Chapter 252: Ants Gazing at the Moon, the Spark of Civilization (Requesting Moon Tickets)

The image on the blood crystal gradually dimmed, all reconnaissance species deceased.

Yet the hearts of the Seven Thrones remained unsettled for a long time.

The little mage seated on the Blood King’s throne could be certain: the mindsets of all seven thrones had shattered.

Just like when he failed to distribute rewards, they had sunk into despair.

A fleeting glimpse had collapsed their worldview; even one corner of the Monster World had crushed every shred of pride in their hearts.

It was a height they could never reach; all prior understanding built through past cross-world wars had been utterly shattered.

The little mage could probably understand this feeling.

The power understood by the Seven Thrones of the Lingxi Clan was, in the Monster World, like sand grains played with by children.

Once-proud super-beast weapons and biological technologies, before this higher-dimensional world, were as thin as a sheet of paper.

Even partial data from world analysis had already surpassed the boundaries of their understanding.

“What… are we?” the Bone King rasped in a low voice.

He looked down at his own hands—strength once capable of waging cross-world wars now seemed laughable.

He had once believed himself a mighty warrior conquering countless worlds, a harbinger of apocalypse.

Only now did he realize: they were nothing but frogs at the bottom of a well, who had accidentally looked up and glimpsed the true sky—an infinite expanse that filled them with despair.

“All wars, schemes, glory…” the Fungus King let out a bitter laugh:

“Turns out, it was merely the revelry of ants.”

The Lingxi Clan had its own way of judging world strength.

Like their first reconnaissance mission to Earth—simple surveys revealed Earth’s combat rank was weak.

World framework, spiritual energy concentration… these were core factors determining whether a world could nurture a powerful clan; mud could never give birth to a divine dragon.

Apply this standard to the Monster World to measure its strength.

The Monster World had a one-hundred-percent probability of nurturing a top-tier clan.

According to this standard, even if a tribe in this high-tier world developed no resource-utilizing technology and lived like primitive humans,

They could still possess power far more terrifying than the “super-beast weapons” the Lingxi Clan had crafted through exhaustive wisdom and resources.

Because in this world, breathing was cultivation, survival was evolution.

The Lingxi Clan’s reconnaissance species could not detect excessive data.

It was certain: the invading force was merely one corner of this world.

Far from a world-dominating power.

Recalling the thoughts before the meeting—when they had considered counterattacking the invaders’ world—they now found it laughable.

The top-tier powers of this world might, through ordinary activities, bring the Lingxi World to the brink of destruction.

This exploration plunged the Seven Thrones into uncontrollable fear.

For the first time, they learned that strength need not be pursued—it could be innate.

Like sunlight, air, gravity in the Lingxi World: simply inherent.

The counterattack plan lay in ruins; only one thought remained: they must flee the Lingxi World as quickly as possible.

This war offered no chance of victory.

Even if the invading force was merely a minor power in this vast world, its resource base was beyond the Lingxi Clan’s reach.

This explained why the invaders’ space technology was so crude, yet the materials used to construct their space corridors were supreme spiritual substances beyond the Lingxi Clan’s comprehension.

Perhaps what they considered supreme divine materials were merely ordinary resources in that world.

This disparity even made the Seven Thrones question their own identity.

They stood silently beside the conference table, the air heavy as if filled with lead.

They had once called themselves natural disasters, synonyms for destruction.

This was the history passed down by their ancestors, instilling pride and arrogance.

Yet now, they felt an unprecedented absurdity.

Like a pack of wolves who believed themselves ferocious, suddenly realizing they were merely microbes swimming in a fish tank.

To higher-world beings beyond the tank, they were a joke.

“What does our effort amount to?” the Blood King whispered, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.

“Predators? Destroyers?” the Shadow King’s voice scraped from his throat, thick with self-mockery:

“Centuries of effort, like a self-deceiving game.”

These words deepened the gloom in the hearts of the Seven Thrones.

They had gloated over conquering inferior worlds, destroying civilizations as children crush ant hills.

Only now did they realize: so-called conquest was merely ants biting each other.

This exploration shattered their historical pride entirely.

It also forced them to reexamine this counter-invasion war.

Realizing their strength was utterly insufficient to win, the Bone King broke the silence first:

“We still have one escape route—the Blue World. Perhaps it’s time to activate the evacuation plan. Continuing this war will only drain more combat power.”

