Chapter 602: Under a spell?

What the hell?

Su Qu pulled out his phone to record, eyes wide, and saw the freight truck hanging in midair outside the window start to fly backward.

It rotated, retreating from the restaurant window, back past the street, past the intersection, past the crowd frozen mid‑run.

The truck's lights flickered off and on, the horn blared in reverse, and the sharp screech turned into a strange, upstream hum.

The truck flew back onto the bald man's head and landed in his hands.

The bald man's actions began to reverse—he lifted the truck, then set it down, then stepped back a few paces, and the iron rod rose from the ground back into his hand.

His steps walked backward over the asphalt he had shattered, the cracks closing, gravel flying back into place—as if time had been sewn shut by an invisible needle!

Then came the team members.

Those lying on the ground stood up and ran backward to their positions.

The cracks on the shield healed, restoring it to perfect condition.

Those who had been blown away flew backward from the walls, the ground, and the bridge's concrete pillars, landing steadily in their original spots—their wounds vanished, uniform tears repaired, blood returned to the wounds, which closed up, as if nothing had happened!

The middle‑aged Daoist's sword gesture withdrew in reverse, the firelight flowing from the bald man back to his fingertips before fading away.

His barrier re‑formed from the shards, golden runes flaring up then dimming.

He stepped back to the street corner, back to where he had rushed out, standing together with those few folk cultivators, as if waiting for something.

The Heavenly Authority Awakener flew backward from the bridge's concrete pillar, the wind blade returning to his hand before vanishing.

He retreated into the shadows, back to the moment he had raised his hand.

Then came the more distant places.

The blown‑apart steps reassembled, gravel flying back to slot into place, the cracks disappearing.

The bank's glass door reformed from the shards into a single pane, flying back into its frame with a tight seal.

The destroyed billboard lit up again, its characters filling in stroke by stroke.

The storefront window across the street reconstituted from shards into whole glass, the mannequin rose from the ground, stepped back, struck a pose, and its clothing returned to its original state.

The streetlights came back on one by one.

The extinguished lights flickered on again, the broken made whole, shards of smashed bulbs lifting from the ground to re‑form whole bulbs, snapping back into their sockets and shining brightly.

Then came the sounds.

The alarm's blare wound backward, shifting from a sharp wail to a low hum before fading away.

People's screams wound backward, turning from terrified shouts into ordinary speech, then into silence.

The explosion's roar wound backward, dropping from a boom to a muffled thud before disappearing.

The whole street fell silent.

Finally, the six people.

The bald man's iron rod returned to his hand, his steps walking backward to the bank's entrance where he came to a stop.

The tall, thin man's talisman paper slipped back into his pocket, he adjusted his glasses, and stepped back to stand beside the bald man.

The crack beneath the woman's feet sealed, the heat drawing back into the earth.

The outlines of the three people in the shadows blurred for an instant, then sharpened again.

They stood at the bank's entrance, just as they had been before.

The bank's door was intact, as before.

The entire street was intact, as before.

Everything was as it had been the moment they arrived—no glass shattered, no steps blown up, no one hurt, no truck thrown.

Everything had returned to the starting point!

Su Qu held up his phone, mouth open, forgetting to close it.

He lowered his eyes to the screen recording—there, Yu Lin stood by the window, everything outside running backward like a river played in reverse.

But time was still moving forward.

Only the events had reset to the starting point.

The street grew quiet, the frozen people began to move again, but they had no idea what had happened.

Some rubbed their eyes, some looked around, some glanced down at their unharmed clothing, faces blank with confusion.

"What just… happened?"

"I don't know… I thought I saw…"

"What did you see?"

"I can't remember."

The team members stood where they were, looking at each other.

They remembered having just been in a firefight, remembered someone getting hurt, remembered broken bones, remembered people being blown away.

But now there were no injuries on anyone, and those who had been blown away stood nearby unharmed—nobody was hurt or killed!

"What's going on?"

"Did reinforcements arrive?"

"I don't know… it feels like nothing happened."

The middle‑aged Daoist looked down at his hand, his sword sign still pinched, but there was nothing before him.

He lowered his hand in bewilderment, turned and glanced at the few folk cultivators behind him.

They too looked bewildered.

"Weren't we just fighting?"

"Yeah… what happened?"

The Heavenly Authority Awakener poked his head out from under the bridge, touched the back of his head—no pain, no injury.

He was clearly just knocked flying, but now he's standing here fine.

The bald man stood at the bank entrance, lowered his head and looked at his own hand.

The iron rod was in his hand, fine.

He looked back at the bank's door, which was fine.

He glanced at the mall across the street, which was fine.

He looked at those team members; they were standing fine, none had fallen.

"What the hell, what's going on?" He turned his head to look at the tall thin guy.

"Lao Liu, just now it wasn't……"

The tall thin guy pushed his glasses, lowered his head to look at the talisman paper in his hand, and frowned.

"I don't know, it seems…… we haven't made a move yet?"

"Could it be an illusion?"

"When was it cast?"

The bald man stared for a moment, he suddenly felt something was off, but couldn't put his finger on it.

He clearly remembered smashing those people's shields, knocking that Daoist flying, and throwing a truck.

But now, there's nothing.

"Damn, I've seen a ghost." He muttered a curse.

"We don't have enough time, let's withdraw first............"

His words hadn't finished yet.

He heard footsteps.

They were coming from the end of the street.

Shush, shush, shush.

Very light, very steady, not hurried nor slow, like someone taking a walk.

The bald man raised his head and looked in that direction; everyone was looking that way.

At the end of the street, a person was walking over.

His face was clear in the light, young, calm, with a faint hint of a curve at the corner of his mouth.

The Civil Affairs Bureau team members froze, and finally someone exclaimed:

"General Yu?!"