Against The Eternity Chapter 35: [34] Chapter - 16: Weight of a decision (Part - 1/2)

Read chapter 35 of Against The Eternity by Phoenixfly_steller on NovelPedia.

[34] Chapter - 16: Weight of a decision (Part - 1/2) The rain had not yet surrendered to calm; it still fell in hard, stinging sheets, as if the sky itself remained undecided—whether to cleanse the world… or drown it in quiet ruin. Raindrops struck, drumming against the leaves, then shocked into the earth, which was already turned soft and treacherous beneath the storm’s persistence. Thunder rolled again, low and heavy, stretching across the forest canopy like a restless beast shifting in uneasy slumber. Branches shuddered under the strain, shedding water in sudden cascades. The leaves were tearing free and spiralling down into the mire below. Then lightning split the sky—brief, merciless—casting the world in stark white for a single heartbeat. In that fleeting flash, the ground revealed its truth. Three bodies lay sprawled in the mud, unmoving, their forms twisted where they had fallen. Rainwater pooled around them, darkened by the blood that bled slowly into the earth, turning the soil into a silent witness. No sound rose from them now, no struggle, no breath—only the relentless rain, washing over their stillness as if trying to erase what had been done. Yet it could not. Even beneath the storm, even beneath the gathering water and shadow, they remained. The disciples of the Falling Leaf Sect arrived too late to witness the final moments of the fallen. What remained for them was silence, and its consequence. At the centre of that silence lay the body of a three-star Master Warrior, collapsed into the mud, unmoving beneath the relentless downpour. A short distance away rested his severed head, half-submerged in rainwater, its features eerily calm—as though death had taken him in an instant, without struggle or warning, but the truth was far less gentle. The wound at his neck remained jagged and raw, a brutal cut that had not been dulled even by the storm. Blood still seeped faintly from it, thin rivulets carried away by the rain, blending into the water that pooled around him. Red and grey merged into a single, diluted stream, slipping quietly into the tangled roots of the surrounding trees. The forest drank it without question. There was no trace of hesitation in the strike that had ended him. No sign of resistance. Only precision—clean, absolute, and overwhelming. Whoever had done this had not given him the chance to understand; he was already dead. A few meters away lay the body of another inner disciple—a one-star Master Warrior—collapsed on his back, his chest split open by a single, flawless strike. The wound was too clean and intentional, as though it had not merely been meant to kill, but to demonstrate the precision of the hand that delivered it. Rainwater gathered within the open cut, slowly filling it with diluted crimson before the restless wind disturbed the fragile surface, scattering it across the mud. Not far from him, another corpse lay still—that of a young outer sect disciple, once praised as the most promising among his rank. Now, he was nothing more than a silent remnant of ambition cut short. His eyes remained open, fixed upon the storm-darkened sky, frozen in disbelief at an end he had never imagined would come so soon. Jhanad stood among them, his dark-green robes soaked through from collar to hem, clinging heavily to his frame. For a long moment, he said nothing. He knelt beside the three-star Master Warrior’s corpse, his gaze lingering not on the face… but on the wound. His expression did not twist in fury, but instead hardened. The anger within him did not flare—it deepened, sinking into something colder and more dangerous. Slowly, he exhaled. One hand pressed against his knee as he rose to his full height, water streaming down his form in thin, steady lines. His soaked robes clung to him like a second skin, heavy with rain and silence. Strands of his long brown hair were plastered across his back, darkened and weighty, while thunder rolled once more above—low, distant, and oppressive. When he final