Chapter 425: Signal

"Brilliant!"

Zhao Yi's voice crackled through the public channel, tinged with a sharp edge of excitement. "Aurora, magnificent job!

The pressure on Sector A has plummeted!"

Li Chang'an offered no reply, his gaze remaining locked onto the primary display.

Though the adversaries in Sector A had been momentarily repelled, a fresh and far more colossal menace had already descended.

That mammoth, obsidian hive had now fully unveiled its silhouette, levitating in the void like a demon birthed from the abyss.

The man wore a short blue robe, his hair spiked upward, and his chiseled features exuded a sharp, formidable aura—it was none other than Lei Guangyi, the self-proclaimed captain of Team Thunder.

Yet Jellal's true objective lay elsewhere; like me, he was biding his time for the release of the Etherion, a consensus reached by several councilors who, harboring their own distinct agendas, had found themselves in unexpected alignment.

The moment Daoist Master Ji Xuan and his companions stepped into the Divine Wind Formation, they were utterly transfixed by the gruesome spectacle before their eyes.

Every single detail had fallen precisely within Wang Chen's calculations; though perilous to the absolute extreme, the hidden assassin had finally been lured into the open, freeing Wang Chen from his lingering dread so he could unleash his full offensive power.

"Junior Sister, the intelligence provided by the Tyrant Heaven Hall could never be wrong. As the preeminent power of the Boundless Sea, how could our information be flawed? Do not forget whose hands govern our hall's intelligence network." The male cultivator deliberately lowered his voice for the final sentence, as if fearful of eavesdroppers.

The lighthouse stood not at the center of the lake, but on its very periphery. Just like humans; no one is born a scoundrel, yet they constantly drift along the fringes.

The further they advanced, the denser the demonic miasma within the passage became. Nonetheless, even as the forward pressure seemed to intensify, the willow branches, supple and unbreakable, wound and stretched sluggishly onward. A world of deep, murky crimson grew increasingly vivid within the mirror.

Fortunately, I had slipped that pack of cigarettes into my pocket earlier; I hastily offered the entire pack to him, waiting for him to speak.

The trio stood utterly dumbfounded by what they saw; Zhou Lin scrambled to conceal the axe behind her back, but the gashes on the tree trunk were plain for all to see, forcing her to candidly admit that she and Zhang Changxin were indeed chopping it down. Zhang Changxin was equally paralyzed with fear, letting go of Xu Ruliang and fumbling about in sheer helplessness.

The immense water pressure relentlessly squeezed the energy shield, forcing it to condense further to withstand the force, which in turn demanded that the spiritual energy composing the shield become ever purer. At a depth of twenty-five hundred meters, the hydraulic pressure had long since surpassed the threshold of what the current spiritual energy could endure, relying entirely on a massive rate of consumption to offset the strain.

Ye Feiyue and Ye Feng clearly had not anticipated that Lin Yun would depart so abruptly without a single word of farewell; yet, understanding his reasons, neither said a word, offering only bitter, wry smiles.

Regardless of whether a fist would ultimately prove effective, if it succeeded, there would be no need for further contemplation; if it failed, it would simply be the hour to attain "Buddha-hood," rendering any alternative thoughts entirely superfluous.

In his lifetime, Long Zhiming had taken countless lives, among whom were agile masters no weaker—and some even stronger—than himself; perhaps ordinary men could only helplessly surrender their lives beneath his thoroughly tempered awl-thrusts, but for certain experts, it was by no means impossible to evade or parry.

As her thoughts drifted to her degenerate, gambling-addicted stepfather who had instigated this entire catastrophe, and the grueling years she had spent cleaning up his wretched messes, a profound sense of grievance and sorrow washed over Song Yao, and she began to sob softly.

In another room, Feng Moxue changed into clean attire and stepped out of the bathroom, her slippers padding softly against the floor.

Teaming up in pairs, they engaged in a spirited scuffle; at the outset, they pulled their punches out of mutual restraint, but eventually, someone thought, 'Damn it, I hit you so softly and you strike back so hard? To hell with it, I'm hitting harder too, I won't be taken for a fool.'

His mobile phone abruptly chimed; he pulled it out, and upon glimpse of the caller identity, hastily pressed it to his ear.