To the Manichaean Sect, internal energy is a mysterious Eastern art—one not everyone can master. Few among the Manichaean followers actually possess internal energy, but with the Will of the Sacred Flame backing them, they fight like they've been blessed by the gods.
The four big Saint Kings led the charge on the city walls, going full-on hack-and-slash mode. They drove back every enemy who tried to climb up, smashed the ladders to bits—absolute carnage. These four were already skilled, but with the Will of the Sacred Flame powering them up, they were unstoppable, way beyond your average sect member.
But these four Saint Kings weren’t enough to scare off the priests of the Eternal Sky Cult. The priests hadn’t made a move themselves yet—partly because the mysterious Saint King who’s been passed down through legend hasn’t shown up, and nobody wants to risk it. Partly, well, they’ve got their own secret reasons.
Just like Jill Young predicted, the Mongol Army pulled back in no time.
The Fortress City’s gates were battered, ready to fall apart, and every inch of the wall was splattered with blood. Corpses—ours and theirs—were piled up everywhere. We were short on people to begin with, and now we’re practically scraping the bottom of the barrel. It looked like if the Mongol Army just pushed a little harder, they’d win for sure.
But the Mongols decided to stop attacking and take a breather. Most folks had no clue why, but a few at the very top knew the real story.
Tom Seven was definitely one of those in the know.
First, he headed to the main tent, where the Silver Priest was quietly meditating, looking all serene. He sat cross-legged on the high platform like some Buddhist Bodhisattva, surrounded by thick incense smoke. The haze swirled around, and his pale face started turning red—though not in a healthy way. More like he’d popped some ultra-rare secret medicine to squeeze out his last bit of strength.
That was the price he paid. If Dr. Long Fang’s eighteen scholars hadn’t crashed the party, he’d have been dead on Mystic Isle ages ago.
Tom Seven then popped into another tent, where a huge wooden barrel gave off a nose-burning stench. The Sixth Copper Priest was soaking in some mystery brew, bobbing up and down in boiling water while flames roared underneath. The dried-up old guy was now puffed up like a giant balloon, swollen all over and seriously creepy to look at.
That was his price—if he hadn’t gone full "fight poison with poison" mode, he’d have been toast from his own toxic wind.
Tom Seven moved on again, heading to a corner even the Wolfguard Corps wouldn’t touch. In this creepy, sinister nook sat a massive black coffin, its lid barely cracked open. Inside lay a person who looked straight out of a horror movie—body falling apart, barely held together, face missing skin, and even the muscles and tendons shriveled and rotten.
Rows of bone-white teeth were exposed to the air, eyeballs stuck in sockets that wouldn’t close, and the nose was just two holes—basically a mummy. The coffin was packed with women’s heads, and the mummy’s hands rested on two especially beautiful ones. These two used to belong to the Manichaean Sect’s Saintesses, but now, they were his.
This was Master Ruin.
This was the price he paid.
"So, how you holding up?" Tom Seven asked Master Ruin coolly. "Still alive?"
"Alive?" Master Ruin’s mouth creaked open, like a mummy suddenly coming back to life. His bloodshot eyes swiveled, glaring at Tom Seven, and his voice rasped like an old, busted tape: "You really think I count as alive?"
"Hmph, you’re just not good enough, that’s all. Who you gonna blame?" Tom Seven reached out and tugged at the huge wound on Master Ruin’s waist, like some forensic examiner poking around a corpse. "But for you to survive this mess, I gotta admit, that’s some serious skill."
Even after all that, Master Ruin’s expression didn’t change—though, honestly, his face couldn’t change color even if it wanted to. The wound tore and split with a wet, squishy sound, but weirdly, no blood came out. Instead, an eerie green energy swirled around the gash, sealing it up. Master Ruin’s body was getting disturbingly close to a real corpse.