Facing the Bone King’s proposal, the Soul King shook his head:

“The Blue World is only suitable for plunder, not habitation. Surviving there, I see no future for the Lingxi Clan… Perhaps we have another option: build a new space corridor and flee to the world that terrifies us.”

The Soul King’s proposal startled the other six Thrones.

This suggestion was audacious beyond measure; the Iron King immediately opposed:

“Fleeing to that world is like sheep walking into a tiger’s mouth. But staying here, the Lingxi Clan will be utterly annihilated. Comrades, this is not the time to agonize over dignity and pride. The urgent priority is securing our clan’s future. I believe fleeing to the Blue World is the correct choice.”

“Secure our future? Easy to say!” the Erosion King’s eyes flared, slamming his fist on the armrest:

“How many of our people can the Blue World sustain? How many resources can we consume? How many of our subjects must we abandon? Must we completely discard the war-development model established by our ancestors and sink into the mud toward extinction? Have you even considered the next generation?”

Hearing their quarrel, the Fungus King shook his head slightly, his Iron Face filled with sorrow:

“But if we don’t flee, the entire clan will perish—no subject will remain. Choosing to flee to the Blue World, we can preserve only our elite, leaving a seed of our race to await a future chance to find a new world and restart.”

The Soul King, who had proposed fleeing to the Monster World, continued:

“Comrades, though the invaders’ world is strong, this force is clearly not the world’s dominant power. Facing them is not terrifying—high risk means high opportunity. If we can take root there, we may yet rise from the bottom.”

“Rise from the bottom? How easily said!” the Shadow King sneered:

“You’ve all seen the world’s strength. We’d be surviving in the cracks—any misstep leads to utter ruin. The danger vastly outweighs the opportunity.”

“But it’s better than waiting here to die. We’ve conquered countless worlds—why not gamble this time? Perhaps in that high-tier world, we’ll find a way to break through our current power system. There, spiritual energy and power are boundless, resources infinite. If we can take root there, only then can we touch true supremacy and speak again of racial glory.”

“Don’t forget: survival of the fittest is the path our Lingxi Clan chose.”

Facing the Soul King’s persistence, the Shadow King wavered but still urged caution:

“Soul King, going to that world means falling to the bottom of the food chain—starting from scratch.”

“No,” the Soul King insisted, “we will gain a true beginning.”

The seven Thrones exchanged glances; silence replaced their argument.

They all understood the Soul King’s idea: it was a perilous path to ascend.

Whether choosing the Blue World or the high-tier world, the Lingxi Clan faced extinction.

The Blue World had always been, in their eyes, merely one stop in cross-world plundering—they never considered settling there, for its strength was too low to sustain the Lingxi Clan’s future.

Choosing this meant the next generation of the Lingxi Clan would decline generation after generation.

Eventually, they’d sink into the mire, with no hope of escape.

This was the horror of inferior worlds.

The entire world was like a cage without oxygen—long-term survival required life strength adapted to that world.

Choosing the high-tier world meant facing countless terrifying lifeforms, even entire racial powers.

Surviving in the cracks, they could be crushed into dust at any moment by a sudden appearance of a powerful life form.

One was boiling a frog slowly toward destruction.

The other was refining gold in fire—either rising through bloody competition, or vanishing into ash beneath the shadow of the strong.

Like a meat grinder.

The bones of the weak paved the thrones of the strong; the rise and fall of a race was but a fleeting wave.

The atmosphere in the meeting was suffocating.

None had imagined that a simple cross-world survey would escalate to a life-or-death decision for the Lingxi Clan.

The Shadow King still struggled, eyes filled with pain:

“Choosing the high-tier world means changing our development model—gathering resources to build combat power. I simply cannot accept abandoning our ordinary subjects like this.”

The Soul King sighed:

“Shadow King, this is a desperate measure. The elites we take with us are the Lingxi Clan’s future—they will carry our race’s destiny.”

The Seven Thrones fell silent again, each wrestling with a painful choice.

The discussion concerning the Lingxi Clan’s survival continued.

Whatever decision followed would be so heavy it would choke them.

At this moment, the only one calm was the little mage.

His line of thought differed from the Seven Thrones of the Lingxi Clan.

He considered: if he followed the Lingxi Clan back to the Monster World, wouldn’t he be fully committing to the villain path?

