Rebirth

Chen Guan did not answer. He stared at the remnant of the heart still beating faintly in front of him, and at the black conduits beneath it that were constantly being destroyed, only to regenerate moments later.

“Baal, are you trying to tempt me?”

Lord Bael’s laughter echoed in his mind, carrying that same eternal note of amusement.

“Tempt you? Lord Bael would never stoop to such lowly tricks. The kind and benevolent Lord Bael merely presents the facts.”

Chen Guan ignored the bait.

His attention fell on the scythe. The black mist coiling around its blade was being peeled away strand by strand by the divine might above, like droplets evaporating beneath the blazing sun.

The lingering hatred was vanishing.

But he had noticed something. Every time a strand of black mist was dissolved by the divine might, the weight pressing down on his soul would ease for the briefest instant.

He had figured it out.

“Baal, you said that lingering hatred is poison to Astaroth.”

“Yes. So what?”

“Poison means that it’s something Astaroth rejects. The divine might is actively dissolving the lingering hatred on my blade, treating it as a threat and dealing with it first.”

Baal’s voice paused, clearly intrigued.

“Go on.”

“If I transfer the lingering hatred from the blade to the area around my body, can it offset the effect of the divine might?”

A meaningful chuckle sounded.

“You want Astaroth’s divine might to stay busy dissolving the poison on your body, so it won’t have the strength to suppress your soul.”

“Exactly.”

Baal reminded him, “But think carefully. Once you do that, those negative emotions will flood back in. The intensity will be at least three times greater than before.”

“I understand.”

At last, Baal voiced the question that had been circling in the depths of his mind.

“Is it really necessary to go this far?”

“You just told me the meaning of risking everything.”

Baal fell silent.

The silence lasted for roughly two breaths before his voice surfaced again, carrying an indescribable undertone.

“Interesting, kid. You win. I hope you keep winning.”

“Then are you willing to help me keep winning?”

“Help with what?”

“Help me draw the lingering hatred from the blade onto the surface of my body. You understand how to control this kind of power better than I do.”

Baal’s laughter became exaggerated.

“Oh? You just turned down Lord Bael’s kind offer, and now you want Lord Bael’s help? What do you call that?”

“Making full use of available resources.”

“Tch. Lord Bael is not a thing. Whether I’m willing to help you is one matter, but whether your attitude is acceptable is another.”

The corner of Chen Guan’s mouth twitched.

“Yes, Lord Bael is not a thing. Thank you, Lord Bael.”

Baal was clearly oblivious to the profound subtleties of the Chinese language. He let out a smug hum.

“That’s more like it.”

The remaining black mist on the scythe began to flow. It crawled along the handle and over his fingers, then rapidly spread up his arm.

Those distorted faces reappeared before his eyes.

Weeping, howling, pleading, cursing—everything surged toward him, fiercer, denser, and more real than before.

The black mark in his palm burned hot. The barrier began to tremble, fine cracks spreading across its entire surface.

Baal’s voice cut through the noise, unnaturally clear.

“Hold on, kid.”

Chen Guan stood up.

The moment the lingering hatred covered his body, the crushing pressure on his soul weakened. The gaze cast down by the six-winged phantom changed from crushing him outright to tearing at him, while a massive amount of divine might was diverted to dissolve the black mist clinging to his skin.

The first step.

The second.

The third.

With every step he took, the blood-red patterns of the magic array beneath his feet twisted and dimmed under the lingering hatred seeping from his soles.

High above, the six-winged phantom emitted a shrill hum. Its twelve eyes narrowed in unison, and the pressure it projected downward surged severalfold.

But when that pressure slammed into the thin mist formed from the lingering hatred, the two forces annihilated each other, dissolving into nothingness.

Liu Xiao noticed.

He shoved away Long Ao, who was locked in combat with him, and turned to look toward the depths of the stage, his pupils contracting as he watched the figure walking forward.

“What are you doing? Stop!”

Long Ao’s right hand seized the back of his collar once again. He flashed a wide grin.

“What are you looking at? Your opponent is right here.”

Liu Xiao drove an elbow into Long Ao’s ribs. A muffled impact rang out. Long Ao grunted but did not loosen his grip.

Hong Yuan’s axe handle swept in from the side, forcing Liu Xiao to turn and block.

“Let go of me!”

For the first time, urgency seeped into Liu Xiao’s voice.

“Take a guess whether I will.”

Long Ao grinned, pleased that it was finally his turn to laugh.

The seventh step.

Chen Guan’s vision had already blurred. Memories that did not belong to him were overtaking his senses, making it impossible for him to tell whether he was stepping on the floor or on bones.

“Thirteen meters.”

Baal provided a friendly countdown.

The ninth step.

Most of the black mist covering his body had already dissipated. The divine might was devouring the lingering hatred at an accelerating pace, and he could feel the pressure on his soul beginning to rise again.

“Six seconds left.”

The eleventh step.

The barrier shattered. The light of the black mark went out, and all the negative emotions were no longer blocked by anything. They surged directly into his consciousness.

But he no longer needed the barrier.

Because he was already standing before the remnant of the heart.

The black conduits writhed at his feet. The stench of rotting flesh rushed over him. The shattered heart continued its final, feeble beats, sustaining the operation of the magic array.

There was not a trace of lingering hatred left on the scythe. Its blade was spotless.

His eyes were bloodshot, and dried blood stained the corner of his mouth. His consciousness repeatedly wavered between clarity and chaos.

Baal’s voice rang out faithfully.

“You’re here. Now what? What are you going to use to cut it?”

Chen Guan lowered his head and looked at the scythe, now completely devoid of any emotional power. Then he looked at the beating heart before him.

He smiled.

“Who says I have to use the power of lingering hatred to cut it?”

He turned the scythe around, pressing the end of its handle against the surface of the heart, while his left hand covered the blade.

The blade cut into his left palm. Blood trickled along the curve of the scythe and dripped onto the thin membrane covering the heart.

“What are you doing?”

Baal’s voice was filled with confusion.

Chen Guan did not answer. He pressed his bleeding left palm flat against the surface of the heart remnant, his fingertips sinking into the gaps between the writhing blood vessels.

Creation and Regeneration.

This was the supernatural ability he used the least in ordinary circumstances, since it primarily functioned as a passive skill.

Green light seeped out from between his fingers and wormed its way into the fine cracks covering the heart.

“Wait.” Well-traveled and knowledgeable as ever, Baal immediately realized what he intended to do. “You’re going to inject the power of life into it in reverse?”

“Mm.” Chen Guan openly acknowledged his intention.

“Every cell in that thing has been permeated by the will of a demon god. If you inject growth signals into it, the cells will multiply like mad. The entire structure will explode from within.”

“Isn’t that exactly what I want?”

“I’m talking about the backlash! Your palm is in direct contact with that thing. The proliferation signals from the corrupted cells will flow back into your body through the channels of your supernatural ability!”

“I know.”

“You know that, and you’re still pressing your hand against it?”

“There isn’t enough time, Baal.”

Chen Guan was the only person capable of doing all this.