"Heh heh heh, I won’t die, I won’t die... Those two Manichaean Saintesses never practiced internal energy, but the Sacred Flame they carried had some real tricks. It matched my yin and yang, pushed me half a step further. Still, those two are nothing compared to that woman—nothing at all! She’s the real deal, pure yin turned pure yang. I need her, I have to have her!" Master Ruin’s voice grew crazier, his eyes glued to Tom Seven. "Will she come? Will she really show up?"
"Gavin Guo said in his last message that the White Tiger hasn't headed west yet. But I don't trust that guy—I trust my own gut. That woman is Jade Hawk Johnson's partner, and not just her, Jade Hawk Johnson himself will definitely show up." As Tong Seven's mind flashed back to the chaos at the Xiangyang Conference, he remembered those wild, devilish eyes. He was absolutely sure of his feeling: "He will come—for us. To kill us."
"Hahaha, bring it on, bring it on! Jade Hawk Johnson, that crazy broad—either one works for me, just come at me!" Baishun howled like a lunatic, his whole body radiating eerie green energy, ready to go berserk.
Tong Seven frowned, slammed the coffin lid shut, sealing everything inside. Thud, thud, thud—he hammered ten huge nails around the lid with his bare hands, locking Baishun in for good.
"That woman’s fate is up in the air, but Jade Hawk Johnson isn’t getting away. So rest up and save your strength—you’ll deliver the final blow when the time comes."
A muffled voice echoed from the coffin: "Fine, Jade Hawk Johnson works for me! I want him dead, I want him to taste every ounce of pain this world has to offer! How much longer? When’s he coming? I can’t wait anymore!"
Tong Seven looked toward the distant city walls, a deep light flickering in his eyes: "The killing’s happening soon."
White Tiger of the West, Lord of Metal, the world’s top flower thief, the number one villain—Silver Priest pulled out all the stops to deal with this guy. They watched every move of this infamous killer, even mobilized tens of thousands of troops. With the army at full strength, if he dares show up, he won’t leave alive.
But Tong Seven suddenly felt a pang of regret.
A true powerhouse shouldn’t go out like this…
The moon rose and fell. The sun rose and fell. Brandon’s people kept a constant eye on the Mongol army’s movements. The Mongols attacked the city every day—their assaults neither fierce nor weak, just steady enough to keep the pressure on. The city’s first gate finally gave way. At the command of the Law King, the followers abandoned the first wall and fell back to defend the second.
Even though the city had several layers of walls and solid defenses, everyone knew—the day it falls is near.
The war kept getting worse, and everyone’s nerves were fraying.
First, Faye Bright sought out Jill Young: "The Promised Land is on the brink, and we’re about to lose the city. If we can’t hold out, everything we’ve worked for goes up in smoke. Where’s your backup? Will they make it? When are we heading to the Promised Land?"
Jill Young squeezed her eyes shut, her breath slow and steady, sharpening her inner strength: "Whether the others make it or not, we’re moving. Departure’s soon."
Then Simone came to Jill Young: "The poisonous mist has reached Joan’s shoulder—the venom’s about to hit her heart. When are we moving? The Heaven’s Doom Stele and the Promised Land are tied together. We need the Heaven Gate open to get in, but what if it won’t open?"
Jill Young sat cross-legged, channeling her energy, forging her body: "Whether the Promised Land opens or not, once the Heaven’s Doom Stele awakens, we move. Not too early, not too late—one shot, all or nothing. The moment of truth is coming soon."
Deep inside the Promised Land, before the mysterious stone wall, an old man stared at the glowing runes he couldn’t suppress and let out a long sigh: "Life or death—it’s coming soon."
Second night: Joan stitched her cloak, needle by needle. The bold letters took shape fast, and as she neared the final steps of transferring her martial energy into the Cloak of Dominion, she reached a critical breakthrough. When she finished the last stitch and bit off the golden thread, she finally understood the missing piece.
She blew out the candle. After so many sleepless nights, she finally relaxed a little, smiling as she closed her eyes for a short nap.
The end is near.
