Chapter 54: Omens Before the Storm

Everyone present realized a profoundly terrifying truth.

Besides low-level cultivators like Li Xiaonan, some of the most supreme figures from major sacred grounds and immortal families had also ventured deep into the Emperor's Tomb. They were the absolute pinnacle of this world. If accidents befell them as well, the entire world would undoubtedly descend into utter chaos!

"The world is about to plunge into chaos!" Once those individuals met with disaster, how many people left in this world could possibly hold the line?

Whenever the world faced widespread turmoil, calamity always struck the highest echelons first. With the eradication of the major powerhouses, a myriad of demons, ghosts, and monsters would inevitably crawl out from the shadows one after another.

In the past, the major immortal families and sacred grounds boasted countless powerful figures. The monsters lurking in the dark dared not stir up trouble, and even the currently awakened Primordial myriad races treated them with utmost caution. Ever since the Primordial era, the human race had stood as the masters of the heavens and earth, with countless proud talents springing up like bamboo shoots after a spring rain, generation after generation of monstrous prodigies keeping the torch alive.

Yet once these powerhouses fell, the Primordial myriad races would undoubtedly seize the opportunity to re-emerge and once again ride roughshod over the human race.

And this time, the human race would be utterly powerless to resist!

Young Master Wei glanced at little Nunni, lingered no longer, and turned away.

The Wei family also had an ancestor who had ventured deep into the Emperor's Tomb!

Cultivators left one after another. Some wore faces of exuberant joy, others bore expressions of heavy grief, while some appeared deeply composed yet were inwardly churning with agitation.

Without a delicate balance, a single moment of carelessness could trigger worldwide chaos and rivers of blood.

Who could say? Perhaps even an ancient immortal family or a transcendent sacred ground might be completely wiped out in this turmoil!

Luo Yan sighed earnestly, "A turbulent era! Yet it is also an opportunity!"

"Since antiquity, heroes are forged in chaotic times."

……

Lately, the atmosphere across the world had been stiflingly heavy, like the ominous prelude to a violent storm. Business at the Freshness Pavilion had slumped into a desolate state, bordering on utter neglect.

Luo Yan sat comfortably in a master's armchair, crossing one leg over the other, cracking melon seeds that had been nourished with the vital essence of life, taking it all easy and leisurely.

The Mirror of Time drifted up and down beside him. "Puppets don't even need to eat. What a waste!"

It remarked, leaving it ambiguous whether it was complaining about the vital essence-nourished melon seeds themselves or the waste of feeding such delicacies to a puppet.

Little Nunni lay in a small master's chair nearby, mimicking his posture with utmost seriousness. "Little Mirror, do you want to eat melon seeds too?"

The Mirror of Time felt a chill run down its spine. It really, really didn't want to provoke the person beside it—his origins were simply too immense!

"You actually have to peel the skin off these things one by one, and you barely get any meat out of them. They look unpalatable just by glancing at them!" the Mirror of Time grumbled. It had no idea who had invented such things; they were simply one of the universe's most useless creations!

Luo Yan said leisurely, "What do you know? Even puppets require maintenance! Without maintenance over a long period, they will break down sooner or later!"

The Mirror of Time muttered under its breath, "I'm your natal divine weapon, you know! Yet I've never seen you give me any maintenance!"

Luo Yan glanced at it sideways. "You? A born traitor! Maintaining you would be no different than aiding the enemy! I'm still debating whether I should extract the origin power from the River of Time to repair your body in the future!"

The Mirror of Time floated closer to Luo Yan, projecting a blurry human figure, and began kneading his head and massaging his shoulders in a flattering manner. "Daddy Luo, give me a chance! It was just that I had no choice back then, but now I only want to be a good dog to you! You tell me to bite whoever you want, and I'll bite them!"

Little Nunni blinked her eyes from the side, looking bewildered as she muttered, "A talking mirror is a dog!"

The Mirror of Time: "……"

Luo Yan: "……"

The outside world treated the situation with utmost gravity. Major families coaxed out their rare surviving ancestors to hold down the fort, while transcendent sacred grounds summoned forth generations of founding masters.

