Chapter 68: What a Waste of Your Maxed-Out Consciousness Body

Chapter 68: What a Waste of Your Maxed-Out Consciousness Body

The powerful whirlwind grew faster by the second, visibly so. This was no longer a matter of applying force of consciousness—the whirlwind itself had begun violently drawing on both our reserves.

The clatter of colliding debris inside the vortex grew louder and louder. The whole City Lord’s Castle could probably hear it.

Black and White Wuchang couldn’t help creeping back. They crouched outside the hall doors, peering in through the crack, one above the other.

Inside, neither of us could stop. We’d both lost control of it. Because whoever let go of their power wouldn’t just lose—they’d take a massive backlash. That kind of injury struck the consciousness body directly, far more agonizing than any wound to the flesh, and it would carry through to the true consciousness body back in the real world. After all, the metaverse itself was nothing but a stage for the human mind.

Watching the situation spiral out of control, we were both drenched in sweat, staring at each other with rising alarm.

The man who’d shape-shifted into a statue had long since returned to human form, and even his sitting posture had grown unsteady.

Then, out of nowhere, an enormous illusory finger reached in and touched down lightly at the vortex’s center. The whirlwind seemed to hit some invisible brake and slowly ground to a halt.

Only then did the man on the altar and I feel the weight lift. We each drew back our force of consciousness and turned, utterly spent, toward whoever had extended that giant finger.

The owner of the finger stepped out from behind a screen at the rear of the hall—an ordinary human size. Clearly, the illusory finger had been nothing more than his force of consciousness given visible shape.

He was a Daoist in blue robes, with a very long beard, holding in his other hand a horsetail whisk white as jade. He had the bearing of an immortal sage.

The man on the altar was the first to scramble down. He bowed deeply to the Daoist. “City Lord. Your disciple has embarrassed you.”

The Daoist smiled faintly, lifted a hand, and sent a stream of energy toward him to help restore what he’d lost. Then he turned to me. “I didn’t expect even a rank-ten force of consciousness to hold you down. You truly are extraordinary.”

This fellow was so preoccupied with his disciple he hadn’t even glanced my way. I was worn out too, so I didn’t bother answering. I sat on the cushion, closed my eyes, and slowly recovered on my own.

The Daoist said to me, “I am Feng Du, the Lord of Ghostdark City.”

The city lord—this strong? His force of consciousness could take physical form.

Privately, I was glad I’d come along. If I’d refused Black and White Wuchang and let this man come knocking himself, that would have been an embarrassment.

“Greetings, City Lord,” I said. “But I’m injured and can’t stand, so I’ll skip the bow.”

Feng Du wasn’t in any hurry. He sent his disciple away first, then settled himself heavily onto the altar and looked at me.

“An hour ago,” he said, “the Inspection Pavilion sent word that a Spirit-Calibrating Ruler in Ghostdark City had read a full-scale measurement. I was somewhat skeptical. Now I believe it.”

I looked at him. “You called me here just to test me?”

“Not quite,” Feng Du said. “The test only confirmed whether the report was true. I wanted to see for myself what sort of anomaly could produce a reading that abnormal.”

“Well, now you’ve seen me,” I said. “What do you want?”

“I want to know who you are,” Feng Du said. “Don’t spin a story—just tell me what you yourself know. The Shadow Pavilion is waiting on my report.”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed,” I said. “I have no intention of telling you anything.”

“No need to be so arrogant,” Feng Du said. “It’s not as though I don’t already know your record. I only want what lies beyond it. Since you won’t talk, let me lay it out for you. You may correct me wherever I’m wrong.

“Your real name is Gu…