Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Tomb of Ten Thousand

“This way!” Guan Qian cradled the unconscious Jiang Qiang, choosing the southeast direction, for he keenly sensed that the Domain Gate Key lingered there. Nearly two days had passed since the false prophet granted them three days. Once tonight slipped away, tomorrow would be their last chance. Guan Qian had to seize every moment to obtain the key that would close the Domain Gate; otherwise, humanity would be annihilated.

The path was littered with jagged stones and grotesque rocks, barren and desolate. Besides the occasional patch of withered grass, there was not the faintest trace of life. A silent group followed Guan Qian toward the southeast, the mood growing increasingly oppressive.

Above, the sky was thick with black, leaden clouds, but not a single drop of rain had fallen. The eerie calm before the storm was terrifying, and the chilling wind whistled past their ears, bleak and mournful.

“Hey, slow down! I’m exhausted,” Fang He complained, peering through his black-rimmed glasses, his small eyes fixed on the backs of those ahead.

“You brought this on yourself! Greedy for gold, risking your life—serves you right,” Mo Han retorted without turning.

“Mo Han, keep up your sarcasm! Admit it—you’re just jealous I snatched all the gold. Heh.” Fang He tightened his grip on the gold bars concealed beneath his T-shirt, shouting as if warding off thieves.

“Whatever! Not worth my time,” Mo Han scoffed.

“I think we should thank that monster. Without it, we wouldn’t have found so much gold. It must have claimed that spot because it knew there was gold there! Yes, that’s it! I’ve decided—we’ll pull off a big heist, find the monster’s lair, and rob it blind! Wahaha—” Fang He squinted, his mouth wide with a leering laugh, drool trailing down his chin.

“Damn it! If you want to die, do it alone—don’t drag us down!” Mo Han’s forehead was dark with frustration, jabbing a finger at Fang He in anger.

“Fine, suit yourself. I’ll go to Guan Qian!” Fang He, laden with gold, marched up to the front where Guan Qian led the group.

“Damn you, so arrogant!” Mo Han was furious, nearly striking Fang He in rage.

“Look—” Tang Ruyan suddenly pointed ahead, her expression grave.

“Hoo—hoo—”

The icy wind pierced the mist ahead, and through the thin haze, a dark mass of small mounds appeared before them.

“This—this is—” Fang He was dumbstruck, unable to utter a complete sentence.

Graves.

An endless expanse of graves.

A sinister, oppressive atmosphere swept toward them on the wind.

Before their eyes—

Each mound bore a simple, cold stone tablet, square and level with the earth. Mysterious script and symbols were engraved upon them, worn and sorrowful.

Guan Qian frowned. So many graves—countless, stretching beyond sight. If not hundreds of millions, then at least tens of millions.

What in the world is buried here?

Guan Qian was shaken to his core.

He recalled his first steps onto this wasteland, a dead, deserted place, the mountain of white bones still vivid in his mind. Images of the mass grave flickered before his eyes, and Guan Qian fell silent.

What kind of place was this? Where did the Domain Gate lead? What unknown dangers lurked in this lifeless realm?

Guan Qian gazed into the distance, his thoughts unable to settle.

“Rumble—”

Thunder roared, lightning like a coiled dragon struck one of the mounds.

The mound exploded, blackened earth scattered everywhere, the shattered stone tablet splintered into fragments. Half the mound was leveled, revealing a deep, dark pit.

Guan Qian’s white pupils flashed bright, astonished.

An empty grave.

It was an empty grave!

Guan Qian quickly handed the stunned Jiang Qiang to Mo Han and, in a blink, entered the graveyard.

The cold wind swept over every inch of land, malice and chill seeped from the mounds, ghostly energy filled the air.

But Guan Qian’s shadow darted about like a specter, appearing everywhere in the mist, unnerving all who saw.

The mounds varied in size—some intact, others nearly flattened, some shrouded in wisps of smoke, others radiating chilling cold.

Yet they all shared one thing in common.

They were empty.

A graveyard of emptiness.

Tens of thousands of empty graves!

Who had dug so many graves here, yet left not a single corpse behind?

Restless bones—a tragedy for the dead.

“Crackle—”

Lightning tore through the mist again, striking another mound, the scorched, acrid scent mingling with the earth and spreading around.

Sweeping aside layers of mist, Guan Qian’s white pupils gazed into the distance, and suddenly, a blood-red stone tablet struck his mind like a thunderbolt.

This tablet was different from those before the mounds—it was slender, shaped like a tapered spike. Its unknown material glowed with a bloody hue, chilling to behold.

Half of the blood-red tablet was buried in the earth, the exposed surface battered and pitted. Yet Guan Qian stared in astonishment.

“Whoosh—”

He flashed before the stone, crouched, and wiped away the dust with his right hand. On the battered tablet, an eye appeared.

The eye was vivid, as if it could see into one’s soul.

It was exactly the same as the eye on that palm-sized stone!

Guan Qian studied the eye’s pattern, stunned.

He touched the stone in his hand, the only thing left to him by the first prophet—his ancestor.

Yet he had never noticed anything unusual about it, until now, in this graveyard, he found an uncanny resemblance.

The same eye, the same pattern.

A revelation!

What could it mean?

Stone, prophet, mass grave, tablet—

Everything was a mystery, utterly perplexing!

Guan Qian stared at the lifelike eye for a long time, his white pupils flickering, uncertain.

“Hehehe—hehehe—”

A sharp, ghostly laugh suddenly echoed, making everyone’s hair stand on end and cold sweat bead.

“Who’s there!” Guan Qian sprang to his feet, alert and vigilant.

Ahead, a shadow silently emerged from the mist, drawing closer.