371: The first sword cry after a million years

That soft ball of light was the only source of illumination in the dark Mining Area after the collapse.

It was neither blazing nor blinding.

Yet, it seemed to contain the power of creation, enough to pierce through the darkness that had settled over this Universe of death for eons.

The pupils of Prisoner Number 734, which had long been filled with numbness and dead silence, contracted violently.

He was imprisoned here, his Divine Soul ground down day and night, his memories shattered beyond repair, to the point where he was about to forget even his own name.

But the word "Sword," like the only mark branded into his Origin of existence, could never be erased.

He had once been a sword.

The sword was him.

"What... is this?"

His voice was no longer as hoarse as before, but carried a hint of uncontrollable trembling.

It was an emotion forgotten for too long, called excitement.

The cowardice and fear on Lin Fan's face had completely faded, replaced by an absolute calmness.

"An opportunity."

He did not explain further.

"An opportunity for you to have a chance to grasp the sword once again."

Lin Fan said calmly.

"And the price?"

Number 734 stared fixedly at that ball of light, squeezing the three words out through his teeth.

He did not believe there was any such thing as a gift without reason in this world, especially not in this Hell.

"The price is that you might die immediately, more thoroughly than ever before."

Lin Fan stated frankly.

"Or, you succeed, but what you will face will be an enemy ten thousand times more terrifying than the present one."

Number 734 fell silent.

He looked at the ball of light in Lin Fan's palm, then at the gray rune on his own forehead that was constantly draining everything from him.

Death?

He had already died long ago.

Now, he was nothing more than a breathing corpse, a number whose Soul had been drained dry.

After a long while.

He slowly raised his head, and in those dead-silent eyes, the first spark in a million years ignited.

"Good."

One word.

Yet it was as heavy as a star.

Lin Fan did not hesitate any longer and flicked his finger.

The pure white ball of light, named "Hope Virus V1.0," silently submerged into the space between Number 734's eyebrows.

There was no energy explosion.

There was no fluctuation of Law.

The moment the ball of light merged, the Shackle of the Soul rune on Number 734's forehead flashed even more violently.

It perceived an unprecedented "negative emotion," a "despair energy" so vast that it was enough to burst it.

This was the camouflage data Lin Fan had implanted.

The operational logic of the Shackle of the Soul was completely deceived at this moment.

It greedily and crazily began to absorb this "nourishment," attempting to squeeze the slave's despair completely dry.

And at the very instant it converted all its defense and suppression logic into consumption logic.

The core program of the "Hope Virus" was activated.

The data stream disguised as "despair" had its core essence instantly reversed.

A stream of "positive feedback" energy, pure to the extreme, was like injecting a drop of absolute zero ice crystal into surging magma.

Boom!

It was not a sound on the physical level.

But on the level of rules, a crisp sound, like glass shattering, rang out.

The gray rune on Number 734's forehead that had entangled him for endless years, the Shackle of the Soul representing absolute slavery, began to show an incredibly clear crack from the center.

Crack—

The crack spread, instantly covering the entire rune.

The next instant, the rune shattered with a boom.

Time seemed to stand still at this moment.

Number 734 slowly raised his head.

The dense, inseparable Death Qi and resentment on his body vanished into thin air in an instant.

Replaced by a terrifying aura, sharp enough to pierce the Universe and keen enough to sever the Tomb of the Epoch.

Those numb eyes vanished.

A pair of eyes, containing the birth and destruction of billions of sword shadows, more brilliant than stars and more aloof than the abyss, opened once again after a million years.

Just at this moment.

"Boom!"

On the other side of the collapsed area, several huge boulders were violently blasted open.

The few Gray Armored Soldiers who had fled earlier returned, and leading them was none other than the Gray-Armored Officer who had used the "Soul-Devouring Punishment" on Lin Fan.

"Number 734! Number 7754! What the Hell are you two pieces of trash doing!"

The officer's roar came.

He saw the eerie silence and saw the two people standing there.

He saw the eyes of Number 734, which did not belong to a slave at all.

A bone-chilling coldness instantly shot from his tailbone straight to his crown.

"You..."

He only managed to spit out one word.

The man whose code name had once been "Number 734," the Sword Dao Supreme named "Cang," just casually raised his hand.

A movement so simple it seemed as if he were just brushing dust off his shoulder.