He certainly couldn’t return until the forum players forgave him.

Should he, as the Blood King, help the Lingxi Clan establish themselves in the Monster World, waiting for redemption to arrive before returning home?

Along the way, he plucked wool from the Lingxi Clan to strengthen himself.

If he chose this path, the first step was to change the Lingxi Clan’s descent location.

They must not descend near the spatial node of their homeland.

From the villain’s perspective, those fellow villagers were an unsolvable natural disaster; opposing them would inevitably lead to being worn down to death.

They didn’t even need to wear them down to death.

Without the excessively high mortality rate of spatial passages, the villagers only needed to launch two or three full-scale wars, and the Lingxi Clan’s history would end there.

Thus, this ragtag group of the Lingxi Clan had no right to fight against players.

If they descended in the Emperor Tomb Mountain region, it would be an immediate death sentence.

Black Black Tide, Insect Black Tide, or players—any one of these three factions could make the Lingxi Clan feel utter despair.

The forum legend, the “Heavenly Fire Law King,” was a cautionary tale.

Therefore, choosing the descent location was extremely important.

At that moment, the Seven Thrones turned their gazes toward him.

“Blood King, what is your opinion?”

Faced with the question, the Little Mage fell silent.

To him, these two options weren’t choices at all.

He knew perfectly well the Blue World’s location—it was their Earth, the very target the Lingxi Clan intended to invade next.

This was surely an unopened new map, like a game’s air wall—how could they possibly go there?

Thinking that he was temporarily tied to the Lingxi Clan’s fate, he nodded coldly and said in a low voice:

“I support the Soul King’s idea: choose to cling to life in a low-tier world and eventually become ants, or gamble everything and fight for a future in hell. My choice is to rather be crushed beneath the feet of the strong than rot in the mud.”

The moment he spoke these words, the Little Mage suddenly froze.

He realized his own speech was essentially cursing his true homeland.

Calling Earth a mud pit—what kind of villainous thinking was this? Shameful!

“Then let’s vote,” the Soul King nodded at this point.

Eight tentacles simultaneously pointed toward the crimson crystal at the center of the table.

The final vote result: to choose death and life, to gamble the Lingxi Clan’s future on a slim chance.

…

Back in the Blood Pool Legion, the Little Mage began asking the Guide about how to cultivate the End Beast’s growth system.

And how to transform the End Beast into a Rule-type Special Soul.

The Guide provided two growth paths.

The first path.

The End Beast could grow by consuming the genes of flesh-and-blood lifeforms, optimizing its own biological structure.

But since the End Beast was crafted from the Lingxi World’s rule-derived substance, the gene structures it could analyze were limited; it could use sacrificial power consumption to assist in analysis.

In other words, from now on, whenever the End Beast consumed a flesh-and-blood lifeform in the Monster World and received sacrificial power as a reward, it would also have to expend sacrificial power to digest that lifeform to gain growth.

This was a gradual growth path: as long as it consumed enough genes and surpassed the growth threshold, it had a chance to evolve into a Rule.

The nature of this Rule would be tied to its consumption and evolution.

The second path.

Strip the Lingxi World’s rule origin and fuse it into the “Source of Sin.”

This method was relatively simple—the Guide could assist directly.

But the prerequisite was a one-time payment of over a hundred million sacrificial power.

How to choose? The Little Mage decisively picked the first option.

The price made him think of the Soul King in the Gardener’s possession—the Dark Descendant Legion—whose full collection cost was equally exorbitant.

Over a hundred million sacrificial power—he dared not even imagine it.

He didn’t know if he’d ever have the ability to turn the End Beast into a Rule-type Soul.

But he already had a new goal in mind.

Using the Lingxi Clan’s power to build his own faction in the game.

If the plan failed… he’d slink back to the village and get beaten.

If it succeeded, he would witness the Lingxi Clan’s rise in the Monster World as the Blood King.

He just didn’t know if his lifespan would last until that day arrived.

The Monster World game had extremely high freedom; a race’s rise was never instantaneous, but followed a gradual, realistic progression.

It was truly playing the game with one’s lifespan.

He didn’t know if the Monster World’s account could be inherited, allowing descendants to carry on his strength.

As for whether the Lingxi Clan could establish itself in the Monster World, he didn’t know—but he knew one descent faction elder had succeeded.

