Chapter Forty-Eight: Landing on the Island

At last, the collapse of the Great Snow Mountain Prison reached its final stage. One by one, enormous walls and pillars of ice crashed down, smashing those warriors who could not dodge in time into pulp.

The power of nature—how could mere humans hope to withstand it?

And yet Zhang Liaoyuan defied this very truth. His steps did not falter. He shattered the obstructing ice by force alone, as if breaking sheets of glass.

“Indestructible Vajra...”

“So this is what indestructibility truly means!”

“Follow him—follow Zhang Liaoyuan!”

At last, the surviving pulse wielders won their race against time. The wind, symbolizing freedom, already echoed in their ears.

The ice bridge thundered as it crumbled. Each pulse wielder summoned all their strength for one final leap, grasping at the last chance, surging toward the snowy plains of freedom.

But there were those whose outstretched hands missed the edge by mere centimeters. With desperate cries, they plunged into the boundless, frigid darkness below.

“I’m finally out!”

“You brats from the Martial Association, your uncle’s back!”

“Amitabha—”

Zhang Liaoyuan surveyed the motley throng of fiends and monsters. His brow furrowed, and in the next instant, he appeared beside a burly man.

Unconcealed murderous intent radiated from him, making the burly man glare in fury. He drew back his fists and, with a rush of air sharp as a spike, hurled a blow straight at Zhang Liaoyuan’s face.

But Zhang Liaoyuan did not so much as blink. The devastating punch, forceful enough to bend steel, could not even brush his eyelashes.

Zhang Liaoyuan raised his hand. Every movement seemed slowed tenfold, each detail etched in the eyes of all who watched—yet not a single person could react. The contradiction of this perception was enough to make them nauseous.

A jade-white forefinger tapped lightly upon the big man’s forehead. His fierce expression froze, then softened, and finally melted into a serene, grateful smile as he collapsed silently into the snow.

The once-reveling martial outlaws fell into sudden silence.

A solemn, bald man intoned, “Amitabha. Benefactor Zhang has delivered him to paradise—truly an act of immeasurable merit. To witness your ‘manifestation of martial arts’ today is a fortune spanning three lifetimes.”

The others dared not even breathe, suddenly realizing what a peerless figure stood before them. Thirty years sealed away, and yet none had surpassed him.

Zhang Liaoyuan spoke not a word, nor did he explain his sudden act of killing. He simply walked southward, each step leaving a clear imprint.

The crowd exchanged uncertain glances. Some chose to follow, others quietly slipped away, and still others, old enemies, immediately began to fight among themselves.

The heavy snow covered all traces, but nothing could halt the man forging ahead on foot.

That day, the whole world was shaken.

The King of the Central Plains, lord of Heaven’s Capital, the undisputed king among pulse wielders—Zhang Liaoyuan—had returned!

——————————————————

On the seas of Yinghai, the Thirteenth Fleet of Amester, centered around its nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, dominated two hundred miles of ocean, casting a menacing gaze toward the coast of Heaven’s Capital.

As the chaos of Leviathan’s rampage settled, the fleet immediately received orders from naval command.

Admiral Sankas, a man with an air of ancient refinement, hardly resembled a weathered sailor or hardened soldier.

He addressed the man on the screen: “General Anxi, are you saying we have failed?”

“No,” General Anxi replied with a smile, “I never supported putting all our hope in the hands of such unstable power as espers. Leviathan’s rampage has only forced Parliament to recognize the incompetence of these espers—and the negligence of that woman.”

Sankas stroked the armrest. “These defiant espers are troublesome indeed. But do you truly believe that woman’s position will be shaken?”

General Anxi snorted. “A mere clown, desperate for attention, attending the highest council—utterly absurd! Frankenstein, I now hold the power to defeat her. Her espers, her bio-beasts, all will be reduced to dust!”

Sankas did not respond. At such a moment, whether he agreed or objected, neither would align with his principle of prudent self-preservation.

Silence was the best shield in all conflicts—though it required true strength to maintain a neutral stance.

Sankas pondered: what force could give a famed Eagle Banner general such confidence, enough to speak so brazenly even of Frankenstein, rumored puppet master behind the Thirteen-Person Council?

Could it be those immature cyborgs?

General Anxi seemed to read his thoughts, offering a mysterious smile. “Don’t worry, you’ll see them soon enough—my army.”

Sankas asked, “So, what should we do about Heaven’s Capital? Leviathan’s fate is unknown, and nearly all our infiltration squads have been wiped out. Is it worth continuing this deadlock with the pulse wielders?”

General Anxi sneered, “You’re afraid, Sankas. I know your father and your brothers all died at the hands of pulse wielders. I didn’t expect that would make you more timid, not more vengeful. Do you thank them for solidifying your inheritance?”

Sankas slapped the armrest. “Anxi, you’d better take responsibility for your words!”

“Hmph.” General Anxi’s expression cooled. “We’ve received news—the culprit behind the civil war thirty years ago, Class A war criminal Zhang Liaoyuan, has escaped. Heaven’s Capital is now in chaos, panic everywhere. Do you think you should just retreat?”

“Zhang Liaoyuan...” Sankas’s gaze grew distant, as if he’d returned to the era when pulse wielders terrorized the world.

The power of pulse wielders was absolute—their senses, speed, and strength all beyond human limits. They could traverse minefields as if they had wings, hurl throwing knives and kill at a hundred paces. Countless promising officers had fallen to their relentless assassinations.

Zhang Liaoyuan was the most outstanding among them. Rumor had it he was already the de facto leader of the pulse wielders, with enough followers to upset the world’s political and military balance.

Yet such a terrifying figure had, thirty years ago, suddenly staged a coup, seeking to restore the empire in Heaven’s Capital and forge a nation for pulse wielders.

From beginning to end, the war was shrouded in mystery. In the end, Zhang Liaoyuan’s fate was unknown; only in recent years was it confirmed he’d been imprisoned by the Bureau of Special Environmental Affairs.

His escape would surely send shockwaves through Heaven’s Capital—perhaps even tear the nation apart.

But whenever he thought of the pulse wielders’ gaze, as if they could see straight through the soul, Sankas felt the old wound in his chest throb with pain.

With a calm expression, Sankas said, “I understand. For now, I’ll withdraw from Heaven’s Capital but remain ready at any moment.”

General Anxi nodded with satisfaction, then snapped a salute. “For the glory of Amester!”

Sankas could not help but respond, “For Amester!”