Chapter 642: The Black Flame That Burns All!

At the peak of Nameless Mountain, wild winds howled.

On a solitary boulder jutting from the cliff's edge, Luo Yan stood against the gale, cloaked in a black cloak, his face masked by an alchemical visor, silently gazing down at the hellish battlefield beneath him.

In his right palm, a pitch-black flame pulsed rhythmically, like a living heart.

This was no ordinary fire—within its core, a newly formed Mythic Seed was enshrouded.

To forge this seed, Luo Yan unhesitatingly extracted 10% of his share of divine faith from his own Divine Core!

This force, condensed from the immense wishes of countless souls, was sufficient to reshape a mortal's soul and elevate it to a level rivaling that of a deity.

Yet he made a decision that would shock every sage of the Scholarate—

He did not use the seed to strengthen his own soul; instead, he whimsically chose to use it as a catalyst, infusing it into the black flame in his hand, fusing it with fire element and underworld power!

Undoubtedly, this was a high-stakes gamble.

Yet Luo Yan's decision to gamble was not reckless—it was the result of deep deliberation.

After all, elevating the soul would not instantly translate into enhanced combat power; he had only recently broken through to the Master realm, and even if he immediately raised his soul to Semi-Divine status, his battlefield strength would not rise immediately.

Turning this seed into a divine artifact was clearly the most suitable choice.

As for why he chose not a tangible weapon but a black flame forged from transcendent power—it stemmed from Luo Yan's own understanding.

The collective consciousness of mortals forms a hive; the soul-substance is the bees within the hive, and the spirit-substance is the honey they produce and store… while "the collective will" is the final consensus of the swarm: how to consume that honey.

Based on this theory, the collective will does not alter the material world directly, but reshapes its reflection in the spiritual realm, which in turn influences the material world's laws of operation.

Though the end result appears identical, there is, in fact, an intermediary process.

This is why fire-element flames possess collision volumes unseen in ordinary flames, and why magically conjured fire cannot sustain itself once magical input is severed—it must ignite something tangible to continue burning.

It was precisely this insight that sparked Luo Yan's sudden idea: since "the collective will" alters the spiritual reflection of the material world, not the material world itself…

Then crafting a divine artifact need not require a physical vessel—he could directly refine the spirit-substance itself.

His Ten Thousand Phenomena Butterfly seemed to be something similar!

And what advantages did this method offer?

The advantages were immense!

Using an imprecise but vivid analogy: a sharp dagger's attributes might number only twenty, primarily enhancing speed, sharpness, or lightness, with secondary enhancements adding magical damage beyond physical harm.

But directly refining spirit-substance was different.

Without material constraints, it could be shaped across hundreds or even thousands of attributes, within just a few broad frameworks!

This sounded—

Like a domain!

As the final thread of divine faith flowed in, the black flame burning in Luo Yan's palm ceased to be mere fire—it began to collapse, solidify… and ultimately transformed into a tangible, living black substance.

Watching the transformation in his palm, Luo Yan's pupils contracted slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible thrill flashing across his face—

Success!

His joy stemmed not merely from the experiment's success, but from having confirmed his hypothesis.

The instant the black flame in his hand devoured the Mythic Seed, the fluid fire spread along the patterns on his palm, seeped into his skin and bones, and fused entirely with his right hand.

Each pulse of the flame caused visible tremors in the surrounding space; its heartbeat was the pulse of his right hand.

It felt as if—

His right hand had seized hold of the world itself!

Or rather, one corner of the "hive."

Luo Yan drew a deep breath, feeling the surging power, then slowly raised his right hand, lifting the force toward the heavens.

More and more black light pierced through the clouds, devouring the light of the earth, until it coalesced into a black sun, like the eye of a demonic god.

Countless threads of energy surged from the black flame in his hand toward the sky; at this moment, Luo Yan no longer suppressed his aura, allowing his torrential magic to rise and be amplified by the "artifact" in his palm.

"In the name of the people, not the gods, I summon the soul-fire that burns all—descend upon the evil and profane spirits with eternal torment and punishment—"

With a whisper, Luo Yan crushed the solidified black flame in his palm.

"Bloom."

