Chapter 673 - 70: Dao Transformation Level 130%, Physical Body Attains Sainthood

Chapter 673: Chapter 70: Dao Transformation Level 130%, Physical Body Attains Sainthood

The crimson sword light hung in the air. In response to the great dragon’s words, it simply spoke:

"Is that all?"

The moment the words were spoken, the crimson sword light flared violently.

A crimson Sword Qi that reached from the heavens to the earth slashed downward, like a Divine Sword descending from the sky.

It completely filled the bottom of the ravine.

...

When Saladin opened his eyes again, he found himself lying in a mountain valley.

Moonlight shone from overhead, cold and deathly pale, illuminating his dismembered draconic form.

Dark Gold scales were scattered all around, glimmering faintly under the moonlight like shards of a shattered bronze mirror.

His head was lolled to one side, his neck pinned to the ground by a crimson sword. Its blade had pierced his spine, anchoring him firmly in the soil.

His wings had been hacked into several pieces, their membranes riddled with holes. Bones protruded from the severed ends, stark white like broken masts.

His limbs were pinned in different directions. His left foreclaw was staked ten paces away, his right hindclaw to the trunk of a dead tree. His tail had been cut into three sections, the middle of which was missing.

But Saladin wasn’t panicking.

He had been dissected once before, three thousand years ago, when he fell into the hands of the Wizard World.

Those Wizards in white robes had bound him to a stone slab. They used all manner of nameless tools to cut his skin, peel away his muscles, and saw through his bones, all while studying him and arguing in a language he couldn’t understand.

He hadn’t died then, so of course he wouldn’t die now.

He shifted his golden, slitted pupils and looked nearby.

Mira was still alive.

She lay not far behind him, her White Robe torn to shreds and barely clinging to her body, revealing pale arms and shins.

Her chest still rose and fell—slowly and shallowly, but it was moving.

Like him, she was pinned to the ground by a crimson sword. The blade had been driven through her shoulder blade, anchoring her to the soil.

Her eyes were closed and her lips were bloodless. She had fallen unconscious.

Saladin breathed a sigh of relief.

’As long as she isn’t dead.’

"You Wizards and your methods never change."

He spoke, pulling his gaze away from Mira. His tone was as casual as if he were chatting with an old friend as his eyes fell upon the young man in the black shirt before him.

The young man was crouched beside one of his severed limbs, a hand pressed against a Dark Gold scale. A wisp of crimson light seeped from his fingertip, piercing the flesh beneath the scale like a probe. He seemed to be studying something.

Murphy looked up, glanced at Saladin, and said flatly, "It seems the physical laws of the Luminous Matter world are still quite useful. If one only grasps the laws of the Dark Matter world, one ultimately remains a creature bound by its laws. Such a being cannot manifest under the laws of Luminous Matter, rendering it useless."

Saladin listened, bewildered. A film of confusion clouded his golden, slitted pupils.

He understood each word individually, but strung together, they made no sense.

’Luminous Matter?’

’Dark Matter?’

’Physical laws?’

Three thousand years ago, the Wizards were still discussing the cycles of the Star Realm tides, the stability of void fissures, and the frequency of elemental resonance. He had never heard any of these new terms.

He shook his pinned-down head and said, "Does your Wizard World have some new theory? Weren’t you researching the relationship between the Star Realm and the void before?"

He paused, his golden, slitted pupils scanning Murphy, then added, "Then again, you must have some new theory to have become so powerful. To think an Elemental Wizard could defeat a Legendary Hero."

Three thousand years of experience told him that one didn’t die immediately after being captured by Wizards.

Wizards wanted what was in your head and in your body, not simply your life.

Cooperate with their questions, answer honestly, and you could suffer less torture, conserve your strength, and wait for rescue.

Otherwise, Wizards had plenty of ways to rip the answers from your mind, and those methods were rarely pleasant.

’Then again, is there even anyone left to rescue me in this era?’

’Three thousand years have passed. Is Orestes still around? How many of the old brothers who fought by my side are even still alive?’

’Even if they are, do they even know I’ve clawed my way out of the earth?’

But he didn’t let these thoughts show on his face for long. As a Warrior, he was nothing if not tenacious.

Rescue or no rescue, he couldn’t show weakness in front of this boy.

Murphy didn’t answer Saladin.

He lowered his head, continuing to stare at the Dark Gold dragon scale beneath his palm. The crimson light at his fingertips intensified, as if he were reading some deeper layer of information.

After a moment of silence, he spoke, his voice just as tranquil as before.

"This plane is dominated by flesh and blood. Such material is primarily governed by the laws of the Luminous Matter world. For Luminous Matter to be converted into Dark Matter, one must understand not only the laws of the Dark Matter world, but the laws of the Luminous Matter world as well."

He paused, withdrew his hand from the dragon scale, and rose to his feet.

The crimson light swirled around his fingertips for a moment before dissipating.

He looked into Saladin’s golden, slitted pupils, the corners of his mouth curving into the faintest of smiles.

"Thank you for this offering of flesh and blood. It has allowed me to understand the principle of physical sanctification."

’Physical sanctification?’

’What is that?’

Saladin’s brow furrowed.

He was reminded of the myriad transformations of the Demigods.

It was the ability the people of his land were most proud of, a talent that could only be unlocked through deep cultivation after drinking the Divine Blood.

It was called Heroic Apotheosis.

’Could that be what he’s talking about?’

"You Wizards... always stealing our power." Saladin’s voice dripped with contempt, his golden, slitted pupils narrowing.

Murphy didn’t answer him.

He was no longer looking at Saladin.

[Profound Origin Nine Refinements Spirit Forging Chapter Loaded]

[Current Refinement Level: Second Refining]

[Begin Third Refining?]

’No.’

Murphy closed his eyes. His body began to rise slowly, levitating in the middle of the valley.

Crimson light surged from within him, enveloping his entire being in a flowing halo.

Then, his body began to change.

He began to switch constantly between his human form and that of a sword.

One moment, he was a human figure of skin, bone, and muscle; the next, a crimson, razor-sharp Longsword. Then he was human again, only to dissolve into a flash of sword light.

Each transformation was accompanied by a violent tremor. The air vibrated with a low hum, and pebbles on the ground shuddered and leaped into the air.

But soon, the transformations began to spiral out of control.

Things began to sprout from Murphy’s body—things that shouldn’t have been there.

A scale-covered claw burst from his ribs, only to retract a moment later.

A barbed tail erupted from his coccyx, lashing twice before dissolving into a bloody mist.

A third arm burst from his chest. A fourth eye opened and shut on his forehead. A mouth split open at his throat, revealing a row of jagged teeth.

The flesh on Murphy’s body proliferated madly, mutating and twisting like a lump of wax melting in extreme heat. It constantly changed shape, sprouting new organs only to devour them again.

Saladin watched these changes, a flicker of derision in his golden, slitted pupils.

He was all too familiar with such deformities.

These were the symptoms that appeared only in unworthy Warriors, a classic sign of a bloodline backlash.

Such myriad transformations were not so easily achieved. Without the bloodline of a Divine Spirit, without thousands of years of heritage, without being tempered on the edge of life and death countless times... even a Wizard skilled in imitation would only become a monster that no longer recognized its own form.

"A clumsy imitation."

Saladin sneered.

But his sneer lasted only a few seconds.

The transformations wracking Murphy’s body suddenly changed direction.

After a bent, withered claw retracted, what grew in its place was not a deformed tumor, but a pair of enormous wings burning with crimson fire.

Each feather was like a burning blade, and the crimson flames dancing along their edges scorched the surrounding air, causing it to warp and distort.

Saladin’s expression finally changed.