A Le was a perfect example.

He had read player-posted background supplement threads on the forum, which mentioned A Le’s rise.

This frog that jumped out of the well had truly secured its footing in the Monster World; its entertainment cities now spanned multiple regions.

Through years of accumulated wealth, it had already begun constructing a new legion system.

The Lingxi Clan might have similar opportunities.

Though he saw the Lingxi Clan as weak, it still had considerable growth potential and a well-developed technical system.

It was still far behind A Le, of course—after all, A Le began as a King of a Rule-bearing minor world.

But the Monster World would be the platform for the Lingxi Clan to climb to new heights.

Thinking of this, the Little Mage suddenly froze.

He realized he was actually considering the Lingxi Clan’s future.

“Sss~ How did I end up walking further and further down the villain’s path?”

At this moment, he turned his head toward the floating Guide water sphere beside him:

“Guide Brother, if I don’t follow the player faction’s development path, will there be any problems?”

In response, the Guide lifted its eyelids:

【No problem. You can play however you like. No matter what, you’re still a member of the player faction—you can still use the Mall, Star Vein, Body Strengthening, and other enhancement functions. It’s just a different playstyle.】

What the Guide didn’t say: as long as you pay your sacrificial power taxes, it’s fine.

Having received the Guide’s assurance, the Little Mage sighed helplessly.

Deep inside, he still wanted to return to Emperor Tomb Village and fight alongside his guild brothers.

Growing up with a bunch of NPCs? Boring.

But it was too late now—he had no choice.

Next, he decided to strengthen the End Beast.

He planned to sell all the items in his warehouse and convert them into sacrificial power.

Many items with latent value couldn’t be sacrificed to Emperor Tomb for much sacrificial power, nor could he directly contact guilds with demand.

His reputation on the forum was ruined; no players would cooperate with him.

For example, the 132 amber coffins in his personal space bag, each containing live gene samples of different races, could be sold to the Alchemist Guild for rewards.

But the Alchemist Guild certainly wouldn’t want to cooperate with him.

The Alchemist Guild didn’t want to lose its market—if cooperation with him was exposed, they’d be roasted alive and condemned by forum players.

But direct trade wasn’t possible—he could use indirect trade instead.

List the items in his bag on the Trading Exchange and wait for interested players to place orders directly, avoiding any contact.

After deducting fees, he’d gain a substantial sacrificial power return.

With this idea, the Little Mage acted immediately.

But many items had no reference price on the Trading Exchange.

For pricing, he planned to set high initial prices and lower them only if they didn’t sell.

As the Little Mage busied himself, the other Thrones also began moving.

First, they shut down the spatial teleportation arrays connecting to the Blue World.

Then, the Bone King and Fungus King withdrew their super-beast legion warriors stationed at the spatial passage exits.

The war priests under the Seven Thrones gathered together and, using coordinates derived from the floating jellyfish’s analysis, began constructing a new cross-dimensional teleportation array in the City of Revelation.

With this meeting concluded, the Lingxi Clan had completely abandoned its counter-invasion war.

They prepared to concentrate all resources from the Lingxi World and lead their people in a cross-dimensional migration to the Monster World.

But before leaving, one matter left the Seven Thrones of the Lingxi Clan hesitating.

Should they attempt to strip the Lingxi World’s rules and bring that Rule along to the Monster World?

The consequence would be the complete shattering of the Lingxi World.

More importantly, during the concentrated resource effort, success in stripping the Rule was uncertain.

Bringing the Rule along meant the Lingxi Clan would have higher growth potential.

The cost: starting from absolute poverty—even consuming all existing resources might not succeed in stripping the Rule.

Because of this, the Eight Thrones gathered again for a meeting.

The Lingxi Clan had long attempted to strip the world’s Rule.

All they had obtained were rule-derived substances—they could never extract the world’s origin.

The main reasons for failure come from three aspects.

First, the technology is immature, with serious deficiencies in understanding the world’s rules.

The world’s framework is like a labyrinth of intricate complexity, containing countless profound principles.

The current analytical technology of the Xi Zu is only able to touch the surface of the rules, unable to penetrate to their core to precisely grasp their operational logic.

Second, severing the world’s rules is an ultra-resource-intensive super-project.

The origin of the Xi World is intricately interwoven throughout every corner of the world, deeply fused with its material and energy systems.