"Burn them!"

Simultaneously, the black sun hovering above Death Valley blazed fiercely, then shattered with a crisp, shattering crack.

In an instant, everyone on the battlefield heard the sound of shattering glass—then the black force fragmented into countless black feathers of light, each tearing through space, descending like a storm from the heavens…

The haunting beauty of the scene caused all to hold their breath—even Omon Sird, watching from afar.

? ￠o

Each feather burned with silent black fire.

They drifted gently onto the blood-soaked battlefield, like an early snowfall, conducting the final funeral for this land of death.

Yet—

This was no merciful snow.

They did not come to bury death and sin; they came to ignite them once more, into roaring flames!

Countless black feathers landed upon the writhing mound of flesh.

No resistance—upon contact with the crystal growths, they emitted a grating, teeth-on-edge hissing sound!

The sound of metal corroding!

Like countless resurrected souls, they slithered through wounds into Mo Ke's body, burning his bloated flesh and shredding his chaotic, greedy soul.

"Aaaah—!"

Mo Ke's massive body convulsed violently, screaming with a torment a hundred times worse than when his limbs had been severed.

His prized ultra-fast regeneration proved useless against this soul-scorching black flame—it only accelerated the drain of his power.

New flesh buds formed and instantly turned to ash; the soul tendrils extending with them vanished too.

The dwarf ten-thousand-commander's eyes widened, gripping his warhammer, staring at the falling black feathers, his expression filled with dread.

Dwarves were most sensitive to undead energy—he sensed something foul in it, yet Mo Ke's agonized screams made him doubt himself.

If this were truly evil, why did the most profane thing before him wear such a look of agony?

At that moment, a feather landed on his shield.

He held his breath, bracing for a change—but the power was unexpectedly gentle, merely coating his shield in a layer of black magical radiance.

Nothing else happened!

The blessing extended beyond the dwarves—it reached the human infantry in the trenches, especially the soldiers of Rayne's company who had left the trenches and prepared to charge.

A wild force devoured their fear, transmuting it into hatred for the profane, filling their limbs with unprecedented strength.

Yet those most affected were not the living—but the corpses on the battlefield whose souls had not yet departed.

For instance, the players.

Their soul-echoes had not been reclaimed by the Demon King; they remained on the battlefield, awaiting his awakening.

Now—

They heard the charge horn once more!

The once-cold corpses, upon contact with the falling black feathers, saw all wounds sear as if scorched by flame, then visibly knit themselves shut.

Like phoenixes reborn from fire, their shattered bones reassembled in ceaseless black smoke, torn muscles stitched by shadow.

In less than three seconds, the fallen players snapped open their eyes, their pupils blazing with emerald-green light!

【System Prompt: You have received the blessing of "Flame King," gaining temporary special status "Black Flame Corpse!"】

【Status Description: All attributes greatly enhanced, pain sensation blocked, attacks inflict soul damage, death incurs no penalty, duration: 30 minutes!】

This pale-blue pop-up flickered across every player's retina, the crimson text proclaiming the buff's extraordinary power.

Mei Chuan Nei Ku, who had just crawled from the corpse pile, glanced at his claws and scales now burning with black flame, then at his risen brothers, his face breaking into ecstatic delight.

"Holy shit! There's a stage two?!"

He didn't even bother to pick up his gear, swung his newly empowered arms, and let out an ecstatic roar.

"Brothers! This is official cheating! Charge, damn it!!"

"Kill!!"

"Oooohhh!"

A tidal wave of undead legion surged forward again!

This time, they were more frenzied, more fearless… for all remembered the ten-million bounty.

Watching the players charge anew, Long Xing Wanli stared in stunned disbelief, a flicker of regret crossing his face.

DAMN IT!

If he'd known there was an official cheat, he'd have charged with his brothers earlier!

Was it too late to order a full army suicide now…

Mo Ke, writhing in agony under the black flame, watched in horror as the dead ants beneath him rose again—stronger, deadlier than before.

Especially the flames burning on those ants—his soul recoiled in primal dread, suppressing his ravenous hunger.

Instinct told him—

Never, ever swallow this thing!

