Chapter Sixty: Revelation at Last

During the Great Nirvana Era, all things underwent transformation. Animals in particular experienced dramatic mutations, and ants were no exception. On this land, there existed a species known as the bloodthirsty red ant, whose smallest members were now the size of a clenched fist, their offensive power magnified tens of thousands of times—and they could fly.

Ants possess a singular trait: immense strength, able to lift objects hundreds of times their own weight. Each mound dotting the landscape was a nest of bloodthirsty red ants.

Qin Ming, emboldened by desperation, charged directly into one of these nests, carving out a path as he advanced. He donned a pair of goggles taken from his backpack; in that instant, countless red ants surged toward him, swarming from all directions.

Ignoring the onslaught, he pressed downward. Suddenly, the ground beneath him gave way, and he found himself in a vast tunnel. A brief glance told him this was a corner of the massive subterranean palace that served as the red ants’ stronghold.

He made his way toward a more open chamber.

A thunderous explosion shook the earth overhead.

“They’re coming down?” Qin Ming gritted his teeth, undeterred by layer upon layer of red ants crawling over him, and pushed forward. Soil churned and stones shattered before him as he forced his way through.

The terrifying river of red ants surged and crashed around him.

Fortunately, he wore the Black God battle suit, which shielded his entire body, his eyes protected by the specially prepared goggles designed to work in concert with the suit.

The true horror of the red ants lay not just in their numbers, but in their diminutive size.

Yet, they could do nothing to harm Qin Ming.

Behind him, the great python was already in pursuit, its body crawling with red ants. Its anus clenched tight, eyelids drooped, jaws snapped shut—it showed no fear. Even as ants crawled into its nostrils, a snort expelled them all.

Suddenly, the tunnel opened up into a cavern the size of three large rooms. Here, the red ants were much larger, many as big as house cats, and one even the size of a two-hundred-pound pig.

Shaking its wings, the giant ant screeched, sending the swarm into an even greater frenzy.

Realizing these two intruders could not be bested by numbers alone, the ants opened their mandibles and sprayed a red liquid at both Qin Ming and the python.

The liquid sizzled as it hit the ground, corroding the earth and releasing black smoke.

“This is red acid—the red ants’ ultimate weapon! Even a single drop can eat through steel, but once they spit it, they won’t live more than three days!” Qin Ming was elated.

This was the moment he had been waiting for.

Red acid, formidable as it was, could not breach the Black God battle suit. But the python was not so fortunate.

With a flourish of his war blade, he cleared the ants around him, and turned to see the python’s body shrouded in thick smoke, driving the beast into a frenzy of violent thrashing.

With every movement, countless ants were crushed beneath its scales.

With a pained cry, the python could no longer concern itself with Qin Ming. Head rearing, it burst through the earth and fled.

“A perfect opportunity!”

Qin Ming’s eyes lit up. In a flash, he stepped to the python’s side.

“The ninth blade!”

He gathered all his strength into one decisive stroke.

In the cramped space, the desperate python had no attention left for Qin Ming. The blade landed precisely upon a scale badly corroded by the acid, splitting it with a sharp crack and a spray of sparks, carving a long wound into the serpent’s flesh.

Blood gushed forth.

The red ants, scenting the wound, surged toward it, swarming over the blood and burrowing inside.

Qin Ming seized the moment, slashing three more wounds into the beast.

By then, the python had burst out into the open, launching itself into the air. Still, a storm of red ants enveloped it, many already burrowing into its body through the gaping wounds.

The python screamed, soaring off into the distance, a cloud of red ants in pursuit. But they could not keep up; in a few breaths, most were left behind, and even those clinging to its body were swept away by the wind—though many still clung fiercely to the wounds, gnawing madly.

“There’s a real chance I might actually kill it!” Qin Ming followed from a distance, thoughts racing.

He puffed out his cheeks and swallowed a mouthful of spirit liquid, staving off hunger and restoring his strength.

Ahead, the python crashed down amid a heap of rocks, rolling and smashing itself against the stones in a desperate attempt to rid itself of the ants.

Qin Ming noted that the wounds were bleeding even more profusely, the flow increasing rather than slowing.

“Who knows how many ants are inside by now? Quite a few, enough to finish it off,” he mused, making no move to approach. The longer he waited, the weaker the beast would become.

Finding no relief, the python took flight again, twisting and thrashing mid-air.

“Its speed is slowing.”

“Its aura is fading.”

“With a king-class beast’s regenerative power, those three wounds should have stopped bleeding by now, even if not fully healed. But now—there are so many ants inside, and many are spitting red acid within its flesh… how delightful!” Qin Ming couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction.

Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, heart pounding.

Ahead, a thin mist drifted, and the sound of waves reached his ears.

He drew a deep breath, resisting the urge to rush forward, and continued to trail the python.

The great snake, sensing the presence of water, pressed on and plunged into the mist. Moments later, the splash told Qin Ming it had entered a lake.

He stepped lightly through the air, parting the mist, and saw a vast lake before him, its surface veiled in haze.

In the center, a shadow loomed.

“Mist Island!”

“This must be Mist Island!”

Qin Ming’s heart pounded as he gazed at the lake. He knew well that this water hid many fearsome beasts, and more than a few were of commander rank.

The python, now in its element, rolled and thrashed, sending waves crashing against the shore and shattering rocks. Soon, the water roiled with violent conflict, waves battering the banks, and crimson liquid frothed to the surface.

“The slaughter has begun?” Qin Ming watched coldly.

Corpses soon floated up, including a monstrous fish whose severed head alone was three meters across.

A thirty-meter-long tentacle emerged, only to vanish back into the depths.

The lake boiled with fury. More and more remains surfaced—scales of all kinds, until half the lake was stained red.

Half an hour later, the python burst from the water, now missing its entire lower half, its body battered and breath weak.

“I’ve been waiting for you!”

Qin Ming appeared in a flash above the python’s head, his blood-shadowed war blade descending.

The python looked up, its savage eyes now reflecting a glimmer of sorrow and unwillingness.

With a single stroke, Qin Ming’s blade cleaved through the wound at the back of its head, severing it cleanly.

The python fell.

The lake churned once more, and three tentacles shot toward Qin Ming. He had no desire for further battle; stepping through the air, he dodged and sped ahead.

As expected, there lay an island ahead.

He landed carefully, and at a glance saw a row of willows.

“A spirit of wood and grass!”

“It comes just when I need it!”

He could no longer contain his joy. After all the peril, Qin Ming burst into triumphant laughter.