“Master… were time to rewind, your disciple would yet, without hesitation, follow you to this Xian罡 Continent…” Wang Lin’s voice, a whisper against the encroaching despair.

Xuan Luo’s sorrow deepened, his ancient eyes understanding the weight of Wang Lin’s words.

“The grace of the master is a mountain, a debt your disciple shall never forget…” Wang Lin sighed, rising to his feet. He brushed dust from his robes, a gesture that mirrored his attempt to sweep away the lingering tendrils of restraint that had bound his heart.

To save his Master from the icy grip of death, he would kneel, offer treasures beyond price, and swallow the burning urge to slay the Daogu Emperor. He sought balance between rescuing the fragmented soul of Wan’er and easing the torment of his Master. He desired only to spare those he cherished from suffering.

But that hope, that delicate dream, was now revealed as a cruel illusion.

He had endured once, then again, and again. Now, his patience was exhausted. There was no more room for tolerance!

Under the gaze of all present, Wang Lin threw back his head and laughed. Yet, amidst the laughter, tears streamed down his face, bitter droplets embodying millennia of hardship and unyielding spirit, of Wang Lin’s fierce devotion and profound desolation.

His laughter grew, edging towards madness.

The sound pierced Xuan Luo’s heart, as if a monstrous hand had ripped it from his chest, leaving him hollowed and pale. He watched Wang Lin, his ancient eyes reflecting an even deeper沧桑.

“From childhood, I, Wang Lin, have walked the Dao, bathed in the blood of countless battles, and tasted the bitter draught of human indifference. Deceit and treachery have been my constant companions. Am I cursed as a solitary star? My wife’s soul scattered, my child trapped in the cycle of rebirth, Situ vanished, and Qing Shui departed… all those who offered kindness find themselves severed from me…”

“I cherish grace, for it is a rare and precious thing…”

“I cling to affection, for it allows me to persist…” Wang Lin, tears mingling with his laughter, spoke the words to the heavens.

“Kill him!” Wang Lin’s laughter, a piercing blade to the Daogu Emperor’s ears, sparked a frantic command. Without hesitation, he pointed a trembling finger at Wang Lin, his voice a ragged scream.

In this ancient palace, the heart of the Daogu clan and the very seat of imperial power, the Emperor’s words should have been met with instant obedience. Yet, while a thousand figures at the palace’s entrance surged towards Wang Lin, their eyes burning with murderous intent, tens of thousands more stood frozen, their silence a damning judgment.

They had witnessed the unfolding tragedy, the karmic dance, the sorrow of Xuan Luo, the unwavering resolve and desperate pleas of Wang Lin. They were paralyzed, unable to take the step that their Emperor demanded.

It was a choice between imperial authority and the whispers of conscience. Most faltered, yet a few, their minds poisoned by the propaganda of absolute rule, howled in defiance and rushed toward Wang Lin.

“Master!” Wang Lin whirled around, ignoring the approaching storm. He looked at Xuan Luo, his eyes blazing with決然.

“Allow your disciple to call you ‘Master’ one last time…” Master! Your grace towards me is a debt I cannot repay with mere words. I offer, instead, my own death as recompense. From this moment forth, I, Wang Lin, sever all ties with the Daogu lineage!

“From this moment forth, my actions will bear no connection to my Master…” I, Wang Lin, alone will bear the weight of all that is to come!” With a swift motion, Wang Lin raised his right hand. As the thousand Daogu warriors converged and Xuan Luo surged forward, his sleeve billowing,

Wang Lin locked his gaze on Xuan Luo and slammed his hand down upon his own crown. That strike carried the weight of his devotion to Xuan Luo. It was the explosive culmination of his unbearable restraint!

Time seemed to slow. As his hand struck, his skull shattered, and the power of self-destruction ripped through his body, obliterating his mind and tearing apart his flesh.

In that final, agonizing moment, Wang Lin glimpsed the Domain of the Caves and Xuan Luo’s first appearance. He felt himself transported back to his homeland, to the memories of his past.

All those visions culminated with the moment he roared his fury within the halls of the Daogu palace… then, stopped.

Before the eyes of the stunned onlookers, Wang Lin’s body exploded in a shower of blood and gore. He had destroyed himself before the Emperor’s palace, in the very instant that Xuan Luo arrived.

Xuan Luo stared at the crimson mist, his ancient eyes weeping tears of blood.

“Dead?” The Daogu Emperor’s eyes narrowed, a sinister gleam flickering within them. The warriors who had been about to attack hesitated, confusion and doubt clouding their faces.

Then, a bizarre transformation occurred. The mist of blood, born from Wang Lin’s exploded form, twisted and coalesced with impossible speed, reforming into the very figure of Wang Lin!

He coughed up a mouthful of blood, his face ashen. His most precious of skills, the Three Lifetimes Technique, had been expended.