Mo Ke's sluggish mind finally realized: this was no mortal trick.

His opponent might be, like him, a "true deity!"

"Get out of my royal court, you filthy human filth! And dwarf filth! Lizardman filth!"

As the endless hordes of undead surged beneath his feet, Mo Ke roared, slashing with his claws to sweep away the army below.

But their numbers were too vast, their speed too swift—in mere breaths, they reached his feet, forcing his claws to hesitate.

But players don't have to worry so much.

They used their teeth, claws, and everything else they could grab, striking at Mo Ke's body! Even without seeing a health bar, even without hope of knocking him down, they would squeeze every last second of this free 30 minutes!

The evidence proved their attacks weren't useless.

Though flesh could regenerate, soul damage could not be quickly repaired; Mo Ke now felt as if ten thousand ants had burrowed into his body, gnawing at his heart.

"You damn maggots… I'll eat you all!"

Mo Ke thrashed wildly, but could not fully wrench his bloated body free from the heavy mountain. Further evolution required more flesh and soul—but these burning corpses and undead offered him nothing to bite into, leaving him to endure the torment of hunger.

At that moment, a black line hanging on the horizon caught his attention.

He strained to lift his massive, mountain-like rat head, gazing toward the highest peak in the distance; his crimson eyes contracted in an instant.

There stood a cloaked figure, looking down from above, cradling a ball of black sacred flame, as if a demon god had descended.

And the black light in the sky? It was his eye—now held in his palm!

Mo Ke screamed, his voice filled with terror at an unfathomable presence.

"Who are you?!"

Humility was Colin's persona, not Luo Yan's.

To miss a chance to play the part was to waste the vast, untended fields of faith!

Luo Yan, having shed the mask of Colin, showed no concealment; his voice, amplified by magic, rippled outward, engulfing the entire battlefield.

"You may call me the Divine Son."

"Or, the Flame King."

Watching the enraged, powerless howling of Gello's Chosen beneath the torrent of black feathers, Edward's face showed a flicker of shock.

"Divine Son… Flame King…"

He had heard legends of the Flame King, even longed to meet the man himself—yet never imagined their first encounter would be in the Wanren Mountains?!

Sir Wesley, standing beside Edward, had clearly heard the legends too; suddenly, he whispered a verse he'd learned from a bard.

"…He was born in the hottest cavern of the Wanren Mountains, where only the erupting lava witnessed the infant's cry. Thanks to divine protection, he survived the great calamity."

Edward turned to him.

"Who?"

"The Flame King," Sir Wesley swallowed hard, gazing at Emperor Edward, and whispered the tale he'd heard, "I first heard this story from a bard in Lei Ming's tavern—in his version… the Flame King was born right here!"

So this was the Flame King's homeland!

Edward's shock slowly gave way to realization.

Everything now made far more sense…

…

At the edge of the nameless peak, hidden at the entrance of a cave.

The Soul Sage Amon Sirth, who had observed the battle from above with detached superiority, showed the first crack in his ancient, cold face.

His magic-crystal ocular implant spun wildly, attempting to analyze the energy composition of the black feathers—but all it returned was chaos and bottomless void.

He recognized it as something touching the core of Soul School research, yet distinct from their own studies.

o￠〇

"Flame King…"

Amon murmured the name, savoring it.

The Scholar Alliance's intelligence network had indeed carried fragments about the "Flame King"—a heretical deity who had briefly appeared in places like Yin Song Town, worshipped by ignorant villagers as a false god, later rekindling in Dusk Province… until the Inquisition arrived.

Yet he never imagined this mysterious power would appear here, standing alongside the Three Races' Alliance.

As he carefully unraveled the scattered rumors, piecing them together, Amon's astonishment slowly turned to realization.

So that's it.

The legendary Flame King is Colin's ally!

With this understanding, Amon's heavy expression softened into excitement—though the excitement quickly gave way to caution.

No wonder this man dared defy the Lei En Kingdom, ignore the Scholar Alliance's warnings, and repeatedly defy the Grand Sage's gaze…

In his mind, Amon swiftly redrew his portrait of Prince Colin: not merely a gifted noble scholar, but a profoundly hidden schemer.

