Chapter 384

After a long while, he rose and walked out of the room.

Outside, Cangxuan and Yuliuli were meditating. Their injuries were not light, but their spirits were remarkably good. After all, they had just taken part in a battle worthy of the history books—slaying a Spirit Transformation cultivator while at Nascent Soul stage.

Yunhao was tallying the casualties among the refugee warriors. In this battle, another thirty-seven died and fifty-eight were seriously wounded. Yet his face showed no sorrow, only pride.

They held the line.

They survived.

They, with their own eyes, witnessed the fall of a Spirit Transformation cultivator.

Profound Turtle Venerable lay on a stretcher, carried by several refugee warriors. His injuries were too severe to move for a short time, but his mouth never stopped, boasting to the warriors carrying him about how he had just withstood the Spirit Transformation's attack head-on.

"You don't know, just a moment ago I thought I was going to die! But then I thought, no, if I died, what would happen to those kids behind me? So I gritted my teeth and withstood forty-two Spears of Order! Forty-two! Do you know what that means……"

The warriors carrying him laughed and cried, yet they could not bear to interrupt him.

Herb Immortal busied herself nearby, treating the wounded. Though her spiritual power was greatly depleted, she insisted on personally healing every casualty, refusing to leave any behind.

Wang Ping watched all this, and a warm current rose in his heart.

These are his comrades-in-arms.

These are the people he is willing to risk his life to protect.

He walked to a secluded corner and sat cross-legged.

He took out the silver crystal from his bosom and examined it closely.

The crystal was fist-sized, entirely transparent, with countless tiny runes faintly flowing inside. Those runes were like the Order runes of the Purifying World Court, but far more complex and profound.

He extended his divine sense into it.

In an instant, countless pieces of information flooded his mind—

The Nascent Soul's memories flashed before his eyes like a revolving lantern.

He saw that Nascent Soul's "past"—he had once been an ordinary cultivator, with his own master, fellow disciples, and path. But one day, people from the Purifying World Court found him, persuaded him with the concept of "Order," and remade him into an Order Nascent Soul.

He saw the Purifying World Court's "organizational structure"—at the top was the "Lord of Order," a Unity Stage existence; below that were the "Seven Order Emissaries," each a late-stage Nascent Soul; further down were countless early- and mid-stage Nascent Soul "Order Apostles," as well as vast numbers of Order Puppets.

He saw the Purifying World Court's "distribution of strongholds"—deep in the Primordial Chaos Sea stood a massive silver fortress called the "Order Holy Temple." That was the Lord of Order's residence and the Purifying World Court's nest.

He saw the Purifying World Court's "plan"—they were brewing a "Great Purge" targeting all civilizations that did not conform to Order. The Spirit Realm was listed seventh on the purge list.

Most importantly, he saw the truth of the "Order Core."

It was not a metaphor, but a real entity.

A colossal silver heart hovered in the deepest part of the Primordial Chaos Sea, beating slowly. Each pulse sent forth countless streams of Order's power, nourishing every member of the Purifying World Court. It was the Court's source of power and the life foundation of the Lord of Order.

As long as the Order Core remains, the Purifying World Court will not perish.

As long as the Order Core remains, the Lord of Order can be reborn infinitely.

Wang Ping opened his eyes, fine cold sweat beading on his forehead.

This information is too important.

Important enough to change the fate of the entire Spirit Realm.

He took a deep breath and carefully placed the crystal into his bosom.

Then he rose to his feet and walked toward Cangxuan and Yuliuli.

"Both of you," he said softly, "we need to have a good talk."

Cangxuan opened his eyes and looked at him.

Yuliuli also lifted her head.

Wang Ping sat beside them and slowly related the information he had obtained from the core fragment.

After listening, Cangxuan's face grew extremely grave.

"Order Core… Primordial Chaos Sea… Great Purge…" he murmured, "No wonder the Purifying World Court is so mad; it turns out they have such a thing behind them."

