Read Novel Full Chapter 495: WANTED MAN
Chapter 495: WANTED MAN
In a realm stripped bare of every element, every concept, every whisper of definition, a single being lay in undisturbed slumber.
No aura radiated from him.
No strength pulsed outward.
No pressure weighed on the void around his form.
Yet to mistake him for weak would be the gravest error.
Only a vanishing few across all existence could ever hope to stand against him, and even they would hesitate.
"Hmm?" the being murmured to himself, voice low and thoughtful.
The sound rolled outward like a quiet shockwave.
Distant entities, formless watchers, lingering echoes of power, collapsed inward on themselves, folding into nothingness without a scream.
"The nine brothers... have returned?"
He paused, tilting his head slightly in the dark.
"No. Not quite."
A faint smile ghosted across unseen lips.
"Someone has gained their soul."
With idle curiosity, he turned his awareness toward the Archive of Truth, an endless, flawless lattice of every event, every secret, every impossible truth.
Through its crystalline threads he traced backward...
until the line reached Aaron.
In that single instant of connection, the link snapped.
A ferocious, retaliatory force surged back through the archive like inverted lightning.
The being’s right eye simply vanished, erased in a burst of silent agony.
He laughed.
A deep, rolling sound that carried no pain, only genuine amusement.
"Hahahahaha. You have returned, my King."
He showed no concern for the lost eye.
Blood that should have flowed simply did not.
The empty socket remained calm, as though it had always been that way.
He was not the only one whose interest had been stirred by the sudden shift in the cosmos.
Several other ancient existences, watchers from forgotten thrones, predators from higher voids, did the same.
They peered into the Archive of Truth with varying degrees of caution and arrogance.
Each suffered repercussions in exact proportion to their audacity.
Some lost fingers.
Some lost memories.
A few lost entire conceptual layers of their being.
The archive did not forgive intrusion.
---
"Hmm?"
Chen Mo’s voice was soft, almost disinterested.
He sat cross-legged on cracked, blackened earth, deep in meditation.
The quiet syllable escaped his lips as he felt it, the clean, total destruction of one of his own techniques, severed like a thread cut by invisible scissors.
"Hmm. Impressive," he muttered.
He opened his eyes, calm, flat, utterly devoid of warmth or concern, and rose smoothly to his feet.
His body bore the marks of relentless combat:
bruises blooming dark purple and black across ribs and shoulders,
fresh cuts still weeping thin trails of blood,
older scars layered beneath like a map of survived apocalypses.
His long black cloak hung in tatters, sleeves shredded, hem burned away in places, fabric clinging stubbornly to him like a dying shadow.
Around him lay the corpses of his most recent enemies.
Twisted limbs.
Shattered armor.
Faces frozen in expressions of disbelief.
The ground drank their blood in slow, dark pools.
Since forcing his ascension to the Transcendent Realm, Chen Mo had known no peace.
The sheer violence of his breakthrough had offended the established transcendents.
They viewed his existence as an insult, a wound in the natural hierarchy.
His death had become their shared obsession, an inevitable correction.
Now he lifted his head.
Mountain ridges encircled him like the jaws of some colossal beast.
Perched along the jagged peaks stood his newest hunters, dozens of them, auras flaring with barely restrained killing intent.
The encirclement was perfect.
No escape routes.
No blind spots.
"Give up," the leader called down from the highest ridge.
His voice dripped with smug certainty.
"There’s not much you can do to save your life. Stop struggling. Just accept it, your only fate is death."
He wore the cocky half-smile of someone who had already won.
Chen Mo said nothing.
He simply rested one hand on the sheathed blade at his hip, fingers loose around the hilt.
His gaze drifted over the assembled enemies, cool, distant, faintly bored.
Those arrogant eyes of yours...
The leader’s lip curled in disgust.
"I’ll make sure your head ends up spiked on a pike. Your eyes? Gouged out and fed to the void beasts."
He raised a hand.
"Kill him."
The attack squad exploded into motion.
Their speed shattered mortal limits, easily five times the speed of light.
Air ignited in their wake.
Space itself warped and screamed.
Chen Mo did not move.
He stood perfectly still, as though the blinding rush meant nothing to him.
Two attackers reached him first, one from the left, one from the right.
The one on the right had fused Primordial Terra and Flame into his arm.
His fist became an impossible weapon:
impenetrable rock encasing flesh, crimson flames licking hungrily across the surface, turning the whole limb a molten reddish-brown.
The one on the left drew his sword in a blur, Primordial Wind and Water weaving together for lethal swiftness.
The blade sang with cutting pressure.
Death closed from both sides.
Chen Mo lifted the hilt of his sword perhaps half an inch from the sheath,
then let it slide back with the faintest metallic whisper.
To the attackers, that was all they perceived.
But reality had already rewritten itself.
Two perfect, bloodless sword wounds appeared across their chests, clean, surgical, impossible.
They froze mid-strike, staring down in mute shock.
No pain yet.
Only confusion.
Then they crumpled.
Lifeless before they hit the ground.
The remaining attackers faltered for a heartbeat, horror flickering behind their eyes, but momentum carried them forward.
Stopping now would only guarantee their own deaths.
Chen Mo exhaled once.
"Soul severance," he said quietly.
His sword never visibly moved.
Yet every single cultivator still encircling him was bisected at the waist, neat, effortless cuts that parted flesh, bone, and spirit like soft tofu.
Bodies folded.
Blood sprayed in slow, graceful arcs.
Silence swallowed the mountain ridge.
Only the leader remained.
Chen Mo raised his gaze until their eyes met.
"I advise you to remain standing exactly where you are," he said, voice flat and unhurried.
"That’s the only reason you’re still alive."
He did not even consider the man an enemy.
Not truly.