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

Chapter 73 The Apostle's Shock

Apostle Realm.

Beneath the eternal dark gold sky, twelve void thrones float in boundless silence.

The thrones are arranged in a ring, with the distance between each one precise to the millimeter, as if some ancient ritual has been frozen into the architecture itself. The base is formed from pure dark golden light, which flows slowly within the base, like the core of a planet, like a prisoner star giving its last breath.

On the twelve thrones sat twelve apostles.

They are beings who descended from the heavens three hundred years ago. They are the creators of the darkest era in human history. Each guards a Hall of Apostles, and each possesses an absolute law etched into the very essence of the void. For three hundred years, they have sat in the deepest recesses of their respective Halls of Apostles, awaiting human challengers, awaiting that opponent who will never come, the one who can finally make them take things seriously.

Today, they opened their eyes at the same time.

Because the thirteenth throne was shattered.

The throne belonging to Astra, at the very end of the circular arrangement, silently transformed from its base to its back into dark golden specks of light, drifting into the void. These specks of light floated through the gaps between the other thrones, like a silent, golden snowfall.

The silence lasted for a long time.

The Fourth Apostle, Mephistopheles, spoke first. At this moment, she appeared as a young woman with short, silver-grey hair and deep purple eyes, her posture languid as if watching a drama unrelated to herself. Her law was "Mirror Image"—she could become anyone she had ever seen, replicating their appearance, memories, abilities, and even the deepest fears of their soul.

"Astra is dead." Her voice was soft, with a nonchalant languor. "Killed by a seventeen-year-old human in a school uniform."

She tapped her fingertip in the void, and a screen of light unfolded—within the silver sword vortex, Astra's body transformed into dark golden specks of light that scattered.

"Immortal and indestructible." The corners of her mouth widened. "He clamored for immortality and indestructibility for three hundred years. And what was the result? He was ground to dust by millions of swords. Trash."

"Is he a piece of trash?"

The Fifth Apostle, Baal, spoke. He appeared as a middle-aged man of about forty, with a burly build and skin the dark red of molten iron before it cooled. His hair was flame itself—orange-red, incandescent white, and dark gold flames burned silently atop his head. His eyes were pure black, without pupils, only two all-consuming slits of darkness. A vertical gash ran down the center of his chest, surging with dark gold light—that was the core of his law, the "Forge of War." The more he was wounded, the stronger he became. Each attack he received transformed the damage into pure power, which he could unleash tenfold, a hundredfold, intensity when needed.

"Three hundred years ago, I fought him for an entire day," Baal's voice was deep and rough. "His reversal law could reverse the amplification of my power. The more I fought, the weaker I became, and the stronger he became. In three hundred years, I challenged him three times, and lost all three."

His dark pupils stared at Mephistopheles, and he leaned forward, almost rising from his throne.

"He's trash? Then what am I, who can't even beat him?"

The Seventh Apostle, Sorger, raised his pure white eyes. His appearance betrayed no age; his head was smooth as a pebble, and he wore a white robe composed of countless layers of light membranes, with intricate runes flowing across its surface. His law was "Spatial Weaving"—in the blink of an eye, he could connect two completely unrelated spatial nodes, fold a continent into the size of a palm, or unfold a speck of dust into an endless labyrinth.

"Astra's problem isn't that his laws aren't strong enough." His voice was as calm as a precision instrument. "Immortality and reversal—the combination of these two laws is enough to rank him among the top six in the Apostle realm. But he made a fatal mistake."

He flicked his index finger, and the light screen unfolded—the image froze on Astra's expression as he faced the sword domain. He was laughing. With his arms outstretched and head tilted back, his long silver-white hair danced wildly in the sword wind, and his face wore an almost manic smile.

"He wasn't killed by Jiang Chen. He was killed by his own arrogance. Faced with a completely unknown enemy, he didn't probe, didn't retreat, didn't analyze. He chose to open his arms and meet the enemy's sword with his chest. And then he died."

The void remained silent for a long time.

The Twelfth Apostle, Morgiana, spoke. She appeared as a sixteen or seventeen-year-old girl, her skin almost translucent with pale whiteness, her long black hair reaching her waist, each sway leaving a fleeting black crack in the void. She had no eyeballs; her eye sockets were two bottomless black voids, within which something surged, like an undercurrent in an abyss. Her law was "Soul Scream"—in an instant, it could utterly shatter the spiritual world of any being with a soul, unstoppable by any physical or spiritual means.

