Chapter 711: The Sky is Crying

The Alchemical Array.

Brand watched, helpless, as the second stream of Calamity's dragon breath went astray, pounding his chest in frustration.

Calamity's first dragon breath had directly resulted in a million deaths buried beneath the earth. Just one more stream would have yielded another Philosopher's Stone… Combined with the two million souls he already possessed, this would have allowed him to forge three Philosopher's Stones in total, bringing the Sovereign of Infinity back to nearly his peak state!

Unexpectedly, the Sovereign of Mundane appeared mid-way, forcibly dragging Calamity into the battlefield of the Gray Realm, completely thwarting Brand's plan.

“...Never mind. This many souls will suffice.”

Brand redirected his gaze to the tumultuous sea of souls churning beneath the clouds.

Countless elderly, young adults, and children were agonizingly drawn into the alchemical array, suspended mid-air like hogs hung by hooks in a slaughterhouse, their faces contorted in agony. Among them, some members of the Fleeting Life Scroll, even those of the Hall-level, could be seen.

All human souls who perished in the Realm War were gathered here; they were Brand's intended materials.

“Suffer!” Brand raised his hand and pressed it onto the alchemical array beneath him. The next moment, wisps of red electric light began to course across its surface, transmitting into the surging sea of souls!

“The more you suffer, the faster the Philosopher’s Stone will be forged…”

The red electric light surged through the sea of souls, and every figure it touched suddenly twisted and contorted as if someone were violently and brutally tormenting their bodies, breaking them, stretching them, kneading them into balls, or even merging them with one another like toys.

Under this extreme spiritual torment, the sea of souls gradually condensed and contracted...

Souls wailed, and a chilling wind howled!

Crackling—

The red electric light coursed across the sky. Souls, normally invisible to the human eye, could occasionally be glimpsed in the light's glow… To those watching, the scene resembled a living hell!

“Mr. Li... Mr. Li!” Kong Baosheng stared blankly at the blood-red flickering souls in the air, his eyes filled with bewilderment.

“What is that…?”

“They are human souls.”

Li Qingshan spoke with a grim expression, “It seems the Infinity Realm was determined to invade the Mundane Realm at any cost, all for these… They have been collecting human souls from the very beginning.”

“War… souls?”

Kong Baosheng stood stunned for a long time. As if realizing something, he abruptly turned his head to look at the backyard of Jinghong Tower!

Two graves stood silently upon the withered earth.

“No… no!!”

“Does that mean… Grandma and Miss Huang are there too??”

Kong Baosheng’s face turned deathly pale. He instinctively took a step back, seemingly unable to accept this reality.

Li Qingshan remained silent for a long time, then replied, “I’m afraid so.”

“How could this be… Why?!” Veins bulged on Kong Baosheng’s neck as he looked at the blood-red sky, his eyes bloodshot with fury. “Grandma did nothing wrong!! She was just a bedridden patient for years… And Miss Huang, Miss Huang was so kind, she protected so many people!! Why won’t they leave them alone, even in death?!”

Li Qingshan stood there silently, unable to answer, for he too did not know the answer.

And now, the answer itself no longer mattered…

Dense red lightning coursed through the clouds. Souls twisted wildly in agony, struggling but emitting no sound, only gusts of intensely cold wind that whined… as if the sky itself were weeping.

“...Is this truly the end?”

In the ruins of the city wall battlefield, Wang Jincheng, exhausted from battle, lay like a corpse on the ground. He stared blankly at the sea of souls, occasionally visible within the red electric light, his eyes filled with reluctance and bitterness.

The Realm War had progressed to this point: all the Halls were annihilated, the Fleeting Life Scroll was almost completely destroyed, the Chief was utterly depleted, and the Sovereign of Mundane could only face two opponents alone in the Gray Realm… All the foundations of the Mundane Realm had been drained; they had nothing left.

It was a difficult war, a tragic war. Wang Jincheng had done everything he could, but seeing the two million souls of the Mundane Realm ultimately become raw materials for the Infinity Realm, while he was powerless to stop it… This internal agony and torment were even harder for him to accept than his physical injuries.

“...Cough, cough, cough, cough…”

A young man, dragging his blood-soaked body, struggled to step over corpses of the Witchcraft Association members. His foot slipped, and he awkwardly tumbled to the ground.

Wang Jincheng painfully turned his head to look. He recognized the young man: once the Ninth Hall of the Fleeting Life Scroll, now Club 8 of the Twilight Society.

Club 8's injuries were no lighter than Wang Jincheng's. He had pushed himself to his limit, single-handedly battling numerous experts from the Witchcraft Association… But what pained him more was the spiritual anguish.

Club 8 gazed at the wailing sea of souls. In a daze, he felt as if he were back in 'Guernica,' despair and pain almost suffocating him. He felt like he was about to break apart and could only clutch his head in agony.

Sweat mingled with tears, silently soaking into the ruins and leaving dark streaks.

Club 8's voice was hoarse and bitter:

“In the end… nothing has changed.”

The ending of 'Guernica' had, after all, become a reality, even more cruelly so. Club 8 had failed to turn the tide of the war and failed to prevent the sacrifices… Death, pain, and despair—this seemed to be the ultimate fate of all wars, unchangeable by anyone's will.

Wang Jincheng gave him a complex look. Although he didn't know why this Twilight Society member was helping the Mundane Realm, he had witnessed all of Club 8's efforts… Had it not been for Club 8's overall command and fierce fighting, the Mundane Realm would likely have fallen long ago.

Wang Jincheng felt that the Twilight Society was perhaps not as utterly wicked as outsiders claimed… And the same could be said for that person.

He wondered where that person had gone now.

Just as Wang Jincheng was pondering, his peripheral vision caught something, and he suddenly froze.

In the dust-swirling ruins in the distance, a figure draped in a vibrant red opera robe was slowly stepping onto nothingness, ascending from the earth towards the sky…

His expression was calm and solemn, like an actor about to take the stage. The fires of war in the ruins and the blood-red sea in the sky mirrored his figure. In this desolate and despairing world, his vivid opera robe was like the only vibrant splash of color, drawing everyone's attention.

His appearance evoked a strange premonition… as if the grand drama of this war was nearing its end, and the final actor was making a climactic entrance to bring everything to a close.

“...Is that him?” Club 8 stared blankly at Chen Ling, who was ascending onto the ethereal stage, wondering what he was thinking.

The actor, in the void, slowly parted his lips…

The next moment, a lingering and piercing voice echoed throughout the entire main city of Mundane.

“I see the sky weeping…”