Chapter 45
Consciously or not, Ling Xu's instincts moved faster than his thoughts.
Amid the rising tension and the heavy air that hung between breaths, he knew one thing for certain.
'If he didn't act now, disaster would be born before the eyes of many—each ready to judge.'
The Xuelan encampment was not a place where blood could be shed without permission, especially not human blood—blood that had long been considered a stain among the Gods.
Thus, even though his body was not fully prepared, his steps advanced, breaking through the distance between two figures who now resembled twin suns on the verge of devouring each other.
Every second stretched like an unfinished prayer, and within Ling Xu's chest, his heartbeat wrote a rhythm of panic barely held in check.
He sought no victory—only to prevent a ruin that would swallow his name and the fragile reputation he was building in this foreign place.
He knew, no matter how little he understood about the stranger, his instincts alone were enough to tell him that this being was no ordinary creature.
Every glint of light reflecting from the stranger's robe hinted at a lineage unrecorded on earth—something both noble and dangerous.
There was no need for titles, nor acknowledgment.
From the way he stood, from the calm in his gaze that nearly defied the heavens themselves, Ling Xu understood that the one before Huan Zheng was no mere man, but of royal blood—one accustomed to commanding and punishing without reason.
He could feel the aura of authority dripping from the smallest motion of a finger, from the dust that refused to cling to his garments, from the chill that seeped even between breaths.
In an instant, every possible catastrophe spun through Ling Xu's mind—from losing access to the camp to facing retaliation from the powerful beings behind the stranger's name.
Huan Zheng, consumed by boundless fury, had no idea that he now stood at the edge of an abyss.
He might be strong, perhaps even glorious.
But strength without direction was a rope waiting to strangle its owner.
Ling Xu understood that if he allowed even one strike to land, it wouldn't just be honor that shattered—their very existence in this realm would be branded as a violation against the remnants of heavenly hierarchy.
So, without hesitation, he stepped between the two centers of power poised to collide, his body forming a fragile barrier that could break at the slightest misstep.
In that tension, the world seemed to hold its breath, as if waiting to see whether a single human could stop the storm born of two irreconcilable wills.
Silence descended slowly, like fog blanketing a valley before the sun could rise.
No one dared to speak; none wished to disturb the delicate balance that had just been formed.
The crowd, once buzzing with whispers and murmurs, fell into absolute stillness—as though the faintest sound could reignite the embers barely extinguished.
At the center of that silence, Ling Xu stood with bated breath, struggling to keep his face calm even as his heart pounded like a war drum.
He knew how fine the line was between success and destruction.
Just one wrong move, and all his efforts would crumble beneath the sharp gazes of the Gods observing from their long celestial ranks.
Every eye turned toward a single point—the stranger who had been the source of this chaos from the very beginning.
There he stood, calm as water that refused to ripple, his eyes showing neither anger nor interest.
His gaze was like a mirror that refused reflection, leaving both Ling Xu and Huan Zheng unable to discern his thoughts.
Ling Xu tried to read the man's slightest movements—the twitch of his lips, the gleam in his eyes, the rhythm of his breathing—but everything was too composed, too perfect, sending cold sweat trickling down his spine.
He knew that if this noble refused his gesture of peace, then bloodshed would be inevitable.
And amid that tension, Huan Zheng, though silent, still carried embers within his eyes.
There lingered a desire—to see how far the God before him would dare to defy, and how low he might bow beneath his own wrath.
But something unexpected occurred.
Instead of fury, the stranger merely exhaled softly and lowered his gaze with a gesture that was difficult to read—somewhere between acceptance and weariness toward mortal chaos.
The motion was simple, yet enough to alter the atmosphere.
The once-biting tension slowly dissolved, and the world resumed its rhythm in gentler tones.
Ling Xu, who had restrained his every word and movement, felt a small release in his chest.
His intervention had worked; for now, at least, the storm had subsided.
He did not turn toward Huan Zheng, for he knew the man was far from calm.
Yet his words soon flowed—soft, but firm enough to establish his stance—that Huan Zheng was no threat, but a subordinate under control, and that this was nothing more than a small misunderstanding unworthy of prolonging.
Watching peace being spoken but not truly felt, the air between them thickened once more, as if awaiting another explosion restrained only by threads of will ready to snap.
Huan Zheng stood rigid.
Not out of submission, but to hold back the storm raging in his chest.
He neither affirmed nor denied Ling Xu's words.
His silence was another form of rebellion—a shield for a wounded ego.
There was no visible change on his face, yet beneath that still skin boiled the urge to burn everything that dared to restrain him.
He had once been a maniac of war, a worshipper of clash and clangor, now forced to accept peace that felt like veiled humiliation.
Every passing second without action tightened the veins in his arms, showing just how much effort it took to keep himself from ending the silence with blood.
But a promise was a promise, and that promise bound everything.
The connection between him and Ling Xu was not mere hierarchy.
It was a stellar bond—a kind of spiritual tether that made every wound one suffered felt by the other.
So, for that reason, for the vow to teach and protect, Huan Zheng chose silence—chose to swallow the fire that burned his insides.
A breath that once could annihilate entire cosmoses and infinite realms—piercing through all lower realities, surpassing every form of mathematical infinity, reaching domains where even set theory could not define—was now confined within a mortal vessel, raging like a tornado in glass.
The Inaccessible Emperor, the secluded king, was forced to kneel.
The Monarch of Rank into Rank, the mighty knight, was made to bow.
And the Paradox of Berkeley, the doubting seer, was swept away without mercy in this ruin.
But now, an absolute authority that once subdued all cardinals was compelled—willingly or not—to obey the commands of the Young Master named Ling Xu.
To be continued…