"A storm?" On the bridge of the warship, the commander stared at the massive, all-encompassing clouds rolling in from the distant sky, his brows tightly furrowed and his expression grave. "We've actually run into a storm—this is going to be trouble."
Thunder rumbled as lightning flashed on the horizon; the gigantic tropical cloud mass moved across the sky like a walking giant, carrying an unstoppable force that no human could withstand. The swirling tropical depression clouds blanketed the sky, blocking out the sun—even seasoned sailors couldn't treat such extreme weather lightly.
Beneath those clouds were towering waves and raging winds—the most awe-inspiring fury of nature. For sailors, every storm was a harsh trial. With current human technology, it's still impossible to ignore such tempests.
The adjutant suggested, "Sir, maybe a storm isn't such a bad thing. In the chaos, the Black Death Emperor is less likely to be accurately targeted, which could ease our burden."
A storm would surely throw every warship's formation into disarray—enemy or ally, no matter how big the ship, none could avoid being tossed by the waves. Facing the wild, tempestuous sea, even a million-ton vessel would be flipped around like potato slices in a wok.
"Mm, I get it." The bearded captain nodded, but his expression remained tense. "But the real issue is, why is there a storm now? Our early-warning radar and weather satellites didn't say anything about this."
"Sir, are you worried... this storm is an enemy attack?" The adjutant was incredulous, half amused, half exasperated. "With all due respect, sir, the ocean's weather changes on a whim—it's unpredictable. Plus—oh?" He pressed his headset, listened to a report, then confidently told the commander, "Just got a satellite update: the cyclone heading northwest changed course due to air currents, and that's the storm we're seeing now."
This storm had a clear origin and explanation—nothing suspicious about it.
"Sir, what we need to consider now is: if the Black Death Emperor doesn't change course, he'll definitely run into this storm." He glanced at the nearby sea, where a figure in imperial robes strolled along unhurriedly. He walked with measured, deliberate steps, no different from a casual stroll, but the warship had to reach twenty-four knots just to keep pace with him.
"This is our best chance—if the enemy gets thrown into chaos by the storm, we might be able to seize the opportunity and capture our target! But at the same time, it could be their best chance too. They might use the storm to pull something—we can't let our guard down."
"Hmm..." The commander carefully considered the adjutant's suggestion. Right now, he really should focus on the real issue, not get paranoid about a naturally formed cloud mass. But for some reason, he couldn't help but keep staring at that storm in the distance. He just felt something was off about it.
He wasn't some pampered peacetime officer—he was a real warrior who'd fought his way through life-or-death battles. Sometimes, that indescribable gut feeling was more reliable than any high-tech sensor.
Unfortunately, pure instinct couldn't be the basis for a decision. So, he didn't mobilize resources to closely observe that storm cloud. He had no idea that beneath the pouring rain and crackling lightning, someone was floating in midair.
This person looked about thirty-five or thirty-six, not especially tall, dressed in an ornate, old-fashioned robe. He had flaxen hair, a hooked nose, and deep blue eyes that hinted at madness.
His eyes were only slightly open, exuding solitude and mystery. He stretched out his arms—whoosh! The wind whipped his robe, which seemed immune to the rain and danced wildly in the storm. Thunder rumbled, the ocean churned below, and the storm howled above. He floated right in the center of the storm cloud, striking a proud and dramatic pose. The cloud moved with him, heading toward the sealed-off 'anti-terror military exercise' zone.
"No master but my Lord..." His eyes opened a little wider as he gazed down at the distant fleet, hands raised like holding a holy scripture, and chanted loudly: "My Lord is almighty, and I shall stand beside Him!"
Thunder crashed, sea mist surged, and a cloud bank rushed ahead, gathering toward the exercise zone...
Three hours later, Patrick Zade received a photo after a long, silent wait.
In the photo, the sky was dark, thunder crashed, and waves surged everywhere. Amid this chaos, the thirty-five-year-old man hovered above the sea, his feet never touching the water. Thick fog surrounded him, but behind the mist, missiles and machine guns fired nonstop—flashes and smoke filled the air. It was a battlefield, and the man was surrounded by endless fleets.
But the man ignored all the fleets, treating them as if they didn't exist. He simply stared intently at another person not far ahead—a man heading east, unstoppable, unrivaled, number one on the Heavenly Ranking: the Black Death Emperor.
That's right—the man in the photo was surrounded by thousands of troops, locked in a distant standoff with the Black Death Emperor.
"Sir, this photo's already been posted on the Global Observation Agency website, and the Chosen Ones forum is exploding with discussion." The old man explained quietly, "The agency hasn't made an official statement, but many Chosen Ones now believe he's ranked second on the Heavenly Ranking."
"Second on the Heavenly Ranking? Hmph, what a title." Patrick Zade put down his wineglass, staring at the thirty-five-year-old man for a long moment before breaking into a wild grin, then a full-on manic laugh: "'God,' huh? What a 'God'! Whether it's the Pantheon or him, who doesn't want to claim the name of a god? But I want to see who gets to climb the ladder and who gets stepped on! Hahahahahaha!"
