Chapter 1702: Six Paths of Reincarnation (Part Two)

The sky was dim, the earth vast and desolate, his silhouette lonely and forlorn.

Time had lost all meaning for him. In the Liudao Lunhui, only his footprints remained, gradually buried by the ages.

He kept his head down, eyes fixed on the ground, walking in silence without a word.

This time, his journey stretched endlessly, with no boundaries in sight.

The passage of time etched deep marks on him like a carving knife, each stroke adding layers of weariness and age.

In the distance, an ancient pass reappeared, spanning countless miles from east to west. It was drenched in blood, cold and imposing, blocking his path.

After a hundred years, he looked up once more: Egui Dao.

He paused for a moment, said nothing, and stepped inside.

Immediately, he heard the wails of hungry ghosts rushing toward him like a tidal wave.

Before his eyes was a terrifying scene: as far as he could see, emaciated ghosts with dangling arms wandered about.

Their eyes burned with greed and bloodlust, licking their crimson lips and drooling blood-tinged saliva as they lunged at Ye Chen.

Ye Chen frowned, summoning secret techniques in his palm, preparing for battle.

But before he could move, an inexplicable force materialized, binding his body and sealing his powers.

"The Egui Dao of Liudao Lunhui, a hundred years of being gnawed upon."

That ethereal voice echoed again, cold and desolate, filling the heavens and earth.

His body was immobilized, unable to budge, with not a trace of power left. A gust of yin feng swept over him, knocking him backward onto the ground.

The hungry ghosts swarmed him, surrounding him layer upon layer.

Endless ghosts bit into his flesh, drank his blood, gnawed his bones, and sucked his marrow.

Ye Chen's eyes turned blood-red, desperate to speak but unable, desperate to move but powerless. He could only watch as they devoured him.

It was a gruesome sight, shockingly bloody, with bones, flesh, and blood all becoming food for the ghosts.

The cruelest part was not the devouring itself, but that once his body was completely consumed, his flesh would regenerate, only to be eaten again.

This cycle repeated endlessly, like an eternal loop.

He had no choice but to endure it, suffering a hundred years of being gnawed upon, unable to resist, forced to accept it passively.

Atop Jie Ming Shan in Ming Jie, Bai Zhi covered her mouth with her hand.

The scene was too bloody and revolting. As the disciple of the emperor, who was always held in high esteem, she had never witnessed anything like this.

Beside her, Ming Jue's face flushed red as he tried to suppress it, but he still felt an overwhelming urge to vomit.

Through the water curtain, both could almost hear the sounds of the ghosts chewing Ye Chen's flesh and bones, filled with a demonic intensity.

For a hundred years, Ye Chen had to endure this agony.

Just imagining that duration was enough to fill one with despair.

Compared to them, Ming Di and Di Huang remained composed, watching quietly. As supreme beings, they had seen it all.

Especially Ming Di, who had witnessed Di Huang being devoured firsthand.

The mighty emperor, who once cornered the Five Emperors at the edge of the universe, was equally helpless in the Liudao Lunhui.

Now, Ye Chen was just like Di Huang in the past.

What did it matter that he had slain two emperors? He was still food for the hungry ghosts.

In Egui Dao, Ye Chen's eyes grew dull and vacant, and any sign of resistance faded away completely.

He did not close his eyes, staring instead into the void.

He no longer felt pain; what did it matter if the ghosts gnawed at him?

He knew only that he had to go home. The Egui Dao of Liudao Lunhui could not scare him or erase his obsession with returning to his homeland.

Day by day, year by year, time slipped away quietly in the endless expanse.

After a hundred years, the ordeal reached its end once more.

As the ghosts dispersed and their howls faded, the binding force vanished. For the first time in a century, he rose to his feet.

Egui Dao collapsed with a thunderous roar, leaving behind scorched black earth.

He set out again, staggering and unsteady.

From the moment he arrived in Ming Jie, three days had passed, and in the Six Paths, three hundred years. The endless years and profound solitude had engulfed him.

After an indeterminate time, the third pass came into view.

The characters "Xiuluo Dao" loomed large and crimson, stained with the dust of ages and fresh blood, with trickles flowing down, strikingly vivid.

Ye Chen did not pause, taking heavy steps as he entered the pass.

As soon as he entered, he saw a sea of blood, its surface eerily calm without a ripple, but the stench of blood formed a thick mist that surged wildly.

"The Xiuluo Dao of Liudao Lunhui, a hundred years of brutal warfare."

That ethereal voice rang out again, cold and desolate, echoing through the heavens and earth.

As the words fell, the sea stirred to life. Blood-soaked figures crawled out from its depths, clad in blood-red clothes with blood-red hair and blood-red eyes.

They were true asuras, baring their gleaming white teeth, licking their crimson tongues, their blood-colored eyes gleaming with bloodlust.

Countless asuras roared, wailed, and bellowed, surging toward Ye Chen in an overwhelming wave, their gazes savage and murderous.

Ye Chen said nothing, drawing his Yin Ming Jian and gripping it tightly with both hands.

In the three hundred years since entering the Six Paths—one hundred in Egui Dao, one hundred in Difu Dao, and one hundred on the road—his suppressed blood boiled over.

"Kill!" he roared hoarsely, his voice ragged and weary.

He charged forward, wading through the sea of blood, cutting down asura after asura, their blood splattering across his body.

The fallen asuras sank into the blood sea but quickly rose again. No matter how many he killed, they kept coming in endless waves.

Ye Chen fought like a madman, swinging his sword wildly without any technique, showing no sign of fatigue.

Time passed, and after ten years of battle, he was covered in wounds.

The asuras attacked repeatedly, only to be driven back each time, overwhelming him again and again, yet he broke free every time. They fell, only to rise from the blood once more.

His blood-red eyes burned even fiercer than the asuras'. His clothes, hair, face, hands, and body were all dyed crimson.

More than the asuras, he resembled one himself—a blood-soaked figure rampaging through the sea, like a deranged warrior, tireless and relentless.

Time lost all meaning; pain was long forgotten.

At Jie Ming Shan, all was silent as everyone watched the water curtain.

With the composure of supreme beings, Ming Jue and Bai Zhi's faces turned pale and bloodless, unable to bear the sight any longer.

He was no longer human—his bones exposed, his body mangled beyond recognition—yet he fought the asuras without falling.

How strong must his will be? Was his heart made of stone? How could anyone endure a hundred years of this?

Ming Jue and Bai Zhi both lowered their eyes. If it were them, they would have collapsed long ago. A hundred years—such an eternity.

Ye Chen fell into the blood pool once more, submerged by the sea.

After fighting for who knows how long without rest, he was exhausted. He struggled to his feet, drenched in fresh blood.

"Home... I must go home." With only one arm left, still clutching his sword, he staggered onward, slashing frantically.

His eyes held no light anymore—or perhaps he was already dead.

The only reason he kept fighting was that unyielding obsession sustaining him.

Time flowed on, and after a hundred years, the ordeal reached its end.

He had battled for a full century, enduring a hundred years of brutal warfare, until all the asuras turned to blood water. The majestic Xiuluo Dao pass crumbled in a gust of yin feng.

On the scorched earth, he stumbled along, leaving a trail of blood behind him, each bloody footprint shocking to see.

His silhouette remained as lonely and weathered as ever.

How long was the road home, that it had ground a once-youthful person into such an aged, scarred wreck?