark, impossible to see its end with a glance. After a brief search, the disciples found no trace of Luo Hao.
“Senior Brother Yang, the crater inside the mountain is pitch-black. We can’t find any sign of the brat,” reported a disciple, poking his head out of the pit and addressing Yang Li respectfully.
“Hm?”
Yang Li said nothing, his eyes narrowed and his face dark as though someone owed him millions. Luo Hao’s existence gnawed at his mind, unsettling him.
As Yang Li directed the disciples to continue searching the mountain's depths, the man in yellow from the Western Yue Hills and Xue Yue of the Infinite Sword Sect approached, leading their own disciples.
“Is there something you two want?” Yang Li’s tone was hostile, as if ready to start a fight at any provocation. Xue Yue gave him a long look before replying, “Nothing, just wanted to see if Brother Yang was unharmed.”
“Hmph, spare me your concern. I’m perfectly fine.” Yang Li snorted coldly, not believing that Xue Yue and the yellow-robed man had come merely to check on his welfare. They likely sought to glean more information about the Myriad Demons Sect, since his battle with Luo Hao had revealed much.
Ignoring them, Yang Li turned his attention back to the shadowy crater. Many disciples were venturing deeper along the tunnel, searching for Luo Hao, but aside from darkness, there was still no sign of him.
“I refuse to believe this brat can fly or vanish. Keep searching—even if you have to overturn the entire mountain, find him!” Frustrated by Luo Hao’s disappearance, Yang Li shouted at his disciples.
“Wait, what’s that?” Just as Yang Li’s voice faded, a disciple who had his head in the crater suddenly stared in awe at the tunnel’s depths.
From within, a mist shimmering with seven colors surged forth like starlight, dazzling and magnificent. This multicolored mist billowed toward the mouth of the tunnel, carrying a rich, intoxicating fragrance.
“What is this? It smells so good!” Even the disciples standing outside the crater were amazed, the heady scent wafting out from within, instantly drawing the attention of Yang Li, Xue Yue, and the yellow-robed man.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—
Suddenly, a grand, radiant mist of seven colors erupted from the pit, its dreamlike hues mesmerizing many martial artists, who stared in dazed delight. Those enveloped by the multicolored mist began convulsing, their bodies twitching uncontrollably.
Despite the violent spasms, their faces remained entranced. Gradually, the seven-colored mist was tinged with blood-red, and when compared, the martial artists within were reduced to nothing but piles of gleaming, fleshless bones.
“Something’s wrong, retreat!” A strong sense of danger made Xue Yue and Yang Li cry out, and they fled at once from the area covered by the multicolored mist.
Upon escaping and glancing back, their pupils contracted. Within a few breaths, dozens of martial artists caught in the mist seemed to age hundreds of years, their bodies exuding a decaying aura.
Bang!
A sudden, piercing explosion echoed from within the mist, as dozens of bodies burst apart simultaneously. Crimson blood transformed into drifting blood fog amid the colored haze, leaving only sparkling white bones scattered on the ground.
“This is the Death God’s Enchanting Seven-Colored Dream!” Even Yang Li, notorious for his ruthless ways as a disciple of the Myriad Demons Sect, could not hide the tremor in his voice as he uttered the four words, Seven-Colored Dream.
Hearing this, Xue Yue felt a stroke of luck at having survived, while the yellow-robed man from the Western Yue Hills trembled as he gazed at the enveloping mist.
Seven-Colored Dream—a beautiful and poetic name, yet it was a harbinger of death. Also known as the Death God’s Enchantment, it was said to exist only in the netherworld’s eerie fog.
Even martial artists at the Celestial Gang Realm would face certain death if caught within it. The Seven-Colored Dream intoxicates, dissolves the will, drains vitality, and ultimately brings demise.
Legend had it that at the dawn of the ancient era, the northwest of the Heavenly Ancient Continent suffered a massive outbreak of the Seven-Colored Dream, turning thousands of miles into a wasteland devoid of life.
“Go!”
The Seven-Colored Dream continued to spread outward from the mountain, and Yang Li, without hesitation, led the surviving disciples away at top speed. Since even Celestial Gang Realm warriors could not withstand it, Luo Hao was surely doomed and there was no point wasting more time.
With Yang Li gone, Xue Yue and the yellow-robed man cast one last wary glance at the approaching mist, then swiftly departed. Within a few breaths, all factions scrambled to flee this place—the Death God’s Enchantment was no idle rumor.
“Sigh, it’s impossible. Let’s leave as well.”
Once everyone had gone, six of the seven Tianhai Sect disciples reappeared, gazing at the rolling, expanding mist. They could only sigh, then head toward Blood Spirit Mountain.
The multicolored mist surged and spread, engulfing all the places where the various powers had stood. Throughout the mountain path, only the intoxicating hues remained.
Deep within the crater’s darkness, Luo Hao’s chest bore a savage wound, cleaved from shoulder to waist, nearly splitting him in two. His blood was draining away, the Seven-Colored Dream gnawing at his vitality. He was held together by a single breath.
The mist poured madly into his limbs and bones, his once youthful face rapidly aging, black hair turning gray and white, eyes growing clouded and unfocused, the embryonic spirit in his dantian dimming to near extinction.
Buzz, buzz, buzz!
At the brink of death, the ancient mirror—rarely seen, revered as the master within Luo Hao’s dantian—emitted a soft hum. Suddenly, a surge of chaotic mist erupted from his dantian, isolating him from the Seven-Colored Dream. His dantian seemed a black hole, unleashing a terrifying suction that absorbed all the mist invading his body.
Cough, cough, cough—
After a long time, Luo Hao’s body finally responded. He reached forward into the darkness, suddenly touching something hard, and with all his remaining strength, pushed against it.
Bang!
A sound of stone falling echoed ahead. Luo Hao felt his body drop into emptiness, plummeting rapidly. But his wounds were too severe, and he soon slipped into unconsciousness, dimly aware of flashes of white light passing before his eyes.