Walker Of The Worlds

Chapter 3083: Surrender?

Elyon swallowed hard, trying to push the memory away, but the sensation lingered. ’If he decides to use that again... none of these people will even have the chance to scream.’

Across the city, the Drowned Crescent Cult members shifted uncertainly. The low murmurs among them carried both confusion and fear. Some had no idea who Lin Mu was—only that he and his group had cut their way down here through every obstacle without slowing. But for those who did know, like Lame Yu, there was no doubt.

”That’s really him,” Lame Yu croaked from where he had collapsed, his voice trembling as he pointed a shaking finger. ”That’s the one who ended the Crimson Root Branch. We... we can’t fight him. We’ll die.”

Some turned to glare at him, thinking he was trying to sow panic. But then they caught sight of his face—ashen, sweat pouring down despite the cool underground air—and the sneer faded from their lips.

Lin Mu took a single step forward, and it was as though the entire underground city took a step back. He didn’t raise his weapon, didn’t ignite his qi in a flashy display. He simply looked at them.

Yet that gaze, calm and steady, carried the unshakable truth: if they resisted, there would be no survivors.

The moment stretched thin. All it would take was one voice, one wrong move, and the place would erupt into chaos.

Cattaleya tilted her head, studying the crowd. ”I’m betting they’ll make the smart choice,” she said casually, though her grip tightened on her weapon in case they didn’t.

Elyon said nothing, but his eyes flickered between Lin Mu and the cultists, calculating. He knew better than most that sometimes, fear alone was enough to win a war before it began.

And right now... fear was thick enough to choke on.

The tension inside the underground city had reached its peak.

Lin Mu’s demand for complete surrender had silenced the vast cavern, and even though the Drowned Crescent Cultists had shifted restlessly, none dared to take the first step. Their eyes flickered between him and the elders who led them, looking for some signal, some indication of what they were meant to do.

Daoist Chu, hands resting behind his back, murmured softly, ”Will they truly yield? They look ready to drop their weapons...”

”They’d be fools not to,” Cattaeya said, lips curled into a smirk. ”No matter their number, they’ve seen enough to know resistance would just mean their corpses will litter the floor.”

Meng Bai, however, frowned, his hand brushing the hilt of his blade. ”Numbers can make even fools bold,” he said, having seen enough before.

”But... they seem more afraid of Master Lin Mu than anything else.” His voice was edged with suspicion.

Indeed, at the front of the crowd, Lame Yu was about to speak. His trembling hands clutched at his robes as he raised his head. He had lived through it once before, and the memory of Lin Mu’s sword intent was enough to make his bones quake. He wanted to shout, to scream to the rest that surrender was their only hope—that fighting was meaningless.

But just as his mouth opened, the air shifted.

A sharp tremor rippled through the atmosphere, and everyone present froze. The cultivators in Lin Mu’s group immediately sensed the distortion of qi. Lin Mu’s brows drew together as he felt the familiar ripples of space itself twisting unnaturally.

”Spatial fluctuations,” he muttered, his eyes snapping to the far side of the temple.

A formation carved into the floor began to blaze with light, arcs of energy snapping and hissing as the symbols lit one after the other. Dust and grit rose from the ground as the teleportation array thrummed to life, each rune pulsing like the beat of a heart.

Daoist Chu’s eyes narrowed. ”Someone’s trying to escape?”

Elyon’s tone was sharper, tense. ”Makes sense. They knew they couldn’t withstand us, so they’d—”

But Lin Mu cut them off, his voice calm yet absolute. ”No. This isn’t someone leaving.” His gaze never wavered from the array as the symbols blazed brighter and brighter, threatening to blind. ”It’s someone arriving.”

Any spatial master worth their salt would be able to tell which way a Teleportation Array was working. For Lin Mu it was as easy as taking a glance, he didn’t even need to activate his Spatial Perception for this.

The light swelled, exploding in a thunderous pulse before collapsing inward, leaving behind a single figure standing tall at the center.

The man who emerged was unlike the rest of the cultists. His very presence drew the eye, not because of majesty, but because of the grotesque scars that ravaged his body. His face was a lattice of old wounds, flesh torn and healed in twisted patterns.

Large portions of his scalp were bare, his hair burned away in uneven patches. One of his eyes was little more than a sunken hollow. His lips were split permanently, so that his jagged teeth were always visible in a grimacing sneer.

His aura hit the cavern like a storm—violent, oppressive, laced with madness.

”Pathetic,” he spat in a hoarse, gravelly voice that grated like stone against stone. His single good eye burned with anger as he swept his gaze across the gathered cultists. ”Cowards like you dare call yourselves the Drowned Crescent Cult?”

The cultists who had nearly surrendered froze, fear and awe tightening their throats.

”You shame our name!” the scarred man bellowed, his voice echoing throughout the underground city. ”You think surrender is an option? You think bowing your heads will save you? No! The only path for us is blood! The only way out is death! Either you survive here, or you die trying. That is our creed.

We are the ones that bring Chaos, and we return to Chaos upon death!”

He raised his hand, and with a sudden motion, produced a crescent-shaped token. The dark jade shimmered faintly, shaped like a sliver of moonlight. As soon as it appeared, Lin Mu’s instincts screamed in warning.

”Be on guard,” Lin Mu commanded sharply, his eyes narrowing.

The scarred man sneered, pressing his palm into the token.