Chapter 683: Second Form

It says that at that spot, Nanuuk's existence was touched.

This kind of will, this kind of intensity, this kind of resilience that can't be crushed, she truly doesn't want to face such a person as an opponent.

But then again, if Bai E weren't that kind of person, she wouldn't have needed to exert so much effort to fight this battle.

Then that point began to expand.

A harsh tearing sound emanated from the point, like paper being ripped apart forcefully—first a single crack, then two overlapping cracks, screech!

A hand reached out from the expanding light spot.

Purple patterns spread from the wrist to the fingertips, with light flowing at each finger joint.

She opened her palm wide, fingers tensed, and grabbed the air forcefully, as if seizing something solid from deep within, then pulling hard outward.

The other hand tore out from the side. Both hands pushed outward to the left and right simultaneously!

Space itself was ripped open, forming a fissure.

Purple‑black Flame surged from the crack, and a figure stepped out from its center.

Shen E.

But it was different from before.

The purple patterns on the bare upper body had been rearranged.

They formed a complete pattern system.

Centered on the chest, the patterns radiated toward the shoulders and waist, each line's thickness and curvature drawn with the precision of a blueprint.

The light within the patterns no longer flickered erratically but flowed steadily, spreading from the center to the edges and then looping back, creating a complete energy circuit.

The outline of the Light Wings behind also changed.

Previously it was merely a wing shape formed of purple light; now the Light Wings' outline contracts toward the center, coalescing at the spine into a complete Sun Wheel silhouette.

The Sun Wheel is a perfect circle, its rim ablaze with purple‑black Flame, each flame tip precisely pointing toward the wheel's center.

Inside the Sun Wheel, the purple light is layered in several tiers, darkening inward, with the very center a pure black core resembling an eye slowly opening.

Heimu leaned back slightly.

This is the Second Form.

When Kevin first fought this guy, he also stopped at this point.

Although she forcibly pulled Kevin off the battlefield, she was watching from off‑screen, separated by the screen from the actual scene—completely different.

Watching through the screen, she only thought the scene looked cool.

Now standing before this guy in person, her back truly felt a chill.

Even from this distance she could sense the pressure—not aura nor killing intent, but something deeper.

Heimu shrugged.

Then she simply turned her body sideways.

The shift was slight, the shoulder moving left by less than ten centimeters.

Bang!

A silhouette had already appeared where she had just stood.

Shen E's knee slammed onto the rock she had stood on, shattering it into dust, which the purple‑black Flame burned away completely.

His great sword swept across at the same time, the blade skimming the edge of Heimu's shoulder as she turned, so close that several strands of her hair were lifted by the sword wind.

Had she not shifted earlier, that knee would now be pressing against her.

In Heimu's pupils, purple‑black light streams were moving at an unprecedented speed.

All combat data were being analyzed in real time: Shen E's pre‑swing fine‑tuning, the magnitude of his weight shift, the correlation curve between pattern brightness changes and attack force, and the statistical patterns of where space fissures appeared before each teleport.

These data surged in simultaneously, processed in parallel within the calculation core, then output a concise prediction:

Where he would appear next, what angle he would slash, and how much force he would use.

She possessed all combat techniques, and ultimately every combat technique boiled down to data processing.

Boom!

The second sword came down from above her head; Heimu's toe brushed the ground as she drifted back half a step, the blade tip striking the ground before her, scattering stone shards.

Before she could turn her wrist, the third sword swept in from the right; she had already shifted left, and the blade passed less than a hand's width in front of her, the wind pressure lifting all the broken hair from her forehead.

The Sun Wheel's light behind Shen E suddenly surged.

Heimu decisively abandoned the stationary dodge, leaping back several meters.

At the moment she stepped back, a purple beam shot from the Sun Wheel's center pierced the spot where she had just stood; the air along the beam was instantly ionized, emitting a harsh buzzing sound.

Then a second beam, split from the Sun Wheel, swept in from her left side.

The third sealed off the right side.

The fourth came down from above.

The speed of light.

No room to dodge, only to anticipate.

Heimu slipped sideways within the beam's gap, her purple‑black skirt trailing arcs as she moved at high speed.

Her ash‑white long hair fluttered between light and shadow; her expression was neither nervous nor relaxed.

The corner of her mouth retained its slight curve, but the light in her eyes had become intensely focused.

Shen E's figure slipped through the beam's slit, raising his great sword high; the purple Light Blade on the blade extended outward, spanning several thousand meters.

The core of the Sun Wheel behind him flared to its peak, its black center instantly turning into a pure white mass.

As this sword came down, the entire sky seemed to press down with it.

Before the blade touched the ground, the stones on the surface began to split to both sides, as if pushed by an invisible pressure wall.

Heimu looked up at the descending Light Blade, the streams in her pupils accelerating to the limit.

Not bad.

Perspective shift.

Consciousness felt like it had been submerged for a long time, then suddenly was pulled up.

Qingque opened her eyes.

The first thing that caught her eye was the ceiling, not the lofty vaulted dome of the Shen Ce Fu Council Hall, carved with entwining branch and cloud patterns, but an unfamiliar wooden ceiling with gentle curves.

A few warm-colored lamps were set into it, the light dimmed, feeling like dusk and like dawn, indistinguishable.

The back of her head sank into an absurdly soft pillow.

Qingque paused for half a second, then lifted her head slightly; the pillow beneath her neck was satin, embroidered with silver‑gray dark patterns, a feel ten thousand miles away from the cotton pillow at home that hadn't been changed in three years.

Her gaze shifted from the pillow to the side, where a large bed big enough for three lay; the bedding was deep teal, the cover woven with cloud patterns, and the corners were adorned with silver thread Lock a circle of sparrow‑feather motif.

Qingque stared blankly at that circle of sparrow‑feather motif for a full three seconds.

She recognized the symbol.

Just now, through Yan Qing, she learned that this seemed to be her insignia.

Another general?

Not finished yet?

Her body reacted before her mind.

Qingque propped herself up on the bed with both hands, the satin bedding slipping off her and gathering at her waist.

Her ash‑white long hair fell from her shoulders, the tips spread across the cover, forming a striking contrast with the deep teal bedding.

Still.

The white hair is still there.