Third day, atop Jing Mountain, Gavin Guo furrowed his brow. He gazed into the depths of the blue abyss, as if he could see a storm invisible to ordinary eyes.
"Heaven stirs to kill, shifting stars and destinies. Earth stirs to kill, dragons and snakes rise from the land. Man stirs to kill, the world twists and turns. White Tiger heads west, Metal slays the sky. The fate of the world is right here." Snap! Gavin Guo’s finger split open out of nowhere, blood spurting everywhere. He stared dumbly at the wound, stunned for a moment, then burst into wild laughter: "The time has come! The time has come!!"
Boom—far off in the deep west, in the heart of the Promised Land, a powerful aura exploded.
The whole Promised Land seemed to come alive, some unimaginable, colossal presence bursting into everyone’s senses like the Big Bang.
Like the sky itself, like the stars, shaking the ancient heavens.
A surreal field unfolded, blanketing a hundred miles.
Whoosh—mighty winds rise, clouds fly high.
The wind wasn’t strong, but it never stopped. The clouds weren’t thick, but the sky turned dark as dusk.
One moment the sun blazed in a spotless blue sky, the next, the heavens went dark under some unfathomable force.
It wasn’t pitch black, not like night, not so dark you couldn’t see your hand. People could still see each other. What dimmed wasn’t the actual light—it was the feeling that some vast, unimaginable power was blocking out the sky. Under its shadow, every living thing felt its own smallness.
Shing! Silver Priest snapped open his eyes—a bolt of lightning seemed to flash in them. The time had come!
Crash! The Sixth Bronze Priest shot out of his barrel, wild-eyed and twitching—time was up!
Crunch! A pair of ghostly hands ripped apart a coffin, the roar shaking the heavens—time was up!
Woo-woo-woo! Horns blared across the camp, armored soldiers rushed out of their barracks, snapping to attention at their officers’ shouts. No explanation needed—everyone knew, the time had come.
Tong Seven looked back the way he came, hoping and regretting at the same time. He knew someone would show up.
In a hidden room in the small town, Jill Young’s eyes snapped open.
The void shook, her eyes blazing like fire. This time, she didn’t hold back—the power inside her was unleashed, no more pretending. Her whole body shuddered, and her old-fashioned clothes exploded into flying dust. Black leather jacket, black pants, black boots—one after another, she suited up in her signature look.
"This is the look that suits me best."
"Whoa, what the heck!" Faye Bright burst in, yelling, then stopped dead: "Uh—what are you wearing?"
"Pay attention—this outfit is called the 'Hatred Mold.'" Swish! Jill Young slid on her sunglasses, her whole vibe turning wild and unstoppable. Rage surging, blade in hand, boots stomping, she strode out, killing intent sky-high.
When she put on that outfit, it was the moment the Queen of Eternal Night returned to stir up a storm.
She stepped forward, left hand raised: "Joan!"
Creak—Joan pushed open the door, radiating endless fighting spirit: "I’m here!"
She took two steps, right hand beckoning: "Simone!"
Swish—Simone flashed into view, purple mist swirling: "Present!"
She rolled her shoulders, a sharp smile growing: "Let’s go!"
"Alright, let’s go!" The three of them lined up shoulder-to-shoulder and marched forward.
"Hey, wait up! Listen to me!" Faye Bright hurried after them: "The Mongols found our agents. Now every hill’s crawling with guards—we can’t sneak past them anymore—"
"I never planned on sneaking!" With a flick of her wrist—boom—a Reverse-Flow Motorcycle appeared out of thin air. Another flick—whoosh—flame tides surged into the engine. Deep red hellfire blazed up. Jill Young swung her long legs over the bike, bold and wild. Left foot on the gear, right hand on the throttle—vroom! It roared like a demon, the Reverse-Flow revving to life, hellfire shooting three feet high.
Jill Young’s hair flew, her blood surged like a soaring dragon, her aura growing wilder and more intense—
"I’m blasting through—let’s see who dares stand in my way!"