Ancestor-level figures rarely walked the mortal realm anymore; it seemed as though they had all vanished overnight!

Gradually, rumors began to circulate.

Perhaps those reclusive sect masters and ancestor-level figures had perished!

Some cultivators discovered that those who had previously ventured deep into the Emperor's Tomb were dying off one after another within the span of a single month. Their causes of death were exceptionally bizarre: their flesh would decay and vanish in the blink of an eye, leaving behind nothing more than a skeleton.

Regardless of whether they were in the Wheel of Sprit realm, the Dao Palace realm, the Four Extremities realm, or the Dragon Transformation realm, as long as they had entered deep into the Emperor's Tomb, they would inexplicably turn into skeletons.

Even half-step Mighty Figures, Mighty Figures, and Dao-Slashing Kings were incapable of resisting this bizarre and lethal curse.

Without exception, all these deceased cultivators shared a common trait: upon death, a red mark would appear on their foreheads. The lower their cultivation realm, the faster they died!

Those cultivators who had entered the Emperor's Tomb fell into panic, frantically seeking ways to save themselves. Even figures of unfathomable strength were no exception. When they looked inward at themselves, they found a red mark branded upon their foreheads—impossible to refine, impossible to purge, and incapable of being removed even by severing oneself. That mark had penetrated deep into their primordial spirits, branding their very souls.

Some cultivators accidentally acquired one or two divine herbs, which barely managed to delay their impending doom, causing the impending red mark to temporarily fade. Yet it was merely a drop of water on a burning cart of firewood—attempting to mend the fold after the sheep had already bolted, it was simply too late.

This crisis was of an overwhelmingly massive scale, sweeping across almost the entirety of Beidou. Countless powerful figures from various factions had ventured deep into the Emperor's Tomb and been branded by the red mark.

The turmoil sparked by this crisis was only just beginning.

With the spread of a spine-chilling piece of news, everyone's hair stood on end.

A severely wounded powerhouse at the Saint realm... had also been baptized by the red mark... resulting in the complete contamination of their spiritual sea, the decay of their physical body, and their utter demise!

That was a Saint!

A supreme existence whose physical body remained incorruptible for thousands of years!

Even such an entity failed to escape this catastrophe; a body comparable to a divine weapon had been rotted away by the red mark!

This cast a heavy layer of gloom over everyone's hearts. Powerful figures across all factions, who shared the realm of Saints, began to feel an acute sense of self-preservation. They started frantically searching the world for divine herbs to delay their impending deaths, desperate to discover a way to save themselves.

Many cultivators sensed that the world was about to usher in the most terrifying turmoil in ten thousand years, one that would claim the lives of countless cultivators.

Once Saint-level powerhouses cast aside all restraint, it would be an apocalyptic disaster!

It was only for the moment that the Saints were still exercising restraint, though this restraint would gradually diminish as the number of dead cultivators in the world multiplied.

"In my youth, I once received guidance from a Saint, and among my peers, I had few rivals. I was truly a proud talent of my generation, capable of battling those in higher realms!

"I don't want to die! I truly don't want to die! My journey has not reached its end, and my Dao can still advance further!" wailed a Great Accomplishment King whose spiritual sea had been contaminated by the red mark, his flesh beginning to rot and his mind plunging into madness.

"A divine herb! Yes, a divine herb! Only a divine herb can delay my death! I must go find a divine herb!" The last embers of hope burned in his eyes as he charged toward the nearest sacred ground.

Divine herbs were exceedingly rare—not a single one might be born out of several thousand medicine kings. Perhaps only ancient immortal families and transcendent sacred grounds possessed one or two.

An ancestor-level Saint rushed forth from that sacred ground and ruthlessly slapped the Great Accomplishment King into a puddle of flesh, before drifting away indifferently, leaving behind nothing more than a skeleton on the ground, topped with a red mark on its skull—vibrant and glaringly eye-catching.

A Great Accomplishment King, a tyrannical overlord who once ruled a territory, a former proud talent, had thus died in bitter resentment, never to rise again!