——————————————— Divider ———————————————
While the Americans across the ocean were cackling and losing their minds, things were perfectly calm and orderly on this side.
Shanghai, at ground zero—a woman hovered in midair, radiant and glowing. Over the past three days, staff had come and gone, each busy with their own tasks, but no one disturbed her. It was as if, deep down, everyone felt her floating above was perfectly normal and didn't affect them at all.
At most, when tired or weary, they'd look up at the woman in the sky, see her dedication, and feel a surge of motivation. After a grateful smile, they'd throw themselves back into work with even more enthusiasm—like the old revolutionary spirit was back.
For three days straight, the woman in the air hadn't slept or rested for a moment. At every mealtime, staff quietly prepared food and water for her below, but she hadn't touched a drop or a grain. She simply stretched her arms like a dancer, remotely controlling her arrows. After three days of effort, the three light arrows—Seal, Forbid, and Sever—were firmly pinned in the void.
Intricate patterns, like embroidered stitches, wove an enormous ring in the void. As she finished the last stroke, the ring closed, flashing with light. The woman focused all her energy, and after a moment, the inscription slowly faded—like dried ink, impossible to change once set.
"Whew..." The woman let out a gentle breath and wiped her forehead, where a sheen of sweat had appeared.
"All done?" An expert poked his head out from a half-collapsed building, ignoring all the weirdness and greeting her like a regular neighbor: "Nice work! Want to take a break and grab a bite?"
The woman smiled and nodded, about to say something when her eyes suddenly shifted to the void. In her gaze, a faint starlight appeared—unseen by ordinary people—like two arrows piercing through the barrier of space and reaching into the unknown. The next moment, a miniature White Night appeared in the sky, and—whoosh—a beam of light broke through and descended in front of her.
With the sound of rushing water, that beam of light expanded into a water mirror. The stream spun, forming the mirror's edge. The woman gazed at the reflection: it showed a dark night, an ancient well, an elf, and a Chosen One being forced into the well by magic.
The timelines of all worlds began to intertwine and weave together, using this mirror as the medium.
But this was completely at odds with what the woman wanted to do—a total conflict.
The woman's brows furrowed. With a decisive wave, the starlit water mirror shattered and disappeared. She reached out as if picking a flower, and from the collapsing light and shadow, plucked a sparkling drop of water. It was both real and unreal, existing and not. If it weren't in her hand, it couldn't have manifested on Earth.
Whoosh—the woman's luminous wings fluttered as she quickly landed. Holding the drop of water in her left hand, she strolled into a bio-car. She'd barely shut the door when a special patrol squad arrived, sent by Cobra to investigate strange events in Shanghai. But no matter how sharp they were, they just missed her.
They simply couldn't track her down.
Inside the car, the woman massaged her shoulder—after all that work, even she was tired. Patching the sky isn't easy. She took a sip of milk tea, swallowed, and closed her eyes for a quick rest, but soon opened them again, deep in thought.
"The initial ring inscription is woven, but why did that happen? Looks like the rampaging miasma is eroding the spacetime barrier here more severely than I thought. Still, it wasn't particularly strong—shouldn't be normal infiltration. Maybe it's because this is connected to me personally."
The woman wasn't wrong—because at that very moment, Luo Yuxi was thinking about her.
Although Luo Yuxi had never met her, the concept was crystal clear in his mind. Descriptions, imagination, and most importantly, their intertwined fates—all these threads wrapped neatly around the woman. Thanks to the intervention of the Well of Destiny, she was able to sense the disturbance in Shanghai, where the barrier was thin.
"Let me see what's really going on." The woman spun her left hand, and the drop of water started whirling. She couldn't fully reverse-scry, but she could check the records in the droplet—which was exactly why she'd kept it. The water glowed and spread into a mist.
Images appeared in the mist. The woman focused and saw—red candles burning, Princess Xiuyu and Princess Yihua blushing and blissful, snuggled up on either side of a certain blockhead...
The woman's gaze went blank, her eyes wide and mouth agape—she could've fit an egg in there.
The divine power kept the images coming, flashing one after another. From Fang Lingji to Yihua Palace, the grand brothel, then Lady Sanmiao—whatever Galadriel saw, so did this woman. The images moved fast, but with her sharp eyes, it was like watching in slow motion.
When the scene got to the blockhead and Galadriel having a wild, earth-shaking tryst, this goddess-like woman finally snapped out of her shock, a big cross-popping vein bulging on her forehead.
Bang! The water mist suddenly exploded and vanished. The always calm goddess started grinding her teeth, fists clenched, furious—her eyes almost flashed black light. Goddess vibes? Gone.
"Yang! Qi! You just wait for me!!"
On Sun Moon Peak, after forging a divine weapon, the blockhead and Yang Qi were bickering and horsing around. But just as they were joking around, the blockhead suddenly froze, his neck shrank as if hit by a cold draft to the back of the head. He rubbed his nape, puzzled and a bit uneasy—something felt off.
"Just now I suddenly felt a chill on my back—did you feel it too?"