He held no reverence for Shengxi at all—no different from the mages in the Mage Tower. To achieve his goals, he would even ally with heretics and betray oaths sworn before Shengxi…

Only mages who believed in nothing ever did such things.

It seems—

He had underestimated the young man.

The Sage's analytical skills were sharp—he'd guessed eight out of ten. But the two he missed? Those were the most critical.

Amon believed he had seen through Colin's true nature and understood the Flame King's power—yet never imagined the two were one and the same.

Even these two masks were merely fragments of Luo Yan's many personas.

On the other side, at the battlefield's center, Elin also sensed the dark figure atop the peak; her nerves tightened involuntarily.

A terrifying aura radiated from there.

Behind that aura, an overwhelming surge of magic far exceeded anything she had known from Colin!

"…Such terrifying power," she whispered, momentarily unsure where to direct her blade.

As a Chosen endowed with both Sacred and Profane bloodlines, her perception was keener than anyone's. Yet precisely because of this sensitivity, she now faced unprecedented confusion.

The instant that aura enveloped the battlefield, an indescribable familiarity struck her heart like lightning—the heat of that power, tinged with faint malice, was identical to the magic Colin had used beside her in Dusk Province against Kaelan.

She remembered Colin's explanation: an ancient Gu Ta Fu Kingdom secret, black sacred flame woven from Old Dragon tongue.

She did not doubt Colin—but what chilled her was that the Flame King atop the peak wielded not only power similar to Colin's, but also power strikingly akin to that of the mysterious figure "Luo Yan" who had granted her the Embrace in Dusk Province!

Why?

Elin's grip on her sword trembled slightly; her mind spun in chaos.

Could it be that the mysterious Luo Yan, the Flame King before her, and her beloved… were somehow connected in ways unknown?

But how could that be?!

One was a demon more evil than the Demon King, one a wild man born in the Wanren Mountains, and the other an imperial prince from Jia Na Continent.

Elin felt her brain burning.

Just as she reached to grasp something, a black feather drifted down and landed on her shoulder blade.

Instinctively, she prepared to summon holy light to resist this seemingly profane force—but no burning or repulsion came.

The black flame slipped into her body without resistance, harming her not at all, instead filling her with unprecedented comfort.

"Mmm…" Elin could not suppress a soft moan.

It felt like diving into warm spring water amid snow and ice, or falling into someone's arms on a night in Granston Castle.

Power surged through her veins, instantly dispelling all fatigue, filling her body with a purity of energy she had never known.

Elin stared in astonishment at her "Song of Light"—the once sacred, radiant holy sword now wreathed in eerie black flame.

Light and darkness, opposing forces, now achieved perfect symbiosis, entwined together.

"Roar—!"

Mo Ke let out a furious bellow.

The black feathers suppressed his regeneration, reducing him to nothing but meat awaiting slaughter—he must devour the one creature still within reach.

Even if she too had become "tainted."

The moment for action was fleeting.

Elin's confusion vanished, replaced by resolve. Bathed in black divine grace, her silver hair whipped wildly in the wind, transforming into countless writhing silver dragons.

"It's over!"

She leapt high, a flash of black and white, her holy sword descending with the force to cleave mountains, severing Mo Ke's massive paw as it slammed toward her.

Almost simultaneously, Luo Yan, standing atop the peak, extended his right hand, lifting his pale index finger slightly upward.

The black flames raging across the earth obeyed like royal decree—suddenly coalescing from chaotic black serpents into a colossal black flame hand blotting out the sky!

In Luo Yan's vision, the distant rising black hand perfectly aligned with his slightly raised index finger.

Beneath his mask, his lips curled into a faint smile; he flipped his palm.

"Nether Shatter Finger—"

One finger fell, as if the gates of hell had opened; ten thousand zhang of black flame became endless chains, biting into the Gello Chosen as he burst from the earth.

Crack—!

The sound of bones shattering was nauseating—not only bones, but every twisted face crawling over Mo Ke's body shattered like pus-filled boils, oozing black blood that smeared his purple-black crystal tumors into even stranger patterns.

Black mist shrank beneath the black flames.

