Volume 3 - Chapter 414: Li Hao's Dao-Origin Immortal Seal (Part 3)
They had considered the possibility of defeat—but not like this.
A score of nineteen to one.
It was beyond even their darkest dreams.
“What’s the matter? Giving up already?” the purple-robed middle-aged man said, each word cutting deep. “These are your so-called prodigies. Your borderland heroes. I’ve brought them to your very doorstep, gift-wrapped! And what? You can’t even win them back?”
His voice rang through the void, stabbing straight into the bones of everyone on Gusu Imperial Star. In the thirty-six thousand immortal cities, fists clenched in unison, breathing grew heavy. It felt like blood vessels were about to burst from sheer fury.
Yet none could speak.
Only rage and bitter grief remained.
Warriors of the human border, captured and dragged here like spoils, paraded before them—and they couldn’t lift a finger to reclaim them. What cruel irony.
If they couldn't even bring back their prodigies, what hope was there for ordinary prisoners? To be captured was to die.
Many eyes clouded with despair. They had lived with the awareness of demonic encirclement, but had always believed there was hope—hidden forces, great clans, unseen strength standing tall in the north.
But now, the demons mocked them at their doorstep. Their captured kin, once paragons of their race, were paraded like livestock. And they could only bow their heads.
Was this not the end?
The last flicker of hope extinguished. Only hopelessness and anguish remained.
Some began to consider fleeing the Northern Territory altogether—even though it was the land of their birth.
“So disappointing,” the purple-robed man sneered, flashing a wider, crueler grin as he scanned the furious, bloodshot faces below.
Anger. Good.
Better still if they lost control.
“What now? Besides the Lin brat, is there truly no one else left who can fight? This is your so-called number one of the Northern Territory?”
His jeers tore through the air.
The clan patriarchs trembled, fists clenched, their auras like tightly coiled storms on the verge of eruption.
But they said nothing.
Because… he was right.
There really was no one left to send.
Su Zhenyuan, Jiang Qiuyu, Lin Daogong—each wore a grim, bitter expression. Among those captives, they saw the faces of their own children. Of those who had once been their proudest talents.
So close.
And yet…
Fists clenched so tight the bones creaked, Su Zhenyuan stared at two of them—Su Hanshuang and Su Wenyue, siblings of Su Muqing and Su Wanqing. Both had once been hailed as unmatched geniuses, dispatched to the border in their youth. Now they stood in chains, bodies riddled with wounds.
Yet when their gazes met his, both smiled faintly. In their eyes was only peace.
They opened their mouths to speak—silent, their voices sealed by power and laws—but their lips formed words all the same:
“Father, we’re okay.”
“Father, don’t fall for their tricks.”
Seeing those unspoken words, Su Zhenyuan felt his heart seize. Blood wept within him. His eyes reddened.
He thought back to his wife’s question in the Hall of the Bright Emperor: Had he been a worthy father?
Had he?
In this moment, he felt completely unworthy. Ashamed to call himself their father.
“Children…” he gritted through clenched teeth. A savage impulse rose within him—to tear the rules apart, to snatch them back by force. But he knew: if the demons dared go this far, if they sent someone like that Dao-Origin Immortal Seal demoness to fight, it could only mean one thing.
A Demon Emperor was watching.
Should a human Emperor intervene now, it would trigger a clash on that level—and their slumbering Ancestors, if forced awake prematurely, would suffer irreparable harm. Worse, it would reveal humanity’s true hand.
Even amid the tempest in his chest, reason held him fast. He knew what choice had to be made.
It was a cruel choice. A clear one.
This was the agony of being the pillar of a race. To protect the clan, one must betray the family. To protect the family, one must betray the clan. There was no way to choose both.
Elsewhere, the other captives also took this rare chance to mouth silent farewells to their families. Some expressed longing, others urged their kin not to grieve, to hold back from reckless sacrifice.
Among the twenty captives, not a single one pleaded for rescue.
This scene cast a heavy sorrow over the skies beyond Gusu City. Eyes brimmed with tears.
“Hanshuang ge… Wenyue jie…” Su Muqing and Su Wanqing both stood there, fists clenched, their eyes misted.
The elder brother and sister they had admired since childhood now stood broken and bloodied, hair disheveled, bodies in chains—yet still smiling, still peaceful.
It tore at their hearts.
“Lin Yeqiu…” nearby, Lin Zhexuan and others also looked toward a figure among the captives.
Lin Yeqiu—eight thousand years ago, the Lin family's most renowned prodigy, second only to Lin Zhexuan.
Now he was full of holes. Blood stained his prison garb, chains ran through flesh and bone. Suppressive materials and laws sealed all his power.
Hair unbound, Lin Yeqiu’s gaze swept over the many Lin family prodigies. His eyes held only comfort.
He had heard tales at the border—of a monstrous new genius born in the Lin clan, one unseen in a hundred thousand years. He’d thrown a celebration in his camp, treating the entire army to a night of wine. Of course, they'd all taken detoxifying pills after.
Now, as he looked at his father Lin Daogong—no time even for a proper goodbye—his pale, bloodless face managed a smile.
“At least… I get to see you one last time, old man…”
He mouthed the words silently, still smiling: “You don’t blame me for not staying home to care for you, do you?”
“Old man… you’ll never get to whip me with that stick of yours again.”
His smile began to tremble. Tears welled up and spilled from his eyes.
“Old man… your son is useless. I won’t trouble you anymore…”
“Everything you said back then… you were right…”
Lin Daogong stared at the silent farewell forming on his son’s lips. Every word was like a blade carving into his chest, the pain curling down to his feet, seizing him with cold.
This child—his proudest, his most rebellious—who always called him “old man” with irreverent mischief…
His vision blurred with tears. When he tried to speak, his throat went dry, and his voice came out hoarse and shaking:
“It was my fault… I shouldn’t have sent you to the border so early… You never disappointed me. Never!”
The words trembled from his lips.
Across the field, Lin Yeqiu’s body shuddered. His already-moist eyes finally burst. Tears poured freely, streaking his face with snot and sorrow. He looked so utterly ragged that no one would believe this man had once been a peerless youth, handsome as jade and brimming with pride.
“Father… your son has failed you…”
He no longer called him “old man,” but “Father.”
Elsewhere, captives of the Jiang clan also mouthed their last words to Jiang Qiuyu.
They had seen it all from within the purple-robed man’s domain. They knew this was goodbye.
And yet, though it was heartbreaking, many were grateful. Grateful for the chance to say what they never got to say.
But the purple-robed man’s face darkened.
He too could read lips. He had expected these prisoners to plead—to beg their families to rescue them. But not a single one did.
Damn these ungrateful pests…
His eyes gleamed with malice. But the time to kill them had not yet come.
“Hmph.”
With a flick of his hand, a surge of power lashed out. Blade-like currents swept across the captives, shredding their bodies.
Wounds opened across Su Hanshuang, Lin Yeqiu, and the others. Their clothes were torn to rags, blood soaked their skin.
The female prisoners—like Su Wenyue—were left even more wretched. Their garments sliced away completely, bodies bared before countless watching eyes.
“You—!”
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