"You're all here analyzing his death, calling him arrogant, calling him stupid," her voice was soft and delicate, like the wind rustling through withered petals, "but if any one of you had been standing there, what would the outcome have been?"

Her black void slowly swept over every apostle present.

"Sorger, can your spatial manipulation trap Jiang Chen?"

Sorgol paused for a moment. "I don't know."

"Baal, can your War Forge accumulate enough power to launch a counterattack before he grinds down your core of laws?"

Bahr remained silent for a long time. "I don't know."

Morgiana's lips curled up slightly, revealing a cold, almost morbid smile.

"Astra died, not because of his arrogance. It was because Jiang Chen's power exceeded our comprehension. It exceeded all our judgments about this world over the past three hundred years."

She paused for a moment.

"It exceeds the entire definition of the word 'powerful' in the Apostle realm."

In the void, there was a deathly silence.

That's enough.

A voice rang out.

This voice was unlike any of the previous apostles. Neither high nor low, neither hurried nor slow. Yet, the moment each word fell, the entire void trembled slightly. Not a tremor from the sound itself, but a deeper tremor, as if the very laws of nature were resonating within them. The dark golden light on the bases of the twelve thrones ceased flowing at the same instant, like rivers freezing upon hearing an ancient command.

All the apostles turned their gazes to the very top of the ring.

That is the first throne.

From the start of the meeting until now, the being on the throne has not uttered a single word. He has not moved a finger. He has not opened his eyes. He sits there, like a statue that has stood in the void since time immemorial, like the most silent, the heaviest, the most unshakeable foundation beneath this eternal dark golden sky.

At that moment, he opened his eyes.

First Apostle. Kahn.

He appeared to be a man in his thirties. He lacked Astra's exquisite, almost unreal, handsome beauty; Baal's volcanic fury; Sorger's otherworldly eeriness; and Morghana's chilling morbidity. He looked simply like a human. Tall and slender, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, his limbs were long and well-proportioned, every muscle line flowing smoothly like a riverbed eroded by millions of years of water.

His facial features were deep and sharp. His brow bones were high, like two mountain ridges stretching above his eye sockets, casting heavy shadows. His nose was high and straight, extending from his brow to his philtrum, its lines clean and sharp like the spine of a meticulously forged sword. His lips were thin and well-defined, slightly pursed…

His hair was black, extremely short, and lay flat against his scalp like a layer of black iron filings. His hairline was neat and sharp, and above his forehead was an old, vertical scar that stretched from his hairline to his brow—a mark left from a war that had lasted for thousands of years in another dimension, on another battlefield, before he descended to the Apostle Realm.

But what makes it impossible to look away is his eyes.

Those eyes were amber in color.

Three hundred years ago, the Apostles descended to earth, and thirteen Apostle Halls guarded the globe. The other twelve Apostles were assigned to their respective Halls by the highest laws of the Apostle Realm. Only Kahn chose the First Apostle Hall of his own volition. No one knew what trials awaited him within his Hall, for for three hundred years, no human had ever survived to reach its deepest depths. Thirty years ago, Ye Wuhen challenged the First Apostle Hall, only to be utterly defeated on the thirty-seventh floor by an attack he couldn't comprehend, barely escaping only by burning his own life force. Upon emerging, he uttered one sentence—"Humanity has hope."

At this moment, Kahn opened his amber eyes and calmly swept his gaze over each of the apostles present.

All the apostles lowered their eyes slightly under his gaze.

"Astra is dead."

Kahn spoke. His voice was soft, even low. But the moment each word fell, the entire void resonated, and the dark golden light on the twelve throne bases pulsed at the same frequency, as if the entire space itself was listening to his words.

"You've said a lot. Arrogance, stupidity, waste, the unknown, freedom."

His amber pupils slowly turned, looking at Mephistopheles.

"Mephisto, you call him trash. But your Mirror Law can't replicate the essence of Jiang Chen's power. You can't even analyze what that boy's power is, so what right do you have to call Astra trash?"

Mephistopheles' short, silver-grey hair twitched slightly. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but Kahn's gaze had already shifted away from her.

His pupils turned toward Bar.

"Baal, you said you challenged Astra three times and lost every time. You admit you're inferior to him. That's true. But do you know why you're inferior to him? It's not that your War Forge is inferior to his Reversal Law."

