Apocalypse Gachapon

Even relying solely on instinct, Ye Zhongming’s blade strike still carried the overwhelming force of a collapsing mountain.

This wasn’t just due to his strength or the grade of his equipment—it was the unshakable confidence of a man surrounded yet utterly unyielding.

Cheng Ou let out a sharp cry, thrusting his palms forward. Two green leaves shimmered on them—not tattoos, for no ink could mimic such lifelike vitality.

The leaves detached, erupting into radiant light before transforming into two-meter-long, tangible shields that interlocked tightly, shielding Cheng Ou behind them.

Ye Zhongming’s blade struck with a shredding, tearing noise.

Cracks spiderwebbed across the leaves—but they held.

“Come at me again!”

Cheng Ou roared, pressing his hands against the back of the leaves. Instantly, the fractures sealed themselves.

“Brother Cheng Ou is the finest defender,” Ah Xiu declared, her face alight with admiration—and something softer. “Even if you were the King of Cloud Peak at full strength, with your eyes intact, you couldn’t breach his guard.”

She smirked, taunting further. “Isn’t there someone in Cloud Peak named Sheng Yuan, also a defensive specialist? Why don’t you test which of them is stronger?”

To her, the situation was clear. With Cheng Ou and his two mutated beasts at the front, herself and Vice-Leader Yang at the rear, and Sister Bo closing in—a blinded Ye Zhongming was already dead. Only the timing remained.

She wasn’t underestimating him. She acknowledged his strength—far surpassing any present. But escape? Impossible.

Ye Zhongming raised his blade again. This time, he activated a profession skill.

“Thousand Seal Blade Strike” couldn’t be spammed, but its cooldown was brief.

“Bring it on!” Cheng Ou trembled with excitement. He’d long craved a clash with the King of Cloud Peak, famed for his devastating offense.

A teardrop-shaped pendant flew from his neck, hovering between the leafy shields. Spinning rapidly, it released raindrops that multiplied into a shimmering curtain, enveloping Cheng Ou and his defenses.

The blade descended.

“Unfurling Leaves Thousand Waters!”

Cheng Ou unleashed his ultimate defense, synergized with his equipment.

The collision was cataclysmic.

Ah Xiu, Vice-Leader Yang, and the newly arrived Sister Bo were hurled backward by the shockwave, their skin stinging from the razor-edged gale. The sheer force was unprecedented.

“Charge!”

Sister Bo, thick-skinned and relentless, barely flinched. Shielding her face momentarily, she lunged forward—and what she saw electrified her.

Ye Zhongming hung midair, his bloodline deactivated, no Lightning Sand Demon guarding his back. Blood trickled from his lips, painting a crimson arc.

This was the moment.

Ah Xiu reacted instantly.

“Unfurling Leaves Thousand Waters” was touted as “absolute defense”—negating all attack types. Worse, it reflected 100% of unblocked damage at the attacker.

Ye Zhongming’s strike had failed to shatter it. Now, he’d bear the full recoil.

Offense often outpaced defense—a universal truth. Ah Xiu was certain Ye Zhongming was no exception.

She pursued Sister Bo, though her gaze flicked to Cheng Ou. Her beloved looked battered—the leaves fractured to near-splintering, the teardrop pendant’s spin sluggish, on the verge of stopping—but the skill held.

Relieved, she accelerated, determined to claim Ye Zhongming’s head herself.

Though she privately disagreed with the Director’s decision to anoint her as successor, she owed him her life and power. His orders were absolute.

If he demanded Ye Zhongming die by her hand, so be it.

Vice-Leader Yang, scenting opportunity, slithered closer. He didn’t care who landed the killing blow—only looting the top-grade craftsman’s corpse.

Cheng Ou and his level-eight beasts stayed put.

“Heh, count me in.”

Saint Green Serpent materialized unexpectedly, having stalked unseen to the battlefield. Like Yang, he eyed Ye Zhongming’s treasure trove of gear.

Four elites attacked as one, their strikes converging on the helplessly airborne Ye Zhongming.

But Vice-Leader Yang, angled just right—and familiar with Ye Zhongming’s tactics—noticed something.

On the king’s face: no fear, no panic. Only… a flicker of triumph?

Instinct screamed. Yang aborted his attack, recoiling.

Ah Xiu and Saint Green Serpent faltered, baffled.

The Saint, ever cautious, mirrored Yang’s retreat. If the sly fox was fleeing, there had to be a reason.

Ah Xiu hesitated—but pressed on.

Only Sister Bo struck without hesitation.

Then—

Ye Zhongming’s seemingly limp body rotated midair.

An impossible maneuver. No leverage, no footing. Yet he’d harnessed the recoil to flip himself.

Now facing his attackers, what greeted them wasn’t a blade—

But his fists.

Or more precisely, the gloves adorning them.

Light erupted.

“Cloud Slice—ACTIVATE!”