Chapter 2145: Emperor Yuan's Projection

When the battlefield was finally cleared and the divine power of Ragnarok receded, weariness surfaced on the faces of the four great priests. It was clear that sustaining such a world-defying formation had consumed a tremendous amount of energy. Even existences as mighty as they could not avoid exhaustion, requiring time to stabilize and recuperate.

But beyond the fatigue, there was something deeper etched into their expressions—helplessness and disquiet.

They had placed immense importance on the emergence of the Mist Emperor, elevating him to the highest level of threat. They had deployed a combined divine formation that should have been impossible to escape, yet still failed. The Mist Emperor's power was far beyond what they had imagined—his very existence had become an enigma.

Not only had he appeared from nowhere, but not even a trace of his aura had been captured. When Yun Che first encountered the Mist Emperor, it wasn't that the four great priests were slow to respond—but even for beings at the level of True Gods, the vast ocean of mist had obscured their divine senses. In truth, from the moment of the Mist Emperor's appearance to the arrival of the four priests, only ten short breaths had passed.

Yet the most unbearable part of this humiliation was the mocking tone left behind by the Mist Emperor when he departed. It was like a sovereign sneering at mere insects, treating the four divine priests as little more than amusing clowns. His parting words were not just provocation—they were an utter desecration of their divine dignity.

"...What do you make of this Fog Emperor?" asked the Great Wilderness Priest, breaking the silence at last. Despite his boundless knowledge, even he could not comprehend how their quarry had vanished.

Priest Liu Xiao, usually the most uninhibited and vocal of the four, remained uncharacteristically silent. This time, his expression was unusually grim.

Priestess Lingxian, the eldest among them, bore the weight of countless ages of experience and tribulation. Yet even she, after searching the depths of memory, could not produce a reasonable explanation.

Priest Wan Dao, the architect of the peerless Ragnarok Formation, had been confident to the point of certainty. In all his simulations, there had never been a scenario in which this operation could fail. But today, reality dealt a brutal slap to his face.

"...Mysterious and strange," Priest Wan Dao muttered at length. These four words were all he could offer.

"We have failed Emperor Yuan's trust. A grave sin." The Great Wilderness Priest sighed heavily. "We've failed to neutralize the threat of the Mist Emperor. I'm afraid… we won't get another chance so easily."

From afar, Yun Che watched their reactions and let out a long, quiet breath. Though he had emerged victorious in this encounter, it was far from the outcome he had expected. He had thought Emperor Yuan himself would descend and unleash divine punishment. He hadn't anticipated it would be the four divine priests instead.

Still… a victory was a victory.

What weighed on Yun Che's heart now was not the priests, but Mo Su.

Why hadn't Mo Su revealed himself?

Was it intentional, or was there another reason? Either way, his absence cast a shadow on Yun Che's next steps.

But that concern was soon swept away.

Just as the Great Wilderness Priest finished blaming himself, Priest Wan Dao opened a silver, square space box—a device forged with the power of the Panming Poxu Mirror. There were two such artifacts in existence, capable of interlinking across space.

As the box opened, a towering projection descended from the void. Though it was but an image, the divine pressure it radiated was no weaker than the four priests themselves.

A projection… with this much power!?

Yun Che's expression darkened. Mo Su's strength had utterly eclipsed his expectations. As the son of the Ancient Creation God, his power stood nearly equal to that of a Creator God.

At Yun Che's current level… there was no way to fight him.

The projection of Emperor Yuan appeared in full, his countenance more resplendent and divine than Yun Che remembered from the Inner Hall of the Pure Land. This was the true Mo Su—unchanged through a million years. His youthful visage remained untouched by time, still as handsome and transcendent as the memory of him carried by the Heretic God.

A million years had passed.

Even the divine priests had aged. The Heaven-Smiting Devil Emperor, once as divine as a goddess, had also succumbed to time's erosion.

But Mo Su was different. There wasn't a single mark of age on his face. He remained perfect, radiant, untouched by the eons.

This... was not natural.

Though true gods could reshape their appearance, the vitality and essence Mo Su radiated could not be faked. His aura and the auras of the four priests—despite having come from the same era—now felt worlds apart.

Why?

Was it because of... the Cradle?

A wild and terrifying thought flashed through Yun Che's mind.

If that was the truth… then Mo Su's obsession went far deeper than he ever imagined.

For countless years within the Abyss, Mo Su had only ever appeared through puppets. His true body never once left the Cradle—a space suspended between life and death—thus remaining untouched by time's passage.

His soul had never aged… because it had never lived.

All matters within the Abyssal Pure Land had long been handled by the four priests. Mo Su remained an aloof god, interested only in the inheritance of the divine source. He was more a symbol than a ruler.

And in that Cradle… with Panxiaodie, the woman he loved and could never let go…

Perhaps he had only one obsession left in this universe.

To resurrect her.

Even if it meant sacrificing everything else.

Even the Abyss.

A cold sweat broke out on Yun Che's back. If his theory was true, then Mo Su had long since abandoned reason.

Could such a Mo Su truly relinquish the chance to enter the World of Life, the last hope for the Abyss?

No. He would seize it.

Not to save the world—but to plunder its time energy, to keep the Cradle alive and preserve Panxiaodie's lingering soul.

Yun Che, who had always stood for love and loyalty, understood the agony of not wanting to lose someone you cherished. But to sacrifice an entire world for one woman… that was not love. That was madness.

A twisted, morbid madness.

I hope… I'm wrong.

Yun Che silently prayed, not just for the Abyss, but for the future of the God Realm itself.

Beside him, Li Su sensed the sudden turmoil within him. "What's wrong?" she asked softly.

Yun Che told her the chilling theory that had just emerged.

Li Su fell silent.

She did not speak for a long time. Then, with a soft sigh, she said, "Perhaps… it won't turn out as badly as you think. Don't jump to conclusions yet. For now… it's just speculation."

But Yun Che said nothing. The unease in his heart only deepened.

At that moment, Mo Su's voice echoed from the projection—calm, unhurried.

"I saw everything just now. It's not your fault. You needn't blame yourselves."

"Perhaps… all of us have misjudged. The Mist Emperor's existence defies law and logic. He may be connected to the Ancestral God."

His words were serene, but each one struck with frightening clarity.

"Do you recall the existence of the Ancestral Divine Arts from the Age of the Creation Gods? I didn't pay much attention to them back then. The Heaven-Smiting God had one. The devils held the other two."

"Perhaps… when the gods and demons perished, one of those divine arts fell into the Abyss. And this so-called Mist Emperor… perhaps he was fortunate enough to obtain it. If he inherited part of the Ancestral God's legacy, then it would explain how he can manipulate the Dust of the Abyss… and command the Abyssal Beasts."

Mo Su's voice was unshakable, his deductions as precise as they were terrifying. With only fragments, he had pieced together an answer that touched the core of this mystery.

"For now, let us set aside the Mist Emperor. If he truly stands outside the law, then slaying him will not be easy. Focus instead on… our true mission."

The four priests bowed in solemn understanding.

And then, Mo Su's projection turned.

"Meng Jianyuan," he said.

"It's time… for us to speak alone."

(End of Chapter)