Baal's dark pupils contracted sharply.

Kahn's pupils turned toward Sorge.

"Sorger, you said Astra died from arrogance. Your analysis is very insightful. But your spatial weaving can't trap Jiang Chen. You know that yourself. You analyze Astra's death because you're afraid. Afraid that if one day Jiang Chen stands in front of you, will your spatial weaving be just like Astra's immortality—fragile at the slightest touch?"

The runes in Sorger's pure white eyes stopped flowing.

Kahn's pupils finally turned to Morgana.

"Morgana, you said Astra died from an unknown cause. You said Jiang Chen's power surpassed the entire definition of strength in the Apostle Realm. What you said is closest to the truth."

His amber eyes reflected Morgana's dark, empty eyes.

"But you forgot to mention one thing."

For the first time, the surging black matter in Morgana's eyes froze.

"Astra is dead, and Jiang Chen's power is beyond our comprehension—that's a fact. But what does this fact mean?"

Kahn's voice was still very soft, but every word made the void itself tremble.

"This means that for the first time in three hundred years, we have encountered an existence that should not exist in this world. Its power does not belong to any known system in this dimension."

He paused.

"That is true essence."

The instant the two words were uttered, the dark golden light on the bases of the twelve thrones trembled violently. The pupils of all the apostles contracted in that instant. Not out of fear, but because they had heard a word that should never have appeared in this world.

"True essence," Kahn repeated, "the power system of the cultivation civilization. Something that should exist in a higher dimension, in a more ancient universe."

His amber eyes slowly swept over each of the apostles present.

"You don't know what a cultivation civilization is. Because you were born too late. When I was born, the concept of apostles didn't even exist in the Apostle Realm. I have witnessed the rise and fall of countless civilizations, some of which followed a completely different path from ours. They didn't cultivate the laws, they cultivated immortality. They didn't comprehend the origin of the void, they didn't comprehend the Dao of Heaven. They didn't pursue immortality, they pursued longevity with heaven and earth, and brilliance with the sun and moon."

He paused for a moment.

"In the cultivation civilization, those who stand at the very pinnacle are called Immortal Emperors. Every Immortal Emperor is someone who has shattered the void, cleaved the heavens, comprehended the three thousand Great Daos, and ascended to the top of the world. Their power does not come from any external bestowal, but from within themselves. Thousands of years of arduous cultivation, tens of thousands of years of accumulating experience, and countless life-and-death battles have condensed their true essence to the extreme, honed their Dao heart to the extreme, and tempered their sword intent to the extreme."

Something was burning deep within his amber eyes.

"Astra didn't die from arrogance. He died in a head-on battle with an Immortal Emperor. His immortality was nothing more than a slightly thicker sheet of paper in front of the Immortal Emperor's true essence. His Law of Reversal didn't even have the right to struggle in front of the Immortal Emperor's Sword Domain."

In the void, there was a deathly silence. The twelve apostles remained motionless. Their pupils reflected Kahn's scarred face, and the burning flame deep within his amber eyes.

"So what should we do now?" Baal's voice broke the silence, deep and rough. "Since Jiang Chen is an Immortal Emperor, since his power is beyond our comprehension, are we just going to sit here and wait for him to come knocking on our door one by one? Wait for him to grind us to dust one by one like he did Astra?"

Kahn did not answer. He simply turned his head slightly to look at the other end of the circular arrangement.

That is the second throne.

From the start of the meeting until now, the Second Apostle has not uttered a single word. He has not opened his eyes. He has not moved a single finger. He sits there, his posture even more silent than Kahn's, his presence even more inconspicuous. If it weren't for the still flowing dark golden light on the throne's base, one would almost think that what sits there is not an apostle, but a lifeless statue.

He appeared to be a young man in his early twenties. Slender with long limbs, he wore a pure white, unadorned robe. His skin was fair, but not in a sickly pale way; rather, it was a healthy, jade-like white. His features were delicate and refined, with long, slender eyebrows, a straight nose, and thin, pale lips. His hair was silver-white, lighter and softer than Astra's, like moonlight spun into silk threads, cascading over his shoulders and gently swaying in the air. His eyes were closed. They had remained closed since the start of the meeting. His hands were clasped together on his knees, his fingers long and slender, his knuckles distinct, his posture serene like that of a meditating Buddha.

His name is Thran. His title is the Mirror of Nothingness.