In Mo Ke's screams of the "Soulbreaker," a bone-deep terror finally emerged—he was once again the tiny rat cowering beneath Gello's feet.

He finally realized he was merely a monkey in a king's crown, and how impossibly far he stood from true divinity.

Before the soul-burning wrath, the useless flesh clinging to him offered not a shred of safety.

Before that soul-searing rage, the useless flesh hanging on him could not grant him even the slightest sense of safety.

It had become his burden.

Flames burned open Mo Ke's chest pouch.

Amid the interweaving light and dark, Elin surged upward, piercing through the thick fog; her blade passed unimpeded through Mo Ke's now-exposed heart.

In an instant, the entire sky fell silent; the monstrous beast ceased struggling and screaming, the greedy fire in its eyes extinguished like ash.

Its massive body slowly tumbled toward the shattered peaks, dissolving slowly within the unquenchable black flames into burning fragments.

The massive body slowly sank toward the torn mountains, gradually disintegrating within the ever-burning black flame, turning into burning chunks of corpse.

The warriors on the battlefield had never witnessed such a magnificent scene; whether player or NPC, all halted their actions, as if trying to etch the image into their minds.

"Incredible…" Hui Wan couldn't help but murmur in awe.

Ye Zhiqiu stared intently at the sky, gripping his bone staff tightly, its faint creaking echoing softly.

So powerful!

That terrifying force… made him feel as if his very soul in the real world trembled.

Yet, he felt no fear—only exhilaration.

One day, he too would become a mage like that!

Countless mages held such thoughts; the mages of the Great Graveyard were still very different from those of the Scholar Alliance.

Though both sides had their own extraordinary strengths, the players' standards were higher—at least, those standing here were.

Someone shouted "Victory!"—and soon, the cry swelled into a deafening roar echoing across the mountains near the Flesh Throne.

At the battlefield's edge, Amon watched the vast dust cloud raised by Mo Ke's demise, his face dark as if ready to drip water.

Yet he did not move.

A Chosen One's strength cannot be measured solely by their Transcendent Rank; one must also consider the power of their divine relic and the blessings within their bloodline.

Facing a Chosen Hero at his peak, that unfathomable "Flame King," the still-unrevealed Corin, and tens of thousands of high-spirited troops from the three tribes… even as a Grandmaster, he had no guarantee of victory.

No, to be precise—he had no chance at all.

For a sage who weighs gain and risk equally, recklessness is the height of stupidity.

"This time, you've won, Corin."

But he wasn't truly defeated.

Amon cast one long, deep look toward the mountaintop, then his figure slowly faded into the shadows, like water smudged from a glass pane.

At least, he now knew this man's true cards. And his murky ties to the heretical deity would be the Empire Prince's greatest weakness.

In the valley, thunderous cheers rang out; Hua Xuechi, exhilarated, threw his arms around Long Xing Wanli's leg.

"Brother! Dragon Brother! Is the reward still on the table?"

Watching this shameless fool, Wanli couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Let the Demon King come and claim it!"

Long Xing Bai Li: "Pfft…"

Gou Shi: "Demon King: If I really show up, you'd be mad again… *manually funny*."

Far away, the black flames beneath Mo Ke's corpse gradually faded, and the charred undead turned to ash.

Their silent disappearance deeply shocked the dwarf ten-thousand-commander on the front lines and his troops behind him.

Dwarves were indeed mortal enemies of the undead.

But at this moment, he decided to remove them from the Book of Hatred and erect a monument for these warriors who had returned from death.

These dragon-blooded ones were true heroes.

To save people unrelated to them, they had marched onto this land without hesitation, leaving their ashes forever scattered here.

Ailin stood atop Mo Ke's remains, sheathing her sword.

She lifted her head, gazing at the retreating figure on the mountaintop—her eyes filled with gratitude, and a faint, almost imperceptible confusion.

Was this vast necrotic energy truly the power of the Dragon God?

She remembered the ancient legends: the Dragon God and the Death God were supposed to be mortal enemies…

On another battlefield far away, King Ironbeard Jasta of the Mountain Kingdom stood gripping his warhammer, his thick eyebrows knotted in frown.

