After a thousand years of cultivation, he returns at the pinnacle!

Chapter 58 The End

In the void, the meteorite slowly disintegrated under the shroud of amber light.

Ye Wuhen watched this scene, and his hand holding the sword dropped.

His swordsmanship, the "Return to One" that he took thirty years to comprehend, was seen through, learned, and even surpassed by the thirteenth apostle in just three seconds. That amber light was stronger, purer, and closer to some ineffable essence than his.

Zhou Tianze staggered to his feet. The wound on his chest, torn open by the blood-red light, was still bleeding, deep enough to expose the bone. Each breath pulled at the ruptured muscle fibers, causing the veins on his forehead to bulge with pain. But he stood straight, his bare upper body resembling a scarred statue in the void. He still gripped the short spear in his right hand, the dents on its shaft particularly glaring in the dark golden light.

"Again," he said, his voice hoarse, but his tone was calmer than someone who had just been knocked away.

Luo Qinghe stood beside him, the bleeding from the tiger's mouth of his right hand had stopped, but his whole arm was trembling slightly.

She didn't speak, but simply turned slightly to the side, shifting her weight back to her left foot, and stepped back with her right leg, assuming a stance to strike again.

The thirteenth apostle looked at them, his golden pupils devoid of mockery or pity, only displaying an almost bored calm. He hovered in the void, his long, silvery-white hair swaying gently behind him, his black robes without a single wrinkle. He raised his right hand, his long, pale fingers casually drawing a circle in the air.

"Don't you understand?" he said, his voice still soft, but this time, every word was like the tolling of a bell from ancient times, echoing in the void and exploding in the depths of everyone's soul. "You have exhausted all your strength, used up everything you have accumulated over thirty years, depleted your spiritual power, bled your blood, and risked your lives—to me, it is nothing but a pastime."

His finger stopped in mid-air.

"For three hundred years, I've watched you grow, break through, and think you've reached new heights, generation after generation. Each time, I thought this time would be more interesting. Each time, you disappointed me."

He withdrew his hand and placed it behind his back.

"Your human limits are nothing more than this."

Zhou Tianze didn't let him finish speaking.

He moved. The short spear in his right hand drew a silver-white arc in the void, and he transformed into a streak of light, rushing towards the thirteenth apostle. This time, he didn't use the lightning spear, the lightning core, or any ranged attacks—he poured all his lightning spiritual power into his body, strengthening his muscles, bones, and nerves, pushing his speed, strength, and reaction to the limit.

Close combat.

This is his area of ​​expertise, and his only hope.

He charged at the thirteenth apostle, his short spear thrusting upwards at his throat. The thirteenth apostle slightly tilted his head, dodging the thrust with the ease of avoiding a passing mosquito. Zhou Tiance's second strike followed—the spear retracted, then slashed horizontally towards his neck. The thirteenth apostle staggered back half a step; the slash grazed his black robe, leaving a very fine, almost invisible scratch on the fabric.

Zhou Tianze did not stop. The third strike, the fourth strike, the fifth strike—his attacks were relentless, like a storm, like a thunderbolt. The short spear in his hand transformed into a silver-white lightning bolt, piercing towards the thirteenth apostle's vitals from every angle and direction. Each strike concentrated all his remaining spiritual power, each strike was enough to pierce the apostle giant's chest.

The Thirteenth Apostle had been dodging the attack. He retreated, turned to the side, lowered his head, and tilted his head—every movement was perfectly timed, avoiding Zhou Tianze's attack precisely, not a fraction more or less. His expression remained unchanged; his golden pupils weren't even focused on Zhou Tianze, but rather gazed casually into the depths of the void, as if looking at something much farther away.

"Your speed, in your own perception, is already very fast," he began, his tone still calm. "But do you know? Fast and slow are relative. To you, each of your strikes is so fast it's invisible. To me—"

He raised his left hand, joined his index and middle fingers together, and gently pinched them in mid-air.

Zhou Tianze's short spear stopped in mid-air.

"—Slow as if still."

The thirteenth apostle twisted his fingers slightly.

The tip of the short spear began to twist from where it was gripped, the metal emitting a piercing, teeth-grinding hiss. The twisting spread from the tip to the shaft, and from the shaft to the hilt, like a wrung-out towel. Zhou Tianze gripped the hilt with both hands, feeling the twisting force traveling through the shaft to his hands; his tiger's mouth was tearing, the skin on his palms was burning, and his knuckles were cracking.

