Chapter 5: A Helping Arm

Before the words fell, Zhou Yi's body was engulfed in a great surge of golden light, surging like tides, encircling him. His aura instantly surged severalfold.

"What does he want to do?"

"This person is no ordinary foe; a great calamity looms, yet he dares to defy Heaven and alter fate—it's as if he courts death."

"No, that's the Light of Fortune; he is gathering the Human Race's fortune."

A startled shout, like a boulder cast into a lake, raised successive ripples.

The powerful onlookers, who had been watching coldly, now had their expressions shift, a mix of emotions weaving across their faces.

Zhou Yi gazed at the golden light surrounding him, silently calculating: "Although my power is slight, it should suffice."

He inhaled deeply, his gaze as steadfast as before, lifted his head toward the sky, then let out a deafening shout: "Saint, if you wish to annihilate my Human Race, you are dreaming; the Human Race's fortune gathers within me; the Human Race's peril I shall bear alone."

His voice echoed through heaven and earth, each word imbued with unyielding power, striking the Saint's soul directly.

"Nüwa, you became a Saint for creating humanity, yet you stood by while the Demon Race ravaged. Are you the Human Race's Holy Mother, or the Demon Race's Demon Emperor?"

Zhou Yi glared, his finger pointing straight to the heavens, unflinching as he questioned, "You reap the merit of Human Race's offerings; do you not feel ashamed?"

As the words fell, the atmosphere shifted abruptly, and countless powerful ones were so shocked by the remarks they nearly lost composure.

This was not merely an offense, but a public insult to the Saint, an unprecedentedly bold act!

"Zhou Yi, you have such nerve," Nüwa's voice thundered from the sky, bearing world‑shattering pressure, like a flash flood surging toward Zhou Yi.

Where it passed, space warped, as if even space itself could not bear the pressure of this force.

Zhou Yi only felt a massive force slam down, making him stagger backward repeatedly, nearly collapsing to his knees.

Now the Human Race, after the Demon Race's brutal slaughter, has its fortune as fragile as thin paper. Under such divine pressure, Zhou Yi appears especially tiny and powerless.

"You, a creature as small as an ant, dare to presume the Saint's will, to defy destiny; your arrogance is your original sin."

Nüwa's voice was cold as ice; as a being second only to Hongjun, her power is unfathomable.

The massive fortune accumulated by the Human Race over billions of years of propagation is precisely the key to her breaking through to a higher realm.

In this moment of anger, the imposing aura she released even made Taishang-level beings feel dread.

The surrounding spectators were already terrified, their souls fleeing, and they scrambled to use whatever means to flee the scene.

Someone muttered softly: "I thought he had some trump card, but he was suppressed so quickly—truly overreaching."

"A tiny Human Race, where does the courage to confront the Saint come from? It's merely a dying struggle."

Under this divine pressure, blood seeped from every pore of Zhou Yi, his body swiftly dyed a blood‑red hue, looking utterly tragic.

But he clenched his teeth, his spine remaining straight. The price of this resolve was that his entire skeleton began to emit a 'ka-ka' creaking, cracks spreading like a spiderweb, seeming ready to collapse at any moment.

"It's nothing but a joke; a tiny ant daring to challenge the Saint's authority—truly ignorant of the heavens and earth!" someone sneered nearby, yet no one dared to step forward.

"Human Race, the torch passed down, never admit defeat! Human Race's fortune, coalesce!" Zhou Yi roared toward the heavens.

At this moment, the Witch-slaying Sword, once blood‑red as fire, began to change, its blade gradually turning a deep black, endless resentment spewing from it.

Countless vague human silhouettes appeared on the blade, their faces wracked with pain, struggling to break free.

Yet the faint light emanating from those silhouettes drifted gently toward Zhou Yi, merging into his fortune.

Gui Che, upon seeing this, was terrified, his face turning deathly pale.

He hurriedly cast a spell, his hands swiftly forming seals, strands of incantations flew toward the Witch-slaying Sword, dozens of sealing techniques spreading over it like chains.

It took great effort, but he barely managed to suppress the rebellion within the sword.

"This guy is a lunatic! Run!" Gui Che roared.

The Demon Race soldiers who had been watching, upon hearing this, instantly fled in terror.

In the blink of an eye, the area around Mount Buzhou became empty.

When these destiny points merged with Zhou Yi, his once radiant golden light gradually turned a dark crimson, appearing eerie and oppressive. With this change, the sky around him was shrouded in a thick killing aura.

"What on earth is happening?"

"Why is there so much killing aura? How has the Human Race's fortune become so strange?"

Yet Zhou Yi paid no heed to the surrounding people's doubts. He felt the Human Race's fortune behind him swelling ever more, and his heart held no reservations.

These are the departed clan members offering him power with their souls; having accepted this heavy gift, he must avenge his clan, even if it means breaking with the Saint.

"Nüwa, you are unworthy of being the Human Race's Holy Mother; how dare you enjoy the Human Race's offerings!" Zhou Yi's voice echoed across the Honghuang lands.

For a Saint who values face, being so ruthlessly accused at this moment is a scene unseen in a thousand years.

Nüwa, enraged beyond measure, declared: "You lowly creature, dare to offend the Saint's might! Today, in the name of the Human Race's Holy Mother, I enact heavenly punishment!"

As the words fell, beyond Honghuang a violet flash streaked, and Thunder roared. That Thunder Light, like a blade of divine retribution, radiated a heart‑pounding pressure, striking straight down.

Where it passed, the void shattered like paper, emitting a screeching sound.

On the distant viewing platform, the great beings thought themselves removed from danger, safe and secure.

However, as that earth‑shaking thunder drew nearer, their faces turned ashen instantly, cold sweat streaming down.

"Below the Saint, all are ants," this saying now seemed especially true. That violet thunder could only be withstood by the Saint!

In an instant, all living beings within countless miles sensed the approaching cataclysm.

The Demon Race soldiers were terrified, their souls fleeing, scattering in all directions; yet Zhou Yi stood like a mountain, unmoving, facing the thunder without fear.

Though his heart trembled, the stubbornness in his bones let him not yield a step: "Human Race, even in death, shall never submit!"

He raised his head and roared, his voice booming like thunder across the heavens, causing the Human Race's fortune to surge, turning into a blood‑gold beam that shot straight into the sky.

Zhou Yi bellowed: "Human Race fortune, lend me a helping arm!"

A single Human being may be insignificant, but the fortune gathered by billions of the Human Race flows like a mighty river. Nüwa, witnessing this, could not help but gasp, "How is this possible..."

Boom!

Thunder and fortune collided violently, producing a deafening roar. Incredibly, that purple divine thunder capable of destroying heaven and earth was completely neutralized by the blood‑gold fortune on Zhou Yi's body.