The Epic Tale of Chaos vs Order

Chapter 2474: Worlds of the Root

The flood continued to fall.

Golden drops rained across the void without pause, flooding the battlefield and slaughtering abominations of the Root in staggering numbers. A single drop was enough to kill a Prima Deity–tier abomination. A few dozen could shred an ArchDeity–rank monster into fragments of rotting flesh and dissipating soul matter.

It killed relentlessly.

The storm showed no signs of weakening, no hint of exhaustion. It felt endless—as though it would not cease until every last trace of the invading horde had been erased from existence.

Robuke’s eyes widened with shock and horror.

Individually, those abominations meant nothing to him. They were tools—expendable, mindless extensions of the Root’s will. But to forge such a vast army had required the sacrifice of entire Empyrean Worlds. It had taken endless harvesting and meticulous reshaping of life.

He could not allow it to be erased so easily.

Countless thoughts raced through the Monster of the Root’s mind as he searched desperately for a solution. He tried to trace the origin of the golden rain, to identify its source, its mechanism, its weakness.

He found nothing.

He could not even determine where it was coming from—how could he possibly stop it?

A crushing sense of frustration and impending defeat coiled around his heart.

”Retreat!” Robuke roared, his voice shaking the void.

For a single stunned second, the horde of the Root froze.

Then they obeyed.

The abominations twisted mid-flight and began to withdraw toward their worlds. Champions and High Lords disengaged from their opponents, retreating in disciplined formation despite the carnage raining down upon them.

It was a shocking sight.

The warriors of the Nine Empyrean Suns Alliance stared in disbelief. For the first time since the vanishing of the Scarlet King, they had won a direct clash against the Root.

”KILL!” Anark’s voice thundered across the void, dragging them back to reality.

The fire in their hearts erupted.

They surged forward like wolves descending upon wounded prey, tearing apart as many retreating abominations as possible before they could escape. Blades flashed. Divine techniques detonated. War cries echoed through shattered space.

Anark and Meylin did not remain idle.

On the contrary, they became the fiercest predators of all.

Abandoning defense entirely, they hurled themselves at Robuke with reckless ferocity. They ignored the strain on their bodies and the wounds that split their flesh. They slashed and smashed at the Monster of the Root with unrelenting fury.

Robuke suffered blow after blow as he pulled back. He understood clearly that if he were isolated on this battlefield, he would die.

Rage and hatred surged within him, swelling like a storm ready to burst.

But he forced himself to suppress it.

He could feel Meylin’s gaze locked onto him—cold, watchful, calculating. She was waiting for the slightest lapse in his emotional control. The smallest crack.

He would not give it to her.

Across the Nine Empyrean Suns Universe, a majestic and awe-inspiring scene unfolded. Warriors of the Six Sacred Races advanced under a void illuminated by golden starlight. One race, renowned for possessing the strongest physical bodies in existence, and another, famed for unmatched psychic might, led the army.

Blood and shattered remnants of abominations drifted through space as the horde retreated farther and farther—until at last the corrupted Worlds of the Root came into view.

They were an abomination in themselves.

Two Empyrean Worlds had been stitched together like grotesque tumors, fused by veins of flesh and rot. Pulsating growths connected continents. Oceans of corrupted biomass churned beneath a void stained black and crimson.

The Prima Deities were forced to halt the moment those worlds entered sight. Simply approaching them risked infection. The corruptive aura emanating from the fused worlds could twist even divine flesh into new abominations.

The ArchDeities were more resilient. They continued the slaughter for a short while longer, pressing the retreating enemy. But in the end, even they were forced to withdraw. Without the core of the army, even the supreme warriors of the Six Sacred Races and the Knights of the Scarlet Throne could not advance alone.

Meanwhile, Anark and Meylin continued their assault.

They could feel it—the corruption creeping into their own bodies. Faint mutations had already begun at the edges of their flesh.

They exchanged a meaningful glance.

No words were needed.

Meylin charged her sword and unleashed a sweeping arc that blossomed into a golden storm, obscuring Robuke’s vision. Radiant energy roared outward, distorting space and concealing her ally’s movements.

Robuke roared and swung his massive axe, shattering the golden wave apart.

Through the collapsing light, Anark dove forward.

He unleashed a strike of immense destructive power—Primordial Void Force condensed into a single devastating blow.

But the attack was reckless.

It was full of openings.

Robuke’s eyes gleamed.

Now that he stood within reach of the Root’s corrupted worlds, power surged back into his body. The malignant aura of the fused corrupted Empyrean Worlds strengthened him, feeding him.

He prepared to meet Anark head-on.

”ARRGHHH!” Robuke roared, his axe blazing with immense power, poised to bisect the True Primordial.

At the final second, Anark’s eyes ignited.

Killing intent. Wrath. Hatred. Bloodlust. A torrent of negative emotions flooded outward.

That was all Meylin needed.

She teleported directly in front of Robuke.

Her golden eyes blazed as her left hand shot forward and seized the descending axe with her index and middle fingers.

Instead of blocking it—

She redirected it.

Every ounce of power contained within the weapon was absorbed.

Robuke’s eyes widened.

For the briefest instant, something flickered within them.

Recognition.

Remembrance.

He glimpsed the face of a young man with scarlet eyes.

”ZNNNNNNNNNN—”

The sound of tearing flesh echoed across the void.

Channeling the devoured power into her blade, Meylin struck.

Her sword cleaved through Robuke’s clavicle, splitting it in half. The strike did not stop. It drove downward, severing bone, flesh, and corrupted essence—cutting away nearly a third of the Monster of the Root’s body.

”ARGHHHHHHHHHH!”

Robuke’s agonized scream reverberated through space.

With the remnants of his strength, he retreated—diving into the fused Worlds of the Root and crashing onto their corrupted surface.

Meylin and Anark watched him go, their eyes cold and steady.

They did not pursue.

They understood the truth: if they entered those worlds, they would die.

Victory could not cloud their judgment.

Calmly, they gathered the severed fragments of Robuke’s body—valuable beyond measure—and turned back.

The army parted as they returned, warriors gazing at them with awe and wonder.

For the first time in ages, hope did not feel fragile.

It felt real.