Walker Of The Worlds

Chapter 3062: Elyon’s Utter Shock

In that moment, the cultists realized something far more terrible than death:

They were nothing.

Not even ants.

They weren’t simply outmatched—they were irrelevant.

A few survivors dropped to their knees, unable to withstand the weight of his presence alone.

”Mercy!” one cried.

”Please! We surrender!” another screamed, his voice raw.

But Lin Mu’s expression didn’t change.

He wasn’t here for revenge. He wasn’t here to play the hero or to relish superiority.

He was here for answers.

And he would carve truth from stone if he had to.

While all this happened, the wolfkin was going through a flurry of emotions.

Elyon stood still—silent, stunned, and small.

He watched the twin swords dance.

The moment Ocean Raker joined Afternoon Pine, a strange pressure settled in Elyon’s chest—not from the blades themselves, but from the man who commanded them.

Lin Mu stood between the two, his robes rippling as if stirred by unseen tides. Sword qi sang around him, flowing like celestial wind. Then he moved.

No flash of blinding light. No bombastic explosion.

Just a clean, surgical strike.

The golden-yellow arc and the ocean-blue slash crossed in midair, and with a sound like paper being cut by silk thread, the entire top of the fortress... slid.

Elyon’s pupils shrank.

It didn’t fall. It slid.

The upper half of the massive stone structure glided away like a severed lid from a lidded box, revealing the fragile inner workings of a fortress that moments ago seemed impenetrable.

Stone cracked. Enchantments shattered. Dust bloomed.

Hundreds of cultivators were laid bare—dozens already dead, the rest blinking and stunned, standing exposed and helpless.

And Lin Mu descended upon them like a divine sword given form.

Even Elyon, despite standing far behind, felt his legs tense and his breath grow short. His fur bristled all over again. A wolfkin’s instincts were rarely wrong, and everything inside him screamed one thing:

Do not provoke him. Do not speak. Do not move.

Lin Mu’s voice broke through the haze like a blade through silk.

”I’ll give you one chance. Surrender now. Reveal everything I ask. Or die.”

Elyon could scarcely believe the confidence in his tone.

No shouting. No rage.

Just cold certainty, delivered without ego—only the authority of one who could end you, and didn’t need to say it twice.

And still, the fools hesitated.

One man, likely their leader, shouted back with fanatical defiance.

Seventh Tribulation Stage—strong by any measure. Elyon could feel the raw pressure from his cultivation. The man’s qi surged, his eyes manic with zealotry.

But Lin Mu?

Lin Mu just said two words.

”Then perish.”

The world changed.

No other way to describe it.

Elyon’s knees buckled instantly. Not from a blow. Not from spiritual suppression. From something deeper.

Gravity.

Not natural gravity.

Dao-infused gravity.

The air seemed to harden. The ground rippled as invisible force slammed down like a black hammer. The very marrow in Elyon’s bones vibrated from the sudden pressure.

He gasped—and realized he couldn’t even hear himself over the sound of his own pulse pounding in his skull.

The stone beneath the cultists cracked.

Bodies caved in.

Muscles imploded. Flesh burst. Hundreds of immortals—actual immortals—were crushed into ruin like rotten fruit under a millstone. Blood sprayed in thick arcs. Cries were cut short as entire skeletons shattered under force they had no time to resist.

Eighty percent dead in less than five seconds.

Elyon watched, breath caught in his throat.

And Lin Mu?

Not even panting.

Not a bead of sweat on his brow.

Not a glow of exhaustion on his face.

He stood in midair, suspended by his own power, expression unreadable—like a judge atop a silent mountain.

’He’s not even trying,’ Elyon realized.

He had heard of Gravity Dao before.

Who hadn’t?

One of the rarest paths in all the immortal realms. Incredibly hard to sense, nearly impossible to comprehend, and even if one did... the exertion required to use it usually outweighed the benefit.

It was said that even among Top Immortal Clans, only a handful of prodigies in a hundred thousand years managed to awaken a Gravity Dao Embryo.

And yet Lin Mu had mastered it?

No—wielded it.

Casually.

Elyon’s mind reeled.

He thought of what he had seen so far—what little he knew of this man called Lin Mu.

Sword Dao—one at the Sword Heart Stage, at minimum. Possibly close to reaching a higher realm.

Space Affinity—he could blink across distances and teleport with no delay, rip open the spatial fabric like it was paper and even tear through defensive formations.

Body Defense—his body withstood High Elder Yan Dao’s full-strength strikes without flinching.

Something he had learned from Meng Bai telling him the story in this past month.

Elemental Affinity—he absorbed fire, earth, and metal elemental energy like they were meals to fuel his body.

And now... Gravity.

Elyon wasn’t even sure if Lin Mu was still human.

”How long...?” Elyon whispered to himself. ”How long would it take to train in so many Daos? A thousand millenniums? Ten thousand millenniums?”

It didn’t make sense.

To master one Dao, most needed a thousand years.

Two Daos? a couple thousand years more.

But Lin Mu had five? More?

And they included two rare Daos! Space and Gravity

And not weakly. He wasn’t some jack-of-all-trades dabbling in shallow pools. He was diving to the bottom of every sea.

Elyon shivered again—not from fear, but from sheer disbelief.

He thought he had seen power before. He had served nobles, fought alongside Sect warriors, and witnessed mighty beings in battle. But never like this.

Never so effortless.

Never so... final.

The cultists left alive now trembled in Lin Mu’s shadow. Their leader, the old man, had been reduced to a half crumpled man on stone, still alive but barely. The rest were too broken to even resist.

Lin Mu hadn’t killed them.

He had ended them.

Like snuffing candles in a breeze.

Elyon fell to one knee, not out of reverence or worship—but in silent admission.