To sever it requires terrifying consumption to break the tight connections between the origin and the rest of the world, and demands the creation of a special container capable of bearing the rules—a cost beyond estimation.

Third, the stability of the world.

Like extracting a critical load-bearing component from the foundation of a skyscraper, once the process of origin severance begins, the world’s structural balance is instantly shattered, triggering a chain reaction that ends in the world’s collapse.

Only fragments of land fused with the world’s core will remain.

How to decide? The seven Wang Zuo on the conference floor each voiced their opinions.

The Xiao Xiao Fashi proposed investing all resources to attempt severing the world’s origin.

As a player from the Monster World, he clearly understood the difference between having rules and lacking them.

Although having rules doesn’t necessarily mean strength.

For example, the Youluyi Society, fond of strategy games, controls the rule “Game Space,” yet compared to the Ancient Gods Clan or A Le, they appear extremely weak.

But without rules, one is destined to be seen as prey by other races.

Not even qualified to see the dining table, let alone sit at it.

The conference’s final outcome, as Xiao Xiao Fashi wished, was to exhaust all resources in attempting to sever the world’s origin.

Since we’ve decided to gamble on the future, let’s gamble more thoroughly.

After the meeting ended, Xiao Xiao Fashi also began his work.

As Blood King, he must oversee the troop movements before the Super Beasts’ migration and manage the ideological work of his subjects.

With the Blood King’s memories, this was not difficult for him.

…

Twenty-two days later, Tianqi City.

A massive teleportation array spanning a hundred li stood at the city’s center, its black runes spreading like veins, devouring surrounding light.

The Xi Zu’s war priests and top-tier array masters worked day and night to fine-tune the final parameters, ensuring the stability of the cross-realm teleportation.

Within the city, five million Xi Zu newborns had gathered, with additional clan members flooding in from outside like a Black Tide.

They were all the selected sparks of fire.

Jun Wang stood atop the Gao Ta, gazing down at the masses of his people gathered like ants, his eyes utterly still.

“Has the teleportation list been confirmed?”

Hun Wang’s fingertip traced over a crimson crystal, its surface flickering with countless names.

“Super Beast warriors, elite warriors, high-tier scholars, top craftsmen… totaling 8.43 million. Resources are limited; we can only take the most valuable sparks.”

Hearing this cold number, Jun Wang’s eyes flickered with pity, but his gaze hardened:

“We have no choice—for the future.”

“For the future,” Hun Wang nodded in agreement.

Beside them, Shi Wang licked his lips:

“Now, we finally understand those civilizations we destroyed.”

As they spoke, the teleportation array activated.

Batch after batch of Xi Zu citizens, guided by Super Beast warriors, moved toward the city’s central zone.

For the spatial coordinate alignment, Xiao Xiao Fashi personally participated, providing the coordinates given by the guidance.

When questioned by the other seven Wang Zuo, he explained that memories gained during the fusion of this body proved that region relatively safe.

The other seven Wang Zuo harbored no suspicion.

They could sense the memory sac within Xiao Xiao Fashi’s body and were certain he was one of their own.

“Begin. Attempt to sever the world’s rules,” Jun Wang’s voice echoed overhead, cold and absolute.

His voice, carried by communication spores, rapidly spread across every region of the Xi World.

Under the war priests’ command, teams began their actions.

Blood-red chains rose across the world, piercing sky and earth.

Behind them, mountains of resources withered and decayed before their eyes.

These were treasures plundered across hundreds of worlds, now burning like cheap fuel to supply endless energy to the blood-red chains.

This was a gamble on the future.

The process of dismantling the world and severing its origin was destined to come at the cost of shattering the entire Homeland World.

As the severance began, the far north of the world changed first.

Glaciers frozen for ten thousand years suddenly halted, then shattered like fragile glass, spiderweb cracks spreading across their surface.

Residents of the Ice City poured out into the open air, gazing upward in terror at the cracks forming in the sky.

By the time they realized the glaciers were breaking, it was too late to flee.

An arctic flood surged down instantly, engulfing the entire city and burying all traces of civilization.

Soon after, the lava Firefly Lake on an island in the Western Sea began violently churning.

The crimson magma thickened, bubbling into enormous blisters that burst open, revealing the black void beneath.

In the southern Emerald Rainforest, the leaves of ancient trees suddenly gleamed with metallic luster, then twisted and deformed like crumpled tin foil.

