Chapter 334: The Instigator Appears

Sun Wukong's remote declaration of war, brimming with defiance and battle intent, struck like a red‑hot branding iron plunged into an icy lake.

The entire Star Sea trembled.

That sound turned into tangible ripples, shaking the endless dust of the Zixiao Palace ruins into fleeting, strange runes.

Far away inside the Dream Ark, Yao felt the entire Dream Realm hum along, as if cheering this indomitable will.

All eyes watching the battle here, whether the newborn Gray Civilization or the unknown beings of deeper dimensions, fell into Deathly Silence.

Time seemed to freeze.

The withered monk, cloaked in the Buddha's skin and exuding an aura of termination, also showed a barely perceptible pause in his movements.

His form even flickered for an instant, like a projection unable to receive a stable signal.

In those eyes that devour all light and feeling, bewilderment surfaced for the first time.

The emotion flashed and vanished, yet it was there.

This cold puppet forged from Absolute Malice and lingering soul grudges, within its intricate "thought" system, for the first time manifested indecipherable garbled code.

This "Error", which had clearly been forced by Yang's scheme into a Dao Heart collapse, could only self‑destruct.

This ultimate Variable, the most restless in the Universe.

Why, in a fleeting instant, did it regain all battle intent, even more soaring and resolute than before?

It no longer regarded itself as an opponent.

Those golden pupils gazed at a higher existence that even it could not fully comprehend, only vaguely sense.

How dare it?

On what right?

For the first time, a needless irritation rose in the withered monk's heart.

That loss of control displeased him greatly.

Sun Wukong, however, gave him no further glance.

Killing a puppet is useless.

Master's tea has already answered: kill this one, and the scraps can be molded into another at any time.

Playing endlessly with infinite puppets will eventually wear you out to death.

His gaze, cold and sharp, passed beyond the Buddha's nauseating skin and fell upon those few worlds that had briefly caught a breath.

Yujia World, Tianxu World…

The living beings in those worlds remained in a half‑dream, half‑awake haze.

They had just been forcibly pulled from a state of willing, death‑embracing Liberation.

Deep within their souls lingered the sweet lure of returning to Deathly Silence.

Although the Gospel's connection was shattered by Sun Wukong's fury, it still wound around their souls like invisible gray threads.

As long as the withered monk wishes, he can resume preaching at any time, plunging those worlds back into eternal peace.

Old Sun has to protect them first.

Sun Wukong's mind was set.

Whatever hidden mastermind, whatever unseen player.

These worlds he painstakingly rescued from Hongjun's "Order" slaughter blade must not die beneath the ridiculous Gospel.

He was just about to invoke the Way of the Equal Heaven, using a brand‑new power that fused Variable and Fixed Number, to forcibly sever those filthy threads.

But in the instant before his thought formed.

A pure jet‑black blade flash, without warning, sliced out of the void.

The blade was not swift, even somewhat slow, yet disregarding spatial and temporal distance, it arrived before its cause with a domineering bearing.

It instantly appeared between the withered monk and those worlds.

Ssshh—

A harsh tearing sound rang out.

Those formless, intangible gray threads, condensed by the Death Gospel, were all cut cleanly beneath the jet‑black blade flash.

One slash, all connections severed.

Sun Wukong's pupils snapped shut to needle points.

He recognized this ultimate purity of "Termination" Dao Rhythm.

It was that self‑proclaimed "Balancer", a freak who acted solely on whether "it pleased him or not".

Silence.

As the Gospel connection was cut, those worlds teetering on the edge of Liberation jolted violently.

Within the worlds, countless hollow eyes and bizarre smiles on beings ready to abandon life trembled violently, as if electrocuted.

The next second, the hollowness and Deathly Silence in their eyes receded like a tide.

In their place rose endless bewilderment and lingering fear.

"What... what was I just doing?"

"Why... did I want to die?"

"It was a very comfortable feeling... but why does it feel so terrifying now when I recall it?"

The post‑cataclysm fear and relief instantly flooded those worlds.

At that moment, within the spatial ripple of the earth‑shaking slash, a figure slowly emerged.

He wore a pure black robe, wielded a jet‑black long blade that devoured light, his expression indifferent.

His stride was neither fast nor slow; each step felt like treading on the drumbeat of the Universe's end, causing all things to wail.

The newcomer didn't even glance at Sun Wukong, as if the Great Sage Equal to Heaven were no different from a roadside stone.

He merely directed that pair of eyes, colder than the withered monk's, and dead‑locked them Suǒdìng onto the Tathagata seated cross-legged amidst the ruins.

The withered monk also slowly raised his head; his pair of eyes, like black holes, likewise gazed at this uninvited guest.

Two beings representing different kinds of 'Conclusion', two terrifying monsters that take 'Death' as their own Grand Dao.

At this moment, across the ruined Purple Heaven Palace, across the endless dust of the Star Sea, they gazed at each other from afar.

One hopes that all things will 'voluntarily' return to eternal nothingness, and calls this compassion and liberation.

The other believes that anything that can make sound or change is an 'Error', and that wielding the blade in his hand to cut everything down to absolute Deathly Silence is the true final 'Balance'.

Their Daos are similar, yet fundamentally utterly different.

Sun Wukong watched this scene, first startled, then amused.

The icy killing intent on his face vanished instantly, replaced by a playful, mischievous Smile.

He silently stepped back a large pace, yielding the entire battlefield.

Then he carelessly slung the gray‑white Golden Cudgel onto his shoulder, crossed his arms, and struck a roguish pose, ready to watch the show.

Interesting.

This is really interesting.

One is the 'active' death‑peddling huckster, the other a 'passive' eradication‑obsessed compulsive.

These two fellows who represent 'Death' getting together—isn't that just dogs biting dogs, a mouthful of fur?

Fight.

Give Old Monkey Sun a fierce beating.

Best if they both perish together, saving Old Monkey Sun the trouble.

Just as Sun Wukong's thought arose, that black‑clad figure, cold as an iceberg, finally spoke.

His voice, like his person, was icy and dry, without a trace of emotional fluctuation.

"You..."

"Too noisy."

The instant his words fell, the pitch‑black long blade named End was slowly raised by him.

The blade's point was aimed straight at the withered monk who spreads the 'Death Gospel'.

An internal war belonging to 'Death' itself, about to erupt.