Chapter 27: The Dead Are Those Who Return

The Dead Are Those Who Return

The green pheasant rummaged in his embrace for a moment, then drew an object from the inner lining of his clothing; his rough, dark hand opened to reveal a clear crystal, no larger than a fingernail.

In the sunlight it shimmered with five colors.

"Scum." Wen Ya's expression shifted slightly; her psychic power surged, kicking up a wave that flung the Sentinel onto a boulder.

Everyone's hair rose, shielding their lowered faces.

The Sentinel's eyes, ears, nose, and mouth were flooded with killing intent; his gaze remained substantive, locked tightly on the beautiful crystal, his body twitched, and his mouth and nose emitted a hoarse, windmill-like sound.

Wen Ya took the tiny crystal into her hand, wrapping it though its edges were not obvious.

Its edges were not obvious, yet like a sharp nail they pierced her heart.

This extraordinarily rare crystal bears a rather classical name: 'Meeting Spring'.

It means 'withered tree meets spring,' a source of life that Guides in ages past could condense only by expending all their psychic power, even their lives.

It is rich in ample purifying and vital energy.

It is the Guide's gift of a second life to the Sentinel, a one‑of‑a‑kind present.

The Sentinels' reaction was even more intense than the two Guides'; their eye sockets reddened, killing intent surfacing.

A fortunate one pitied by a Guide turned out to be scum.

Fu Guang knew little of these obscure sentinel facts unknown to the public, so she felt little about them.

She only sensed that the dying Sentinel's aura was off; the surrounding Sentinels and Guides seemed trapped in their own emotions, their psychic power fluctuating violently.

Fu Guang constantly used her psychic power to warn the surroundings, but was suddenly bombarded with noisy information.

Human thoughts race a thousand turns per second; it felt as if hundreds or thousands of birds were chirping inside her head.

"Sentinel, you deserve to die."

"Die."

"Who would have thought a Guide could pity someone—hahaha, truly unbelievable."

Beside them, Wen Li, who had not yet differentiated but possessed a Guide's keen psychic sense, had her fragile psychic power swept by several strong forces; she clutched her head as the world spun, and the table before her instantly seemed to rise to the sky.

No, if this continues, Wen Li will suffer brain death.

Fu Guang noticed the little girl's condition was clearly wrong; her psychic power was not merely what showed, like an iceberg at sea showing only its tip—sound waves striking the iceberg would not harm her.

But Wen Li was different; her psychic power was like a fragile thread, sound waves like blades that could easily sever it.

Psychic power is mighty yet fragile; one whose psychic power is obliterated does not die bodily, but their consciousness is already dead.

Fu Guang struck Wen Li unconscious with a knifehand, then placed the Light Pearl that Wen Ya had given her into Wen Li's hand.

Before she could rouse the others, several black‑green branches shot up from the floor; instantly the flooring shattered and dust swirled.

Fu Guang only had time to steady Wen Li, then step back a few paces from the flying branches; the dust spread, and to her naked eye nothing could be seen.

The swirling dust made people cough involuntarily; Fu Guang covered her mouth, yet still emitted a heavy muffled sound.

Any shift of Fu Guang's foot would change her position, which was already exposed and easy for enemies to spot and attack.

Thinking thus, a sudden constricting force appeared at her waist; a white, fluffy tail yanked her away from where the branches attacked, and she tightened her grip on Wen Li's hand.

Arriving there, she retreated a few steps by inertia and fell backward; she felt her waist's tail swell, and she landed in soft white fur.

"Careful."

Shang Ze appeared before her, reaching out to help; Fu Guang blinked, then handed the unconscious Wen Li in her arms to him.

That hand paused, then still lifted Wen Li up.

Fu Guang rose from the fluffy encirclement; a huge white fox three meters tall lowered its head, gently nudging her with its snout and crying out.

Actually, everyone was stunned for no more than three seconds before the anomaly ended.

Shang Ze did not join the fight; he stood outside the battlefield and told Fu Guang some basic combat knowledge, or rather the unspoken rules the Sentinels followed.

"When a Sentinel mutates into an alien species, they at least gain one rank higher than when alive."

"Under normal circumstances, an alien species' abilities exceed those of a Sentinel of the same rank."

Silver blade light flashed across the dust‑filled battlefield; the monster's roar, the floor's cracking sounds, and the screech of the blade intertwined.

"When a squad encounters a few alien species, those of matching rank step forward."

"One purpose is to train the Sentinels; the other is to preserve combat strength as much as possible."

He pointed to the ten‑meter‑tall tree ahead and said, "This tree has A‑rank+ strength; an ordinary A‑rank might not be able to defeat it."

The battlefield held not only Bai Gao but also the Sentinels Wen Ya brought; their coordination was lacking, even hindering Bai Gao somewhat.

The Sentinels' eyes are extremely sharp; not even a speck of dust can be blocked. Bai Gao's fighting style is reckless, sometimes injuring himself and his teammates, and when fierce he distinguishes neither friend nor foe.

Shang Ze glanced furtively at Fu Guang; Bai Gao that kid probably just wanted to show off in front of the Guide, otherwise those few Sentinels would surely have sustained some injury.

He let out a soft snort—really a brat.

"As for judging an alien species' rank, one must rely on experience; instruments sometimes err."

He shifted his tone to speak about the Guides.

"Guides are responsible for coordinating the battlefield, or for logistics, healing, and purification."

Not far away, Wen Ya stood with arms crossed, her face grim, her Sentinel squad members behind her.

She faced the battlefield, her body enveloped in golden light like a radiant angel; her psychic power upheld a golden barrier spanning a kilometer to prevent casualties in the city.

She seemed to hear the words, gathered her expression, turned and nodded at Fu Guang.

"The remaining troops hold the line, staying combat‑ready to deal with any sudden crises, to intervene when a teammate's condition worsens, and to guarantee no loss of personnel."

"But the premise is that without a captain's command, everything follows the captain's command."

Shang Ze said this while winking at Fu Guang.

"The greater premise is that everything puts the Guide's safety first." The youth's voice sounded like a bamboo snapping—clear and ringing as it cut through the smoke.

Heard but not seen, a slender youth gradually emerged from the smoke, his blade flashing with a cold, sharp gleam.

Gradually approaching, Bai Gao's high ponytail flicked; he neatly made a blade flourish, and with a wave of his hand the silver blade dissipated.

The giant tree ten or so meters behind him slowly shattered; just before its collapse, a golden barrier surged forward, enveloping and compressing it.

In the end it became a small willow tree.

"Fu Guang." Wen Ya walked up to the willow tree and called Fu Guang.

"Mobilize your psychic power to purify those who have fallen into desire and are lost."

Wen Ya's voice was soft and gentle, like the early morning sun.

"Let the dead rest in peace, let the living take heed."

No matter who you are, the world ends for you the instant you stop breathing, but sin never perishes; it continues to make the living remember.

Fu Guang stood firm; in just four hours she witnessed the collapse of a conspiracy, the demise of living lives, and suddenly recalled the saying: "The living are passersby, the dead are those who return."

The girls devoutly closed their eyes; golden and blue lights flickered, responding to each other.

Beneath the purifying light lay silent screams.

Dark vapor rose from the ferocious willow tree; the sun still hung high in the sky, shining in all directions, and the dark vapor turned to ash that drifted away on the wind.

To live toward death is a journey inherent from birth, but how the journey's scenery unfolds depends on oneself.

"Fu Guang, have you decided how to spend your life?" she asked herself.

The fluctuations in the mental landscape gradually became clear; a fleeting image made everyone involuntarily widen their eyes.