The creatures nesting in the canopy had no time to comprehend what was happening before they, along with their cradle of life, shattered into fragments and tumbled into the earth’s gaping fissures.

The sky over the eastern plains then melted.

The entire firmament dripped like molten wax, falling as dark blue gelatinous matter.

When it struck the ground, Xi Zu citizens who came into contact froze in place, sealed like amber, then vanished gradually from the edges, like pencil marks erased by an eraser.

A boy still held the posture of running, but his left foot had already turned to nothingness.

The sea surged violently, rising into a wall of water a thousand meters high, yet the instant it touched the blood-red chains, it crystallized into giant purple crystals.

Thousands of cities tilted and collapsed like drunken men.

The collapse of the world spread across every region.

The earth convulsed, the ground heaving with jagged ridges, as if countless giant beasts struggled and roared beneath the rock layers.

Throughout this process, particles of the world’s origin continuously converged toward Tianqi City.

The sky above Tianqi City instantly became a shattered kaleidoscope.

Countless blood-red chains wove into a vast dark-red net in the sky, each chain taut and rigid, forcibly extracting the world’s essence.

The cries of countless citizens echoed as if in the ears of the seven Wang Zuo.

Watching the still-operating teleportation array, Tie Wang’s faceplate dripped a single crystal tear:

“From primitive tribes struggling to survive in swamps, to masters of Super Beasts waging cross-realm conquests as cataclysms, the Xi Zu’s development has endured countless setbacks—but our ancestors, through their wisdom, led us through wave after wave of extinction-level crises… Now, we stand again at a turning point of survival. May we succeed.”

Hearing these words, the other six Wang Zuo trembled inwardly.

In Xi Zu history, when oppressed by powerful native clans, they had once undertaken internal migrations.

At that time, the Xi Zu were not yet the world’s overlords.

Their ancestors had left this note in the historical records: We shall return.

But none of them could utter such words now.

This migration, the Xi Zu would never find the way home again.

Xiao Xiao Fashi’s emotions were equally complex.

Though this was merely a game, these NPCs’ emotions felt too real—he couldn’t help but empathize.

He looked up at the sky, where a vast, horizon-spanning tear now ripped through it like torn cloth.

Through the rift, he saw chaotic, multicolored flows—the world’s collapse accelerating.

Tianqi City was the tombstone of this world before its fall.

Countless blood-red chains shuddered violently, forcibly restraining the scattered world-origin essence.

Amber-hued energy streams converged like rivers to the sea, pooling at the city’s center into a boiling vortex.

The foundation of the entire city began to glow.

The Xi Zu had not yet mastered the method of crafting rules; all they could do was extract the world’s origin and carry it away.

Two days later.

When the final surge of world-origin energy was injected, Tianqi City’s land contracted into a hundred-li-diameter world-origin landmass.

The Eight Wang Zuo, fused with Super Beasts, hovered in the air, gazing down at the shimmering land beneath them and the nebula-like energy flowing in certain regions.

The land of Tianqi City had transformed into a world seed.

The Xi Zu’s future would now be built upon this foundation, embarking on a new journey.

“Go!”

As Ying Wang’s voice fell, the massive teleportation array surged to life.

Space twisted.

In the final moment, they saw the entire Xi World collapse like a shattered eggshell.

The origin landmass, carrying the sparks of civilization, merged with them and became a streak of light, shooting into the space rift.

The instant they entered the space channel, the Eight Wang Zuo all felt an ancient gaze—cold, chilling, and unnerving.

It seemed that in the next instant, they would march toward destruction beneath the weight of that gaze.

But this sensation of being watched vanished in an instant—a false alarm.

Their gazes fixed upon the ground beneath their feet, scattering shimmering specks of light.

This was the final ark of the Lingxi Clan, also a drifting bottle carrying the entire memory of Lingxi civilization.

The spatial rift behind them grew increasingly narrow during the transmission.

The Eight Kings turned in unison to gaze afar at the far end of the rift, casting one final look upon their homeland.

The Lingxi World had utterly collapsed, its ruins slowly sinking into eternal void and darkness.

The primordial land transported alongside them erupted at this moment with unprecedented radiance.

Carrying the seed of civilization, it flew toward distant unknowns like a brilliant star.

(End of Chapter)