Behind him, several dwarf generals and courtiers exchanged uneasy glances.

They all realized what their allies had just used…

Only Lord Copperforge Queting remained silent.

Though he didn't know what connection Gutaifu Kingdom had with the undead, he had long known the Campbells had allied with them.

That night, he had been beside Corin, watching Princess Ailin return to her tent under Princess Teresa's escort.

Back then, she hadn't yet used the scent-masking perfume—he could smell the vampiric stench from afar.

As his emotions churned, a dwarf general couldn't help speaking up.

"Your Majesty, that power—"

"Shut up."

Ironbeard growled, cutting off his subordinate.

As a dwarf who had lived for centuries, he merely looked rough—he wasn't as stubborn as a rock.

He glanced at the crumbling Flesh Throne, then turned to the lizardmen allies cheering for victory.

Even without Corin's explanation, he instantly crafted a fitting excuse for them.

"It's Gutaifu Kingdom's secret art—a 'seal' woven from ancient dragon tongue… yes, that's how I recall it."

The dwarf priest beside him stared in shock, but swallowed his retort.

What else could he do?

Tell the dwarves they'd allied with the undead for three months?

What then of the Book of Hatred?

And the war was over—now came the division of the Corpse Clan's territory. Morally and practically, they had no reason to fight again.

Ironbeard scanned his ministers with a warning gaze, his voice low.

"Keep all your suspicions buried in your guts! As long as that flame burns our enemies, it's holy fire. Didn't the humans themselves call it 'Holy Spirit'? Then use their words!"

The battlefield slowly fell silent, save for the slow, drifting black feathers falling like snow celebrating victory.

Far in the rear, Vivian gazed raptly at the scene before her, her expression growing ever more fervent, as if she longed to dance within the black flames.

Undoubtedly—

That was her brother!

Whether others saw it or not, she recognized him at once!

Vivian's small mind began whirring again—she had to find a way to make the Demon King unleash his full power on her.

Clearly—

That giant hand formed of primal energy wasn't his true specialty.

With a grave expression, clad in the Blood Cross cloak, Xuenite left her knights and stepped behind her young mistress, Vivian.

Her lowered bangs hid her long, sharp eyes as she spoke in a hushed tone.

"My Lady…"

Vivian murmured softly, still lost in the afterglow of excitement.

"What is it?"

Xuenite hesitated slightly, then finally spoke.

"Are you certain… Corin is truly your brother?"

She knew she shouldn't ask such a sensitive question—whether true or false, the internal affairs of the Corin family were no business of an outsider.

Yet that terrifying power left her with a strange feeling—as if the Demon Lord himself had just acted…

This might sound like a good thing, but it was deeply taboo.

After all, demons' words often contradicted their actions—including their reverence for the Demon Lord.

No demon wished for the vanished Demon Lord to return, just as no human noble wished for the Emperor to rise from his throne and shatter the balance they'd spent centuries cultivating.

Of course, Xuenite did not suspect Luo Yan was the Demon Lord—that was absurd.

What truly puzzled her was this thing that looked like magic yet differed from it—who had taught him?

The transmission of power often ties to factions.

Could it really be that Luo Yan figured it out himself—or learned it from humans?

Vivian froze, unsure if she caught Xuenite's implication, then suddenly erupted in fury.

"Are you trying to steal my brother?!"

Xuenite blinked, thrown off by this leap in logic, hastily explaining.

"No, I meant—"

"Don't tell anyone—my family included."

Vivian's voice grew colder; her delicate face had lost all trace of playfulness, now utterly serious.

"If I hear anyone else mention this, you know the consequences."

Meeting those crimson eyes, Xuenite felt a chill run through her; she dropped to one knee, a bead of cold sweat forming on her brow.

"Yes… My Lady, please don't misunderstand—I am eternally loyal to you. My heart and blood belong to you alone."

"Kukuku… Is that so? Then I shall watch you closely. Also, my interests and stance align with the Demon King's. Do you understand?"

"Understood." Xuenite bowed her head lower, daring not to breathe before the future Blood Prince.

"Good."

Vivian gave her guard a meaningful look, then, as if nothing had happened, hummed a cheerful tune and walked away.