Chapter 71
Sprout 12 clenched his teeth tightly, the long blade vibrating in his hand as if it were about to shatter at any moment.
Its enormous body pressed down, its tentacles lashing out repeatedly, each strike accompanied by a deafening roar like a landslide or tsunami.
The ruins were torn open with cracks, and magma gushed out, only to be instantly frozen into gray-white dead stone by the darkness.
Sprout 12 was almost suffocating under the pressure.
His body was riddled with holes, and the flow of light veins gradually became disordered, as if it would be completely extinguished in the next breath.
Yet he still raised his long blade to meet the invincible, colossal shadow.
"If I back down now—then all the sacrifices will have been in vain!"
He roared, burning away the last vestiges of his life.
Fragments of the mother tree suddenly erupted in his chest cavity, and blinding light veins spread wildly along the branches and leaves, as if to set his body on fire.
Sensing the threat, the avatar simultaneously spewed out black flames from dozens of its eye sockets, forming a pitch-black torrent.
This force seemed to want to engulf everything in existence.
Sprout 12 crushed the throat stained with blood and light, and raised the long blade high:
"—Break!"
The blazing white light blade collided violently with the torrent of black flames.
The world suddenly fell silent, and in the next instant, an incomparably dazzling explosion engulfed the entire battlefield.
Amidst countless hisses and the interplay of light and darkness, a diagonal arc of light forcefully sliced open the avatar's chest.
Its enormous body trembled violently, and its tentacles froze in mid-air.
From the depths of the rift, a low, angry roar echoed for the first time—not a show of intimidation, but of pain.
Dark blood gushed from the crack, corroding the earth and turning it into a churning abyss.
Meanwhile, Sprout 12 knelt on one knee, his long blade stuck in the ruins, the light from his burning body almost extinguished.
He raised his head, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, but a ferocious smile appeared on his face.
"...This is the first time...I've hurt you..."
This is the first crack to appear on the battlefield—
It symbolizes that darkness is not invincible.
The crack in its chest spewed forth a thick, black mist of blood, so dense it looked like it was burning.
Its countless eye sockets contracted simultaneously, and then it unleashed a deafening roar.
"...You insignificant embers...you—how dare you hurt me!"
The roar shattered the sky, and the air on the battlefield instantly froze, as if even light had been torn apart.
The next instant, the transformed tentacles thrashed wildly, crashing down on the earth like a storm.
With each strike, mountains crumbled and ruins churned, as if the entire plains of reality were trembling.
Black flames erupted from the wound in its chest, transforming into a sea of fire that blotted out the sky and swept wildly around it.
The desolate land twisted into charcoal in the black flames, and the remaining roots of light were instantly ignited, turning into countless wailing ashes.
Sprout 12 was thrown into the air by the impact and crashed heavily into the broken canyon.
He could barely breathe; the light seeping from the cracks in the branches was gradually dying out, and a burning, dark toxin was gushing from his blood.
The sky is completely out of control.
The power from the other side of the rift poured down like a burst dam, transforming into countless tentacles, black spears, and torrents of eyeballs that completely engulfed the battlefield.
The surviving lines in the distance were torn apart in an instant, and the shouts of friendly troops, mixed with wails, vanished in a flash.
The storm of light and darkness churned into a vortex, blurring the boundary between reality and illusion.
The entire plain seemed to be dragged into an irreversible destruction.
Yadou 12 knelt on one knee, his vision already blurred by blood.
But he held onto the long blade tightly, refusing to let go despite the raging winds and black flames.
He looked up at the enormous shadow.
His voice was hoarse, yet it was like raising a lonely flag in the desolation:
"It's not over yet... Even if it means destruction—I will take you down with me!"
At that moment, the battlefield completely spiraled out of control.
The fates of light and darkness hang in the balance of this clash of roars and counterattacks.
The surviving lines in the distance were torn apart in an instant, and the shouts of friendly troops were mingled with their wails and quickly silenced.
A storm of light and darkness churned into a massive vortex, blurring the boundary between reality and illusion. The entire plain was being dragged into an irreversible destruction.
At that very moment—
A heavy rumble suddenly came from the depths of the void.
That wasn't a roar from the other side of the rift, but rather a response from something far more ancient.
A vertical beam of light suddenly shone from the center of the vortex, pale yet resolute, as if bursting forth from the very marrow of the world.