Yuliuli said softly, "What should we do next?"

Wang Ping fell silent for a moment, then said slowly, "First, heal our wounds. Then return to the Spirit Realm and tell our master and the alliance this information."

He gazed at the distant void, his eyes deep.

"The threat of the Purifying World Court is greater than we imagined. But at least we now know its weakness."

"The Order Core."

"As long as we destroy it, the Purifying World Court will collapse completely."

Cangxuan nodded, gripping his sword tightly.

"Then let's destroy it."

Wang Ping looked at him and suddenly smiled.

"Not in a hurry. First heal our wounds. First grow stronger. Then—"

"Let's go together."

When the last roar faded into the depths of the void and the silver light was utterly swallowed by darkness, the fragments of the celestial palace fell into an eerie silence.

That silence was too heavy.

It was so heavy it made it hard to breathe.

Wang Ping stood before the ruins of the settlement, silent for a long time.

Under his feet lay a scene of ruin. The once-majestic halls, the stone walls etched with the marks of time, the homes of the survivors for thirty thousand years—all reduced to shattered ground. Silver blast scars resembled ferocious wounds, branded onto every fragment of rock. Countless tiny shards drifted in the void, the remnants of buildings corroded and shattered by Order's power, glimmering with a cold light under the faint starlight.

Farther away, the rift in the Void Sealing Realm was slowly healing. The wound that had once torn the light curtain now resembled a slumbering beast slowly closing its eyes, resealing the void where the nether shadow had slept for thirty thousand years.

But this time, it was empty inside.

The nether shadow has awakened.

Wang Ping withdrew his gaze and looked around.

The survivor warriors were scattered in twos and threes across the ruins—some knelt on the ground, cupping handfuls of broken stone, tears streaming down their faces; some stood dazed, gazing at once-familiar corners, their eyes full of bewilderment; others helped each other, silently binding wounds without a word.

Someone is crying.

The crying sound is very soft, suppressed, as if afraid to disturb something. But exactly this suppressed crying is more heartbreaking than any wailing.

Yun Hao stands not far away, back to the crowd. His shoulders tremble slightly, but he never turns around. He is the leader, he cannot cry—at least in front of the clanspeople, cannot.

But Wang Ping saw.

He saw Yun Hao's hand hanging at his side, tightly clenched into a fist, knuckles whitening, nails almost digging into his palm.

Wang Ping walks over and stands beside him.

No words spoken.

Just standing.

After a long while, Yun Hao finally speaks. His voice is hoarse, almost inaudible.

"Thirty-two."

Wang Ping says nothing.

Yun Hao continues: "Thirty-two clanspeople are gone. Among them, eleven are old soldiers who followed me guarding for thirty thousand years. Since I was still a child, they followed my father guarding this ruin. My father died, they remained. I became leader, they remained. Thirty thousand years, they have always been here."

He pauses, his voice begins to tremble.

"Now, they are gone."

Wang Ping finally speaks. His voice is also very soft, soft as if afraid to disturb something.

"They... died heroically."

Yun Hao suddenly laughs. That smile is uglier than crying.

"Heroic? Yes, heroic. But what use is heroism? Can it bring them back? Can it make them call me 'leader' again?"

He turns his body, looks toward Wang Ping.

His eye sockets are red, but there are no tears. Those tears are blocked by his pride, only able to swirl in his eye sockets.

"Wang brother, do you know? The old soldier who charged ahead just now, pierced through the chest by the Spear of Order, is called Shi Gan. He grew up with my father, watched me born, taught me swordplay, and when my father died, he held me and cried for three days and three nights. He said, 'Child, your father has left, but Uncle Shi is here, Uncle Shi will always guard you.'"

His voice grows lower and hoarser.

"He guarded me for thirty thousand years. Thirty thousand years..."

He finally can't continue.

Wang Ping raises his hand, presses it on his shoulder.

That hand is very heavy, as if bearing too much.