He had tasted death, truly.

Reborn, he was no longer Xuan Luo’s disciple. He would no longer burden himself with the Daogu lineage. He would no longer weigh his actions against the desires of others. He would be as he must be, and take Wan’er for his own!

“Ye Dao!” Wang Lin’s scream tore through the heavens, a primal roar of outrage, born from the ashes of countless compromises. It was a sound ripped from the very depths of his soul!

In that instant, a tidal wave of murderous intent erupted from Wang Lin’s being, unrestrained and all-consuming. The very heavens and earth darkened under its weight. He stood as a demon risen from the Yellow Springs, his eyes burning with madness and a thirst for vengeance. With that roar, he took a step forward.
“Slay him!!” Emperor Dao’s face contorted in fear. He stumbled back, bellowing the command. A wave of nearly a thousand warriors surged from before the palace, joined by thousands more spilling forth from the surrounding courtyards. They threw themselves towards Wang Lin, desperate to defend the Emperor’s authority with their very flesh and blood. Was this glory, or a tragic delusion?

“Who dares impede me now shall find only utter annihilation!” Wang Lin’s eyes burned crimson. With a stride forward, his right hand erupted in a thunderous strike that shook the very heavens. Dozens of warriors before him exploded in a shower of gore, their dying screams echoing across the courtyard. Yet, their brethren, eyes glazed with fanaticism, charged on.

Wang Lin trod a path paved with blood, advancing step by bloody step. His pace was measured, yet each stride devoured dozens of paces, leaving rivers of crimson in his wake, and a maelstrom of slaughter behind him.

A chorus of shrill cries pierced the air. The Thirty-Six Fiends, transformed into thirty-six streaks of blinding light, descended upon Wang Lin like a pack of celestial dragons. But Wang Lin did not even deign to glance at their approach. He merely raised his right hand, tendrils of azure smoke coiling around his fingertips, coalescing into a series of ethereal smoke rings that blossomed outwards.

It was the very essence of Extinguishing Fire!

The rings met the lunging dragons in a cataclysmic collision. Explosions ripped through the air, laced with the screams of the damned as the thirty-six fiery serpents were engulfed and devoured by the raging inferno.

Wang Lin’s left hand lashed out, ripping through the fabric of reality. One of the Eighteen Kings materialized, attempting a cowardly strike from the flank. But his eyes met, a moment before his demise, the sight of Wang Lin’s grasping hand, a predator upon its prey. His eyes widened in terror as he tried to retreat, but the hand was too swift. It clamped onto his face, squeezing with impossible force. Darkness consumed him as his skull shattered into a gruesome mist.

Xuan Luo stood motionless, watching Wang Lin tear through the ranks, relentlessly advancing towards the palace. He offered no resistance. His faith in the Daoist Imperial line was now shattered, adrift in the winds of disappointment.

He gazed upon the maddened figure and was haunted by the memory of Wang Lin’s self-immolation moments before. Xuan Luo’s eyes stung with tears.

He understood now. Wang Lin’s act of destruction was a declaration. A preparation to unleash a torrent of unbridled wrath. He severed his ties to Xuan Luo, his master, to protect him from the repercussions. And what better way to sever those ties than… a sacrifice of himself!

Through that act, this disciple was conveying a message to the entire lineage of Daoist, to the very heart of the Ancient race, even to the Great Heavenly Venerate Gu Dao: the burden of the palace’s reckoning, he, Wang Lin, would bear alone!

He did not want his master to be tainted as a traitor to the Daoist line, to be known as the first Heavenly Venerate to slay an Emperor…

Even in this moment, this disciple was still thinking of him. Xuan Luo’s heart twisted with a profound sense of guilt.

“The kindness I showed him… it was never enough…” Xuan Luo watched the carnage, the slaughter of his Daoist kin. And for the first time, he felt no grief for the fallen.

Wang Lin roared, a primal sound that sent a wave of malevolent energy radiating outwards, painting the skies blood-red. He forged a path of ruin toward the palace, and then, with a single gesture, he pointed towards the heavens.

In an instant, the entire imperial compound was plunged into an abyss of inky blackness, like an endless, lightless sea. And from the very depths of that sea, a nascent sun began to rise, defiant. Wang Lin, without hesitation, unleashed the forbidden spell of Residual Night upon the palace.

The rising sun bathed the world in blinding light. Whispered incantations echoed through the heavens. Screams of unimaginable pain pierced the air, and clouds of blood erupted as countless lives were extinguished.

When the phantom sea of darkness receded, and the world was once more bathed in the light of day, the palace grounds were littered with the dead. Thousands of warriors lay slain, their bodies strewn like discarded puppets. Wang Lin stood before the palace gates, and with dark intent, strode into its shadow and the slaughter that waited. The madness of his shadow washed across the land in bloody ruin.