Chapter Sixty-Four: The Unparalleled Landscape

Among the ancestral witches, Xuanming possessed the weakest magical power. Yet, determined to prove that her strength was no less than that of her brothers, she volunteered to test herself and, despite their objections, insisted on joining the battle against Dijun’s doppelganger.

In truth, this confrontation among the ancestral witches resembled the scene from “Tian Ji’s Horse Race”—using elite force to resolve issues with mid-tier opponents. One could thus imagine the prowess of Gonggong and Zhu Rong.

But in such a situation, someone needed to hold back the enemies of the opposing mid-tier, and Xuanming simply could not endure. She was the last of the ancestral witches to take form and was the sovereign of rain. In the previous battles, she had expended vast amounts of magic to cast large-scale formations. On top of this, all the ancestral witches had another task: to stall the demon horde and buy time for Shebishi, the ancestral witch, to recover her powers.

When casting the “Twelve Ancestral Witches’ Dutian Formation,” every strike’s force was controlled by Shebishi, resulting in her depleting the most magical power among them all. Although Shebishi’s exhaustion was the greatest, the other ancestral witches’ losses were not insignificant either. Xuanming, with her already modest cultivation, found herself struggling after repeated battles, her strength stretched thin.

Even so, she still stepped forward to confront Dijun’s evil avatar—her courage was truly admirable.

Dijun’s evil avatar understood that the tide of war had not shifted in the demons’ favor simply because four of their number had joined the fray. In fact, their arrival had only served to ignite the fighting spirit of the ancestral witches—something neither Dijun nor Taiyi had anticipated.

This evil avatar realized his own predicament: if no one came to his aid, not only would he and the benevolent avatar vanish from the world, but the demon race itself would become nothing more than a vassal of the witches. The urgency of this crisis filled him with anxiety.

Although Dijun’s avatars were currently gaining the upper hand in their duel with the ancestral witches, it was far from enough. He needed to completely strip the ancestral witches of their fighting power to save Dijun from his plight.

At that moment, both Dijun’s avatars manifested their true forms. The benevolent avatar radiated a brilliant white light, while the evil one glowed jet-black. Though both were three-legged golden crows by nature, the contrasting lights they emitted were startling.

White and black light shone through the heavens and earth, and Xuanming now assumed her original form: her body bristling with bone spurs. With a roar, she summoned countless bone spikes from the ground, lancing toward Dijun’s avatars.

Witnessing this, Tianwu immediately realized that everyone was now unleashing their greatest abilities—their trump cards. If he did not inject his own side with a surge of power, their momentum would falter, to their great disadvantage.

Tianwu, too, revealed his true form: eight heads, human faces, a tiger’s body, and nine tails. He joined Xuanming in facing the two “little suns.”

Before the rain arrived, fierce winds were already howling across the world. Tianwu conjured a primordial turbid wind, refined from innate filth and fused with his own power. Xuanming drew upon the same primordial filth to create an innate foul rain, which hovered quietly before her.

The foul rain and turbid wind merged, the wind enveloping the rain to form a sphere. As the two ancestral witches poured their magical power into it, the sphere grew ever larger.

High above, the two golden crows were not idle—they knew the consequences of this strike. If they could wound the ancestral witches, the demon race’s victory would be within reach.

Under their immense power, black and white flames formed a sphere that flickered with both colors, faint thunder rumbling around it.

With a final shout, both sides unleashed their ultimate moves—victory or defeat would be decided in this instant!

With a thunderous explosion, Tianwu and Xuanming shrank from their towering forms to the size of ordinary humans, hurled far away by the force of the golden crows’ blazing sphere.

Now, Tianwu and Xuanming were utterly incapacitated. Any attempt to fight on would damage their very sources of power, making recovery nearly impossible.

Watching the fierce battles of their kin in the distance and their brothers’ dazzling combat in the sky, Tianwu turned to Xuanming and asked, “Xuanming, are you afraid?”

“What is there to fear? For the sake of our people’s legacy, this is the only way!” With resolute eyes, Xuanming met Tianwu’s gaze and nodded gently, as if making some final decision.

Hovering above, the two golden crows could not discern what was being said between the ancestral witches. Suddenly, Tianwu rose and charged directly at the white golden crow.

The golden crows immediately unleashed their flames, striking Tianwu down in a single blow—he never rose again.

Tianwu struggled to rise, but the flames were too fierce to withstand. He slumped to the ground, trying to recover his spent power.

Having just repelled Tianwu, the two golden crows laughed in glee, mocking his overconfidence. Yet their arrogance would cost them dearly.

While Tianwu drew their attention, Xuanming had slipped beneath the enemy, preparing to deliver a fatal blow.

A deafening blast erupted from where the two ancestral witches had stood—a colossal mushroom cloud blossomed. The golden crows could not escape the range of Xuanming’s self-destruction and were both gravely wounded, tumbling from the sky.

Even Tianwu, attempting to recover nearby, was sent tumbling by the shockwave. His eyes reddened with tears flowing unbidden, he cried out, “Xuanming!”

In that moment, every ancestral witch felt a stabbing pain in their hearts, as if a beloved kin was about to depart. Hearing Tianwu’s anguished cry, tears welled in the eyes of them all.

On the battlefield below, the warriors of the witch tribe roared in unison, “Ancestral Witch Xuanming! Ancestral Witch Xuanming!” Though their voices thundered with grief, their attacks did not slow—in fact, they fought even fiercer, willing to suffer wounds themselves if only to inflict pain on their foes.

The ancestral witches were driven to madness; the warriors fought with abandon.

Then, from afar, Shebishi, the ancestral witch, came charging onto the field. Seeing the two wounded golden crows circling above, she roared, “You will pay for this!”