The countless eye sockets of the avatar turned simultaneously, emitting a piercing shriek. As if sensing some kind of natural enemy, its tentacles twitched wildly, trying to tear it apart before the pillar of light could fully descend.
Deep within the pillar of light, a massive silhouette slowly emerged.
That was the **afterimage of the Mother Tree**—the ancient source that had long been thought to be destroyed, now projected as a phantom onto the ruins.
The afterimage had no physical form, yet it carried an overwhelming, silent power.
It roared softly, not in words, but in the very soul:
"...The protection...is not yet over..."
However, this was not an arrival of protection, but rather a cold and ruthless scrutiny.
The afterimage stared at the battlefield, as if weighing its options:
Is this land and its offspring still worth protecting?
Instead of directly dispelling the darkness of the incarnation, it narrowed the pillar of light into a small barrier, barely enough to support a small space for breathing.
It leaves the choice to the survivors, to Sprout12.
Sprout 12 struggled to lift its head in the canyon, its eyes blurred by tears of light.
At that moment, he felt the burning fragments within him rekindle, but at the same time, he felt a heavy pressure:
This is both a blessing and a test.
The lingering shadow of the mother tree seems to be saying:
If one cannot defeat the darkness with one's own strength,
Then the light will no longer come to you.
The radiance of the mother tree's afterimage did not spread, but suddenly contracted, as if it had withdrawn all its protection.
The power of the survivors on the battlefield was suppressed, the embers of the Light Root were completely extinguished, and even the occasional glimmer of light in the void was blocked.
All external forces were stripped away.
Only within Sprout 12, the tiny fragment that had been lit was still burning faintly.
The afterimage condensed all hope and scrutiny onto him.
The avatar sensed this and roared thunderously:
"Foolish! Your protectors... have stopped helping! All that remains are isolated and helpless remnants!"
It swung its tentacles, stirring up black flames, and a torrent swept in, eclipsing the world.
At this moment, Sprout 12 found that his weakness was magnified—the afterimage did not heal his wounds, but rather seemed to strip away all his dependence.
This is a trial.
It wasn't about being redeemed, but about being forced to prove something.
Bean Sprout 12 staggered to his feet, his branches and leaves still dripping blood.
The long blade in his hand trembled in the afterimage's glow, seemingly responding to the will within him that had not yet been extinguished.
He took a deep breath, his throat burning with blood, yet he still growled in a low voice:
"...Then let me...respond...with myself!"
The next moment, a torrent of black flames rushed towards us.
The afterimage remained silent, casting a cold gaze into the depths of the void, awaiting an answer.
The trial has officially begun.
The torrent of black flames crashed down, as if the entire night sky had collapsed.
Scorching heat and freezing cold coexisted, and twisted shadows mixed with shattered light transformed into a destructive wave that crashed towards Sprout 12.
He staggered, blood seeping from every crack in his body, his branches trembling as if on fire.
The afterimage didn't reach out, offered no protection, but simply silently looked down.
"...On your own?"
Sprout 12 bled from her throat, yet still managed a cold smile.
He plunged the long blade into the ground, gripping it tightly with both hands, letting the bones in his body make a tearing, snapping sound.
The faint light within its body resonated with the blade, like the last torch being lit in the stillness of death.
boom--
The torrent surged down, instantly engulfing the canyon where he was.
The void is crumbling, mountains are turning to ash, valleys are turning upside down, and the world is collapsing.
At the heart of that chaos, light and shadow intertwine to form a narrow barrier.
Sprout 12 gritted his teeth, his arms bulging with veins, and used his body and willpower to stop the first wave of bleeding.
"—I'm not dead yet!!!"
His roar exploded deep within the black flames.
It transformed into an angry growl, its tentacles flailing wildly, once again pressing down countless spikes and dark spears.
The barrier was instantly torn apart, light fragments scattered, and Sprout 12 was thrown into the air, a new wound exploding in its chest.
But he did not fall.
He used the momentum to flip over, raising his long blade high with both hands once more, his eyes burning red:
Even without protection, I will sever you!
The afterimage stared silently, and a faint hint of certainty seemed to flash in that cold gaze.
At this moment, the battlefield became truly desolate—
Only Sprout 12 and the enraged Rift Incarnation clashed head-on in the apocalyptic ruins.
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