"Yun brother." His voice low and firm, "They will not die in vain. The blood debt owed by the Purifying World Court will someday be repaid, one by one."

Yun Hao looks at him, long silent.

After a long while, he takes a deep breath, raises his hand and fiercely wipes his face.

"You're right." His voice still hoarse, but with a hint of strength, "Now is not the time to cry. There is still much to do."

He turns, strides toward those clanspeople who are crying.

"All of you stand up!" His voice echoes in the ruins, "What are you crying for? The dead brothers are watching you! They fought with their lives just so you could live! You crying like this, are you worthy of them?!"

The remnant warriors raise their heads, looking at him.

Yun Hao's voice grows louder.

"Listen! We are the Guardians of the Ruin Clan! In this void we have guarded for thirty thousand years! Over thirty thousand years, how many relatives have we lost? How many comrades? But we have never given up! Because we are descendants of the Myriad Phenomena Star Observers! Because the blood flowing in us is unyielding!"

He raises his hand, pointing toward that distant void.

"The Purifying World Court still exists! They will still come! Do you want to cry yourselves to death here, so when they come they see a bunch of useless wastes who only know how to cry?!"

No one answers.

But the eyes of those remnant warriors gradually brighten.

Someone wipes dry his tears, stands up.

Someone grips his weapon tightly, clenches his teeth.

Someone walks to a companion's side, silently helps bandage their wounds.

Yun Hao watches all this, finally lets out a long sigh.

He turns, walks back to Wang Ping's side.

"Let Wang brother see me embarrassed." His voice weary, but already regained calm.

Wang Ping shakes his head: "Not embarrassed. You're awesome."

Yun Hao gives a bitter smile, about to say something, suddenly—

The voice of Bai Cao Xianzi comes from afar.

"You guys come quickly and see!"

Wang Ping and Yun Hao glance at each other, immediately rush toward the sound's direction.

That is deep in the settlement, before a relatively intact hall. Bai Cao Xianzi stands there, holding the still sleeping Jiu Er, her face full of solemnity.

"What's wrong?" Wang Ping's heart tightens.

Bai Cao Xianzi points at Jiu Er, then points behind her.

Wang Ping follows her finger, his pupils suddenly contract.

It is a tree.

Or rather, a sapling of a tree.

It is only about three chi tall, its whole body shows a deep chaotic color. On the trunk faintly nebulae flow, between the leaves sparkle points of light. It takes root in the ruins, its roots deeply penetrate those broken spirit stones, greedily absorbing the remaining spirit qi.

And around it, those ruins eroded by the Power of Order, those stones that should have been barren, actually begin...

to sprout.

A bit of green, from the stone cracks probing out. That is spirit grass, those spirit grasses that have long vanished in the thirty thousand years.

"This is..." Yun Hao's voice trembled.

"Divine Tree's sprout." The Immortal of Hundred Herbs' voice also trembled with shock, "After Jiu Er fused with the Chaotic Azure Sprout, the Divine Tree's inheritance awakened within her body. Although she is unconscious, the Divine Tree's will remains. It is... repairing these ruins."

Wang Ping stared blankly at the seedling, at the growing spiritual grass, and a feeling beyond words welled up in his heart.

Jiu Er

The little one who always hid behind him, crying that she was useless, was Jiu Er.

She gave everything she had for this moment.

She became the incarnation of the Divine Tree.

She became the guardian deity of these ruins.

"She..." Yun Hao's voice choked, "Can she still wake up?"

The Immortal of Hundred Herbs fell silent for a moment, then slowly said, "Yes. But after she wakes up, she might... no longer be able to leave this place. The Divine Tree needs to take root, needs to guard this Void. She and the Divine Tree have become one; the Divine Tree's roots are her roots."

Yun Hao closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Then he opened his eyes and smiled.

That smile, though mixed with tears, was infinitely relieved.

"Good. Good. Then let her guard. We have guarded for thirty thousand years; from now on, with her accompanying us, we will not be alone."