There was no sword light.

There was no Sword Qi.

There was not even a shred of energy fluctuation.

The arrogant Gray-Armored Officer, along with the two soldiers behind him, had their expressions of astonishment and fury frozen forever.

Their bodies, their armor, their Divine Souls, their existence...

Were all erased from the concept in this instant by an invisible power that transcended all Laws.

Pfft.

Three imperceptible soft sounds.

Three people turned into three handfuls of the finest cosmic dust, dissipating into the distorted air.

As if they had never existed.

The entire Mining Area, along with the chaotic prisoners outside, instantly fell into absolute silence.

Everyone's gaze focused on the man who was slowly lowering his hand.

That briefly blooming terror made all the slaves under the Shackle of the Soul feel a trembling from the depths of their Souls.

That was not fear.

It was the spark of hope that had been ignited.

Cang's power came quickly and left just as quickly.

A mere instant of eruption exhausted all the energy brought by the "Hope Virus."

The shattered Shackle of the Soul gathered again on his forehead in a more brutal way, attempting to suppress this out-of-control slave once again.

Cang groaned, knelt on one knee, and gasped violently.

In his eyes, the sword light that had illuminated the ages faded, covered again by numbness and dead silence, but in the deepest part, a spark that would never be extinguished remained.

Beep—beep—beep—

An ear-piercing alarm sounded without warning throughout the entire Tomb of the Epoch.

This was no longer a Mining Area collapse, but the highest-level "Grade A Energy Runaway" alarm.

Inside the Command Hall, the expression of Lin Fan's main body changed.

He had overplayed his hand.

He did not hesitate to mobilize his authority again.

[ existence value: 76.499% ]

[ existence value: 75.999% ]

[ Command: Tamper with the event record of "Shackle of the Soul (Prisoner Number 734)." ]

[ Record forging... Event defined as: Shackle of the Soul experienced energy backlash due to structural collapse of the Mining Area, resulting in accidental overload, releasing confinement energy... Three supervisors were Purification by the energy aftermath... Shackle has automatically restarted and reinforced... ]

[ Command: Tamper with the status of the Clone "Poor Worm"... Defined as: Severely injured by the energy aftermath, Soul in shock. ]

After doing all this, Lin Fan's Clone rolled his eyes back, his body collapsed softly, perfectly playing the part of an unlucky guy who had been caught in the crossfire.

Almost at the same time he "fainted."

Rip—

The space above the Mining Area was violently torn open by an irresistible, great power.

A figure, entirely shrouded in obsidian-like armor, walked out from it slowly.

His aura was thousands of times stronger than the previous Gray-Armored Officer, and that heavy pressure made all the prisoners present, including Cang who had just erupted, involuntarily kneel on the ground, their Divine Souls trembling.

Anomaly Elimination Alliance, Advanced Law Enforcer.

The Law Enforcer's black-hole-like gaze swept across the scene indifferently.

The three erased Gray Armored Soldiers, the kneeling Cang, and... the "Poor Worm" who had fainted on the side.

He raised his hand, aiming at Cang.

A stream of data flowed from the Shackle of the Soul that had reorganized on Cang's forehead into his palm.

The Law Enforcer read the forged report, and a cold, synthesized electronic voice rang out.

"Energy overload... accidental discharge?"

He seemed to accept this conclusion.

The value of a Grade A slave was far higher than that of three low-level supervisors.

"Clean up the scene."

The Law Enforcer ordered the other Gray Armored Soldiers rushing over from afar.

"Escort Number 734 into the 'Stasis Black Zone' for solitary confinement."

"Record this incident as a Grade A accident and report it to the Elder Council."

Just as he turned around, preparing to step into the spatial rift and leave.

His cold gaze, like two dead stars, swept over the ground inadvertently and lingered for 0.1 seconds on the "Poor Worm" who was unconscious, looking the most harmless and weakest.

Immediately, he withdrew his gaze, walked into the rift, and disappeared.

Almost at the same time.

In the deepest part of the Tomb of the Epoch, within a magnificent temple forged from the bones of countless gods and demons.

Above the throne, a great figure shrouded in endless shadows slowly opened his eyes.

In front of him, a new report had just popped up on a crystal tablet.

The title of the report was exactly.

"Grade A Accident: Area D-3 Mining Zone, Shackle of the Soul Energy Overload Incident."