He let go.

The short spear continued to twist in the thirteenth apostle's hand, finally breaking in two. The break was not a clean cut, but a twisted, torn one, as if twisted by an invisible giant hand. The two broken spears floated in the void, slowly rotating, like two small, metallic coffins.

The thirteenth apostle loosened his fingers, and the broken spear slipped from between his fingers, drifting into the depths of the void.

Zhou Tianze stared at the two broken spears, remaining silent for a moment. That short spear had been with him for twenty years, ever since he was an A-level Awakened. It had accompanied him through the Seventh Apostle Hall, through the loss of his left eye, and through the slaying of countless apostles and demon gods. Its shaft bore thirty-seven dents, each a mark of a life-or-death battle.

Now, it's broken.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something. But before he could utter a sound, the thirteenth apostle's right hand was already pressed against his chest.

The hand was very light, as light as a feather falling on the skin. But Zhou Tianze felt as if a mountain was pressing down on his chest, his ribs were creaking, the air in his lungs was being squeezed out, and his heart was pounding wildly in his chest. Every contraction was countered by the pressure of that hand, as if he were being gripped by an invisible hand.

He looked down at the hand. Pale, long, with distinct knuckles, it looked too fragile to be capable of harming anyone. But this was the same hand that had just snapped his short spear in two fingers, sent him flying over a hundred meters with a single blow, and was now pressed against his chest, poised to pierce his flesh, ribs, and heart at any moment.

"I've said it before, this is the limit of what you humans can achieve."

The Thirteenth Apostle's voice was soft, but every word was like a dull knife grinding against bone.

"For three hundred years, you have been asking—what exactly are the Apostles? Where does their power come from? Where are their weaknesses? You have studied for countless years, written countless papers, and conducted countless experiments, and what conclusions have you reached?"

With a slight tightening of his fingers, a faint cracking sound came from Zhou Tianze's chest.

"The conclusion is—you know nothing."

He withdrew his hand.

Zhou Tianze's body fell from the void like a puppet with its strings cut.

Luo Qinghe rushed up.

Her spiritual energy was almost depleted, blood was still seeping from the wound on the web of her right hand, and her left arm remained motionless at her side, yet her speed was still astonishing. Ice

She rushed to the thirteenth apostle, her ice sword aimed straight for his heart.

The thirteenth apostle did not dodge. He simply stood there, watching the ice sword thrust towards him, his golden pupils reflecting the cold light swirling on the blade.

The ice sword pierced his chest.

Ding.

A crisp, metallic sound echoed in the void. The tip of the ice sword pierced his heart, but couldn't penetrate. Something beneath his black robe blocked the sword's tip.

She gritted her teeth and poured the last bit of ice-elemental spiritual power into the blade. The color of the sword changed from transparent to indigo, then to deep purple, and fine cracks began to appear on the blade—a sign of spiritual power overload, the sword was about to give way.

"I told you, your ice can't hurt me."

The Thirteenth Apostle's voice came from above. Luo Qinghe looked up and saw him looking down at her, his golden pupils reflecting her pale face.

He raised his right hand and gently touched the tip of the ice sword with his index finger.

The thirteenth apostle withdrew his finger, and Luo Qinghe's body floated backward. She tried to steady herself, but her right arm was frozen in ice, and her left arm was immobile. She tumbled several times in the void before finally stopping beside Zhou Tianze. She knelt on one knee in the void, her head bowed, her silver ponytail falling from her shoulder, obscuring her face. Her right arm was encased in that layer of ice, which gleamed with a cold light in the void, like an ice glove tailor-made for her.

But that glove couldn't be taken off.

She tried several times, but the ice-type spiritual energy in her body had no effect on the ice shell.

She raised her head and looked at the thirteenth apostle.

For the first time, emotions she had never shown appeared in those clear, cold eyes.

Ye Wuhen remained standing in the same spot.

He hadn't moved an inch from beginning to end. From the moment Zhou Tianze's spear broke to the moment Luo Qinghe's right arm was frozen solid, he remained standing in the same spot, his left hand behind his back, his right hand gripping the longsword without its scabbard. The tip of the sword pointed diagonally at the ground, the amber light on the blade completely gone, leaving only the cold, silvery-gray metallic color.