The tally took a full three hours.

When Yun Hao walked up to Wang Ping with the final tally, his face was so grim it seemed water could drip from it.

"Thirty-two dead, fifty-eight seriously injured. Of those, seventeen might... not survive tonight."

Wang Ping's heart sank.

Thirty-two dead.

Adding previous losses, in this battle the refugees lost nearly seventy people.

For a people already sparse in number, this is a devastating blow they can hardly bear.

"What about the settlement?" he asked.

Yun Hao gave a bitter smile: "You've seen it yourself. Over seventy percent of the buildings are destroyed, supplies are less than half, spirit stone reserves... less than thirty percent remain. The Void Eternal Prison Domain still exists, but it has weakened and will need at least a century to fully recover."

Wang Ping fell silent.

He knew what that meant.

The Immortal Palace fragments can no longer be held.

It's not because they lack courage, but because this place is no longer suitable as a stronghold. The next attack by the Pure World Court will only be stronger; then not only will the refugees die, but Jiu Er, You Ying, and even the seriously wounded warriors will perish.

They must leave.

They must withdraw.

But—

He raised his head and looked upon these shattered ruins.

Thirty thousand years of steadfast defense.

Thirty thousand years of unyielding resolve.

Thirty thousand years of home.

Just like that, give it up?

He looked at Yun Hao.

Yun Hao was also looking at him.

The two locked gazes, remaining silent for a long time.

After a long while, Yun Hao slowly spoke.

"Brother Wang, say what you wish to say."

Wang Ping took a deep breath.

"We must withdraw."

These four words struck Yun Hao's heart like a thousand‑jin hammer.

His body swayed, barely able to stay upright.

But he did not fall.

He merely closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I know."

His voice was hoarse to the point of being almost inaudible.

"I have long known that this day would come."

He opened his eyes and looked at the busy clansmen, at the sprouting Divine Tree seedling, and at these ruins he had guarded for thirty thousand years.

"But Brother Wang, I have a request."

Wang Ping looked at him.

"Let me guard for three more days." Yun Hao said, word by word, "In three days we will leave."

Wang Ping fell silent for a moment, then nodded slowly.

"All right. Three days."

These three days are the final moments of the Immortal Palace fragments.

The refugees were not idle.

They cleared the ruins and collected the bodies of the fallen. Each corpse was carefully wiped clean, dressed in the cleanest clothes, then placed in a makeshift spirit hall.

Thirty-two bodies were laid out in neat rows. Before each body burned a long‑lasting lamp; its light was faint yet warm, illuminating the peaceful faces of the departed.

Yun Hao knelt in the foremost position, performing three kneelings and nine kowtows.

Behind him were more than three hundred survivor warriors. They likewise knelt, likewise kowtowed, likewise tears streamed down their faces.

This is the highest funeral rite of the Guardians of the Ruins.

For thirty thousand years, they have used this way to send off countless clansmen.

Today, they must send off another thirty-two.

Wang Ping stood in the distance, silently watching.

He did not disturb them.

This is their moment.

Cang Xuan walked to his side and stood shoulder to shoulder with him.

"In three days, how will we leave?"

Wang Ping fell silent for a moment, then slowly said: "The Jianmu sapling must be taken. Jiu Er also needs to be taken. You Ying is seriously injured and not yet healed, so she also needs to be taken. But the Immortal Palace fragments..."

He paused, then did not continue.

Cang Xuan understood.

The Immortal Palace fragments are too large to be evacuated whole. What they can take are only the most important things—people, the Jianmu sapling, and those precious inheritance classics.

The rest can only...

be left behind.

"They will be heartbroken," Cang Xuan said.

Wang Ping nodded: "I know. But sorrow is better than death."

Cang Xuan said nothing more.

The two thus stood silently, looking at the spirit hall in the distance, looking at the eternal lamps, looking at the kneeling silhouettes.

On the third day, at dusk.

