Chapter Seventy-One: The Realm of Nothingness

Back in his upstairs room, Ling Xi changed into a black mage’s robe, pulling the hood low over his face. As he descended the stairs, he happened to meet Bai Shengye coming up.

“Oh? Boss Ling, are you heading out?”

“Yes.”

“Off just like that? Aren’t you going to mind the bar?”

Ling Xi continued down the stairs as he replied, “They’re all regulars. If anything comes up, help me keep an eye on things, will you?”

Bai Shengye stepped aside, and Ling Xi descended slowly.

“When will you be back?”

Ling Xi didn’t answer. He walked out the door.

After Ling Xi and the figure in black left through the back entrance, Lin Aosoul and Yi Xin soon led the Holy City’s guard out of the city as well. Hei Yu remained alone in the bar, drinking himself into a stupor. Unbeknownst to him, night had already fallen.

In the past, it was common for him to get drunk. If he passed out before closing, Ling Xi would always send someone to notify Yi Xin to carry him home—though Yi Xin never seemed particularly willing.

But tonight felt different. His head throbbed more and more, and his body grew weak. He made several trips to the restroom, splashing cold water on his face as he stared into the mirror, but found his vision blurring; crimson hallucinations flickered before his eyes.

He paid little heed, thinking, “Perhaps the wounds from my recent bout with Lei Jue haven’t fully healed. I shouldn’t have drunk so much.”

Though he’d never felt this way before—no matter how badly injured, a single night’s rest was usually enough for a full recovery, leaving no hidden ailments behind.

Leaving the restroom, he glanced at the clock—it was around ten.

“Maybe I should head home,” he thought.

Stepping out into the street, the dim glow of the streetlamps illuminated his path. In a haze, Hei Yu staggered along, the pain in his head intensifying. Suddenly, a sharp pain seared through the birthmark on his right palm, and he realized that something deeper than drunkenness was at work. The sensation was familiar—a prelude to one of his uncontrolled rampages.

“So this is…”

He hadn’t expected that his peaceful life in the Holy City had dulled the traumatic memories of his childhood, rendering the warning signs of another outbreak almost unrecognizable.

Indeed, ever since Yi Sheng placed the seal on his palm, he’d lived quietly, the terrifying power buried within him—like a ticking time bomb—nearly forgotten.

Now, the flame-shaped seal on his right palm pulsed red, as if warning him.

He looked around in confusion. “Father isn’t in the city. Yi Xin isn’t here either. At a time like this, if I lose control, who will stop me? I’d better hurry home and lock myself in.”

He hurried onward, reassuring himself, “It’ll be fine. The seal suppresses most of my power, and my magic has grown stronger. I should be able to keep the darkness within at bay. Even if I do lose control, I can endure it.”

But the further he went, the heavier the sense of impending doom.

Pain in his palm multiplied. His blood roared, heart racing. It felt as if every vein might burst. He struggled to remain conscious, sweat streaming from his brow.

This time was unlike any before. The power within him seemed pulled by some unseen force, yearning to break free. His consciousness began to fade, his eyelids growing heavy.

He could barely move. His legs felt weighted with lead, his shoulders pressed down by invisible hands. Exhaustion overwhelmed him. He no longer controlled his own body. Suddenly, darkness closed over his vision and he collapsed to the ground.

In a deep dream, he heard his own ragged breath and fleeing footsteps. All around him, dense fog clouded his sense of direction. A dusky forest flickered with firelight, and he ran endlessly forward.

“Catch him! …Catch him!…”

A cacophony of voices swelled behind him. Hei Yu was helpless and terrified, his feet never slowing, his breath growing ever more desperate.

“No, it wasn’t me… it wasn’t me…”

He glanced frantically at his hands—small, tender, and slick with blood. The air was thick with its metallic tang.

In the dream, he was a little boy, always just within reach of his pursuers. Suddenly, several figures loomed ahead, wrestling him to the ground and binding him fast.

He was dragged to a pyre, surrounded by a crowd of shadows brandishing torches, setting him alight. Flames rose at his feet.

“It’s him! He killed those people in the village! Monster, kill him!” Their eyes burned with hatred, their voices rang with accusation.

“It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me!” Hei Yu struggled desperately, the fire creeping ever closer to his small frame. Just as the flames were about to scorch the soles of his feet, the agony shattered the dream.

He felt himself plummeting, falling into a pitch-black abyss. Suddenly, he landed hard; nothing could be seen.

Gradually, the clash of battle filled his ears—the ring of blades, the crackle of thunder, the roar of beasts, and countless other jumbled sounds. The noise grew louder, nearer, until his senses were lost in chaos.

Then, a gentle hand brushed his cheek.

A familiar woman’s voice spoke: “You will awaken again.”

He was bewildered. “Who are you?” he asked.

The sounds and visions vanished. He jolted upright, finding himself standing naked in the midst of nothingness, enveloped in darkness.

“Who am I?” he asked himself.

“Where is this place?” He tried to break through the darkness, to awaken—but it was as if he’d slept for thousands of years, unable to find the light.

“Wait…”

He hesitated.

“Why am I thinking this way? Why don’t I know who I am? Am I not Hei Yu? Awaken? Why should I awaken? Have I never truly been awake?”

His mind was a maelstrom, a voice always calling him to wake.

The memories of two lives overlapped—quarrels with Yi Xin at the Mage Academy, hunting beasts in the Twilight Forest with Ling Xiao Lei and Shen Zhai Guo, and scenes he’d never witnessed in this life: ancient battlefields choked with smoke and blood, demons and dragons soaring through the sky…

He looked down at himself, feeling as though he was a new being, the decayed flesh and skin of his past self shed at last.

A force within urged him onward. All he needed was to take one step and be reborn.

So he stepped forward. But just as he did, a massive burst of fire flared in the darkness before him, blocking his path. Suspended in the air was a colossal mark shaped like a flame—like a closed door, its outline blazing with fierce fire.