His face was expressionless. But those who knew him knew that the more expressionless he appeared, the more turbulent his emotions were.

Zhou Tianze lay in the void, the indentation in his chest slowly healing—the awakened one's self-healing ability was at work, his ribs were reconnecting, and his muscles were regrowing, but at a snail's pace. His spiritual power was almost exhausted, and every cell in his body was sending out hunger signals, but his right eye remained open, the figure of the thirteenth apostle reflected in its pupil.

Luo Qinghe knelt on one knee in the void, her right arm frozen in ice, her left arm hanging limply at her side. Her head was bowed, her long, silvery-white hair obscuring her face. She didn't cry—she had only cried twice in her life, once when her mother died, and once when her left arm was crippled. But now she didn't cry, because she knew crying was useless.

After a brief period of frenzy, the chat in the live stream fell into an eerie, oppressive silence.

"It's over."

A comment slowly floated by, containing only two words, but it expressed everyone's feelings.

"For three hundred years, even the three strongest humans couldn't injure him."

"His clothes aren't even wrinkled, did you see that? After fighting for so long, his clothes aren't wrinkled at all."

"Zhou Tianze's short spear broke... that short spear that had been with him for twenty years..."

"Luo Qinghe's right arm is frozen. She used ice to freeze others for a lifetime, and now she is being frozen by others."

"Ye Wuhen is still standing, but what can he do? His sword has already been seen through."

"Is this the apostle? Is this the thirteenth apostle?"

No one answered the question. Because everyone was asking the same question in their hearts, and everyone knew the answer in their hearts.

Is the dark age of three hundred years ago really going to repeat itself today?

In the void, the thirteenth apostle remained suspended in the same spot, his position and posture unchanged. His long, silvery-white hair swayed gently behind him, and his black robe shimmered with a dark golden light in the void. His pure golden pupils slowly rotated, scanning from Zhou Tiance to Luo Qinghe, and from Luo Qinghe to Ye Wuhen.

"Three hundred years." He spoke again, his voice still soft, but this time, there was a hint of weariness in his tone that he himself wasn't aware of. "Do you know how I've felt looking at you humans for these past three hundred years?"

He did not wait for a reply.

"It's like someone squatting on the ground watching ants move their food. At first, it's interesting; you observe how they carry food, how they dig their burrows, and how they cooperate. But after a while, it gets boring. Because no matter how hard they try, no matter how smart or powerful they think they are, in the eyes of the person squatting there, they will always just be ants."

He raised his right hand, palm up, fingers slightly spread. In his palm, a dark golden light was gathering, growing brighter and more dazzling, like a miniature sun being born. That power—that destructive power, enough to tear the entire void apart—was converging, compressing, and taking shape in his palm.

"I gave you three hundred years. Three hundred years for you to grow, for you to become stronger, for you to feel hopeful. But now—"

His five fingers slowly clenched, compressing the dark golden light in his palm into a fist-sized, almost black sphere. Dark golden patterns flowed across the surface of the sphere, like a supernova about to explode being sealed in a thin shell. It hovered above his palm, slowly rotating, radiating a suffocating sense of oppression.

"I'm tired of it."

He raised his eyes, his golden pupils looking at Ye Wuhen.

"Ye Wuhen, you are the strongest among humans. Your swordsmanship, your 'Return to Oneness,' is the highest achievement that awakened humans have reached in the past three hundred years. I admire you very much."

His voice remained calm, but every word felt like a dull knife grinding against bone.

"Therefore, I will let you die last. Watch your companions go first, and then carry this pain to your end."

The dark golden sphere flew from his palm, heading towards Zhou Tianze. It wasn't fast; in fact, it was very slow—slow enough that everyone could see its trajectory, slow enough that Zhou Tianze could clearly see it flying towards him, and slow enough that he could clearly feel the aura of death drawing ever closer.

But he couldn't escape it.

His body was no longer under his control. The dent in his chest hadn't fully healed, the cracks in his ribs still throbbed, his spiritual energy was almost depleted, his muscles were trembling, and his nerves were numb. He lay in the void, watching the dark golden sphere fly towards him, feeling as if time was stretched out, each second feeling like an eternity.