Yun Hao stood before the highest ruined hall of the Immortal Palace fragments, overlooking the land he had guarded for thirty thousand years.

The setting sun's afterglow fell, dyeing the entire wreckage a warm gold.

Those broken walls and beams, those piles of stone and rubble, now bathed in golden light, seemed to possess a dreamlike beauty.

Behind him, more than three hundred survivor warriors stood silently.

They had all readied themselves.

The most important things—the inheritance classics, ancestral tablets, and some precious refining materials—had already been stored in their spatial bags. Jiu Er was held in the arms of the Bai Cao Xianzi, still asleep. The Jianmu sapling had been carefully dug from the wreckage, its roots wrapped in thick spiritual soil, and temporarily placed in a specially made jade box.

You Ying had awakened. She was too weak to walk, so Wang Ping carried her on his back. She said nothing, merely gazing silently at the wreckage, a faint sorrow in her eyes.

She is the only one here who has experienced the Immortal Palace's glorious era.

Thirty thousand years ago, she was already here.

Thirty thousand years later, she must leave.

Yun Hao drew a deep breath and slowly spoke.

"Everyone."

His voice was not loud, yet it clearly reached every ear.

"We, the Guardians of the Ruins, have guarded this void for thirty thousand years."

"Over thirty thousand years, we have lost countless kin, comrades, and compatriots. Yet we never gave up, for this place is our home."

He paused, his voice beginning to choke.

"Today, we must leave."

In the crowd, some lowered their heads, some silently shed tears, some clenched their lips to keep from crying out.

Yun Hao continued.

"But leaving does not mean abandoning."

"We are descendants of the Myriad Phenomena Star Observers. Our veins flow with the blood of the Primeval Civilization. As long as we live, as long as our inheritance endures, the Guardians of the Ruins will never perish!"

His voice grew louder and louder, more resonant.

"This wreckage is our home of thirty thousand years. But the true home is not in stone, not in halls, but in—"

He raised his hand and pressed it to his chest.

"Here."

"As long as our hearts remain, as long as our inheritance remains, as long as our will remains—"

"the Guardians of the Ruins will never perish!"

In the crowd, someone finally could not hold back and cried out.

But that crying was not despair, but—

pride.

Yun Hao turned, faced the wreckage, and knelt deeply.

The more than three hundred survivor warriors behind him likewise knelt.

Yun Hao kowtowed three times.

Over three hundred people simultaneously kowtowed three times.

The movements were neat and uniform, as if performed by a single person.

Yun Hao rose to his feet, took one last look at the wreckage.

Then he turned and strode toward Wang Ping.

"Brother Wang, let's go."

Wang Ping looked at him, at the tears in his eyes, at the resolve on his face, and a feeling of ineffable reverence welled up in his heart.

He nodded.

"Go."

Everyone rose into the air, flying toward the depths of the void.

Behind them, the fragments of the immortal palace grew smaller and farther away.

That shattered ruin, those broken walls and rafters, the hollow left by the just‑sprouted sacred tree sapling—all faded in the evening glow.

Yun Hao did not look back.

But behind him, the survivor warriors turned their heads one after another.

They gazed at that land, at the land where they had lived for thirty thousand years, at the land that buried countless ancestors, tears streaming down their faces.

Wang Ping carried Darkshadow, flying at the forefront.

He also did not look back.

The Realm-breaking Shuttle hovered silently in the void.

Outside the porthole was endless darkness, deep enough to seem capable of swallowing everything; occasionally, faint starlight flickered in the distance, weak yet persistent, like lonely eyes in the depths of the universe.

Wang Ping sat alone before the observation deck, his back to the crowd, his spine ramrod straight yet betraying fatigue; he gazed at the darkness beyond the porthole that devoured all, his gaze piercing the void as if seeking some answer.

His right hand unconsciously clenched his knee; after a long silence, his Adam's apple bobbed once, and all that emerged was a barely audible sigh.