Chapter 135: "Gifts" and "Costs"

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[You realize that this may not be fatal, but it is extraordinarily painful.]
“What’s the point if it’s not deadly? Anyway, might as well make use of this temporary ‘cheat’.”
Colin had developed considerable trust in the “hint.” Without hesitation, he slowly extended one hand, condensing a sphere of exceptionally pure light in his palm.
Soon, he gently raised his palm upward, and the golf ball-sized orb of light soared into the air.
As it ascended, it continuously absorbed the surrounding light, becoming increasingly concentrated.
After about a dozen seconds, it reached the very top of this underground overlapping realm.
Abaqueer (Note 1)
Colin fixed his gaze on the pinpoint of light, now the size of a grain of rice, high above.
As his thoughts settled, in the next moment, nearly everyone felt the sky darken, followed immediately by a sudden eruption of radiant light, akin to the sun rising.
From the temple beneath Colin’s feet, beams of light fanned out like an open fan from the dome above, rapidly spreading in all directions.
Wherever the light touched, the darkness vanished, replaced by daylight bright with not a single shadow.
Soon, as the angle fully expanded, the entire underground world seemed illuminated.
Moreover, every place bathed in this light fell within Colin’s sensing range.
At the same time, in the blood-soaked battlefield among the mountains, nearly all those present felt this radiance.
Some stared upward in stunned silence, their pupils shrinking to pinpoints as they looked toward the dazzling “sun” high above, puzzled by what had happened.
No matter; slaying monsters was paramount.
Though uncertain of the details, many sensed their axes struck with greater force!
Simultaneously, some felt an intense fervor welling up inside.
From an unknown source came a shout: “Praise the Sun!”
Soon, the entire forest echoed with this deafening cry—“Praise the Sun!”
“Seems like it’s shining a bit too fiercely.”
Colin stroked his chin thoughtfully.
Through a vague “perception,” a mental image formed in his mind.
From a bird’s-eye view, Colin “saw” tens of thousands raising their axes high, shouting “Praise the Sun!” as they charged at nearby mutated beasts.
The servant legion, glowing white, was steadily suppressing the tide of “blood-red.”
“Those wounded…”

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Colin pointed forward.
At once, the dome above emitted a clanging sound, followed by hundreds of chains shooting out from the sun-like orb toward the ground, binding and sealing those gravely injured, near death, or barely alive, suspending their lives.
Most of these were servants acquired as “gifts,” their masters having perished in darkness, having been transported here.
If he could, Colin would do his utmost to save every life possible, refusing to give up lightly.
Having accepted the “gift” of human civilization, he could not abandon others carelessly in return.
Colin knew well that without this “gift,” he himself would not have survived.
“In the ‘dream,’ they urged me to surrender; in reality, they stabbed me repeatedly. Ha, surrender would probably be a death sentence.”
He shook his head, dismissing the thought, and began using the diffused light permeating the underground world to locate the few lord-level mutated beasts still causing trouble on the island.
Soon enough, he found something.
“This feels a bit like radar... I’ve detected five roughly several hundred square meters of fuzzy areas—one underground, four outside. The signals from outside are somewhat weak, likely due to distance, but those must be the lord-level mutants.”
Having confirmed his targets, Colin took a shallow breath and then stepped forward, transforming into a streak of light and vanishing entirely from this place.
Meanwhile, deep within the mountain battlefield, a towering pale stone statue over three meters tall bore an even larger stone slab on its back, relentlessly attacking those around it.
“Mutated Beast—Desecrated Statue.”
This was a particularly unique mutant; its body carved wholly from stone, its face seemingly disfigured by some sharp instrument.
From the cracks on its face, dark crimson nearly black blood continuously oozed, with visible flesh writhing within the fissures.
The human-sculpted parts appeared emaciated, but on its back rested a rectangular stone slab roughly a meter thick, resembling an ordinary bed, intricately carved with abundant thorns.
The white stone slab was far larger than the statue itself—two meters wide and four meters long—making the creature resemble a grotesque “snail.”
Despite the light’s influence, its power remained formidable; each punch it landed inexplicably turned the nearest victim into pulp.
At the moment it raised its fist, a peculiar spatial distortion occurred, making its attacks difficult to evade.
Surrounding it were hundreds of “gifted” servants, fiercely attacking without fear of death.
Yet their efforts were futile.
Every strike against its body was deflected onto the hardened stone slab on its back, impervious to damage!
Then, the Desecrated Statue raised its fist again, about to crush a servant nearby who held a mysterious item, threatening to pulverize him.
A collective breath was held.
That servant’s mysterious item was crucial—it could slow all the enemy’s movements. If he were struck, the situation could spiral out of control.
Everyone’s safety depended on him alone!
In this crisis, a servant who had already lost an arm, gripping a wooden wheel with one hand, gritted his teeth and charged forward.

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He intended to use the statue’s tendency to only crush the nearest life as a means to guarantee stability on the battlefield with his own life.
Currently, he was the only one capable of briefly reaching the front line.
What came next was up to his deputy.
Yet, as he charged forward with death in his heart, the anticipated death did not arrive.
Suddenly, a burst of light erupted, and the Desecrated Statue abruptly froze in place.
What had happened?
The servant bearing the broken wheel looked up in confusion, only to see a glowing figure standing atop the stone slab on the mutant’s back.
From the figure’s right hand, over a dozen chains of condensed light extended, binding the lord-level mutant’s arm like reins on a horse, preventing it from attacking.
“My lord.”
Number One, who had narrowly escaped death, eyes reddened with tears, immediately recognized Colin.
The lord had finally awakened!
Many servants here were “gifts” not yet bound; upon hearing this, all wore expressions of astonishment.
How could there be such a vast difference between lords?
“This—is that really a lord?” a servant could not help but ask.
No lord should wield such overwhelming power.
Many had endured despair on this battlefield multiple times but had never seen a survivor like Colin, who seemed to descend like a deity.
But the only response was a chorus of “Praise the Sun.”
Then, even more cries of “Praise the Sun.”
After a few glances at Colin, the servant could not resist joining in the praise.
No one knew why; simply praising the sun sufficed.
Their attributes were too low; any significant enhancement came from the “light” blessing. Being so close to Colin made self-control difficult.
“We need ordinary people to withdraw quickly.”
Colin quickly understood the reason, responded briefly, and glanced at Number One again.
More than praising the sun, Number One yearned to praise the lord; hoarse from shouting, he bellowed, “Retreat! Everyone fall back! Leave this place to my lord!”
Only then did they notice that a “sun” had risen high above, bathing almost the entire underground realm in daylight, while the mountains echoed with cries of “Praise the Sun” and the relentless sounds of axes striking.
At his command, the group quickly retreated.
(End of chapter)