CHAPTER 70: INTERROGATION

A man stood there, cloaked in black, his presence like a flame in the middle of a frozen wasteland. He was tall, with a lean figure, yet he looked powerful, every line of his body exuding quiet strength. The cloak draped over his broad shoulders whispered with the faintest breeze, its fabric shimmering faintly as though woven from night itself.

The man had a face too beautiful to belong to the mortal world. High, aristocratic cheekbones framed his pale and flawless skin, while his jawline was sharp enough to cut glass. His nose was straight, his lips sculpted with a perfection that should have belonged on a painting, not on a living being.

And yet, it was his eyes that seized and refused to let go. They were a shade of silver so pure, so ethereal, that they seemed to reflect not the world around him but something greater, like the fragments of a starlit sky, infinite and untouchable.

His long hair, which seemed to be the color of midnight, cascaded past his shoulders, gleaming faintly as if the strands themselves carried their own light. When he moved, it rippled like ink flowing across water, mesmerizing and surreal. His very presence exuded an aura that was both alluring and terrifying, the kind that made people want to kneel in reverence while simultaneously fleeing in fear.

He was beautiful, yes, but it was a beauty that carried danger, a beauty that no human should have possessed. He was like a deity who had descended into their world by mistake, too flawless, untouchable, and alien.

The people almost forgot to breathe.

His blade was a blur, faster than their eyes could track. Every swing cut down a cluster of zombies, their bodies dissolving into black ash before they even registered they had been struck. He was precise, merciless, and devastatingly efficient. There was no wasted movement, no hesitation. Just clean and perfect execution. It was not a battle; it was art.

Within moments, the battlefield was silent again.

The remaining zombies lay scattered, their corpses nothing but burnt husks and shattered bones. The stench of decay was quickly drowned out by the copper tang of blood and the sharp ozone of lingering energy.

He stood in the center of it all, his cloak untouched by dirt, his blade gleaming coldly under the fractured light.

For a long moment, no one dared to speak. The survivors simply stared at him, awestruck, hearts pounding with something they could not name. Was it gratitude? Fear? Reverence? Perhaps all of them at once.

Finally, he raised his gaze, those silver eyes sweeping over the battlefield with a grim, unreadable expression. His voice, when it came, was low and resonant, carrying an authority that sank deep into their bones.

"Who was it?" he asked slowly, each word deliberate, like the toll of a heavy bell.

"Who dared to alter the path of the first wave?"

Confusion rippled through the crowd, but none dared to answer.

His expression darkened further, his aura pressing down like the weight of an unseen storm. The very air seemed to tremble under his presence, suffocating and heavy. "The hidden achievement was not supposed to be unlocked. Someone interfered and achieved the hidden ending before their time." His gaze sharpened, piercing like a blade. "Who was it?"

The survivors shifted uneasily, exchanging nervous glances. They all knew who it had been. They all thought of the same figure who had walked away only minutes before, her back straight, her eyes filled with unshakable resolve.

No one answered his question. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, as though every breath taken by the survivors carried the weight of guilt. Yet no one dared to speak. Their eyes avoided his piercing silver gaze, darting instead to the ground, the ruined streets, or the corpses still littering the battlefield.

After a while, his lips curled into the faintest trace of a cold smile, not one of amusement, but of understanding. He didn’t need their words to understand things. He could read the truth in their silence.

The person responsible was not here.

"So that person has already left," he murmured under his breath, his tone sharp enough to cut through the tense air. "Did they ask you all to cover for them?" His eyes scanned over the small crowd of people, "Well, probably not. But it’s strange that you guys are being so protective of them."

The survivors flinched, as though he had plucked the unspoken thought directly from their minds. His eyes narrowed, silver light gleaming like a storm contained within a human shell. He knew what this meant: someone had altered the timeline of the apocalypse, clearing a hidden achievement before the system intended. That same someone was already pushing forward, step by step, towards the dungeon gates that had yet to stabilize.

For a long moment, he said nothing, his aura pressing down upon them like the shadow of a collapsing sky. Then, with a deliberate motion, he reined it in, releasing the pressure that had nearly crushed the crowd beneath it. The survivors staggered as though freed from invisible shackles, gasping for air.

"There is no point in asking further," he finally said, his voice calm, measured. His gaze shifted toward Ru Feifei and He Xun, the only two who stood tall enough to meet his eyes without buckling. "You two have potential. Keep growing. Don’t waste the lives that were lost here."

His words were not a request but a command, carved into their hearts like iron.

Then, without another glance at the others, he turned and left. His figure cut through the devastated battlefield, his coat trailing behind him, his presence lingering like the aftertaste of lightning. He did not chase the one who had interfered, nor did he try to uncover their identity.

There was no need. Their paths were bound to converge again, inevitably. He could wait.

Meanwhile,

Ling Yu moved swiftly through the ruined streets, her steps light but purposeful.