Chapter 159: The Phantom Screen
The cold, bloody wind carrying the corrosive breath rushed against their faces. The moment they stepped out of the buffer fortifications outside the bastion, the light and shadows around them instantly changed their nature.
The silhouette of the West Bastion behind them seemed to be covered by a thin veil. Although they had only left it a few dozen meters ago, the concrete city walls and the warning lights on the ramparts twisted and faded bit by bit, as if they would completely melt into the gray fog in the next second. Lin Yan deliberately suppressed his Sea of Consciousness output, maintaining only a wisp of perception as thin as a silk thread, probing ahead to catch any anomalies in the illusion web's frequency.
Even with this mere wisp of perception, the fissure deep within his Sea of Consciousness transmitted a fine, pulling pain, like needles repeatedly piercing him. He steadied his breath, following the rhythm of the ancient martial arts mental technique to slowly inhale and exhale, preventing the pain from spreading, and more importantly, stopping himself from subconsciously catalyzing more power to explore his surroundings.
"Don't look back, don't stare at those changing landscapes," Lin Yan warned in a low voice.
The five people behind him pressed close together in a tight cluster. Chen Ye walked on his right rear, his hand always resting on the shock baton at his waist. The four assault team members were dispersed on both sides, their gun muzzles pointed downward, their gazes locked only on the back of the person in front of them, absolutely refusing to casually scan the wasteland.
The six-second window vanished in the blink of an eye.
Just as they had rushed forward nearly forty meters, Zhao Kai's voice urgently rang out in their encrypted earpiece: "Window closed! Lie dormant immediately! Find cover in place!"
Lin Yan halted his steps, his gaze quickly sweeping the surroundings. To his left was a patch of broken, overturned concrete ruins, remnants of the rift disaster from years ago. "Over there!"
The six of them lowered their bodies and swiftly darted behind the ruins. Pressing their bodies against the cold, rough broken walls, they simultaneously took the initiative to conceal their own auras, completely quieting their Seas of Consciousness. Lin Yan also retracted that wisp of perception, leaving only his instinctive hearing and vision for vigilance.
Almost the instant they hid, the gray fog around them began to churn violently.
The originally relatively calm illusions started to breed. From the distant wasteland came the faint sound of shouting. It was the familiar voices of the soldiers on the West Bastion ramparts, calling for them to retreat, calling for them to come back. The voices were utterly real, filled with anxious emotions, as if something had gone wrong at the rear defense line and the squad was being recalled.
One assault team member's ear twitched, and his shoulder subconsciously lifted, wanting to peek out.
"Don't believe it," Lin Yan warned in a breathy whisper. "The illusion web is simulating sound waves, specifically targeting the attachments in our hearts."
The man's whole body went rigid. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, suppressing the restlessness in his heart.
The concentration of the corrosive breath within the curtain was several times higher than outside the defense line. Even without actively catalyzing his Sea of Consciousness, the sticky psychic erosion was omnipresent, drilling into his consciousness through his skin and his breath. Lin Yan could clearly feel the corrosive breath slowly washing over the fissure in his Sea of Consciousness. The hidden pain continued to escalate, shifting from needle-like pricks to a heavy, distending ache.
Silently, he drew a red line in his mind: once the pain reached the level of his previous overloaded combat, he would immediately cease all Sea of Consciousness exploration. He absolutely would not push through it. The three strong-dose stabilization agents lay quietly in his inner pocket; unless he reached the critical point, he would not use them.
Time passed minute by agonizing minute.
The gray fog continuously spawned illusions of every variety. Sometimes the ground cracked open, and dark green scaled beast fluids bubbled up from the depths; sometimes they saw the ruined remnants of the North Sentinel bastion, covered in corpses, dead and silent; and other times, the sound of scales scraping against rocks echoed in their ears, sometimes near, sometimes far. Yet, when they looked out, the field of vision was completely empty, without any physical outline of scaled beasts.
Chen Ye leaned against the broken wall, his fingertips lightly tapping his baton to send a calming signal to those beside him. He whispered to Lin Yan, "Waiting here like this is too grueling. No one knows when the next window will come."
"This is exactly the priests' goal," Lin Yan nodded gently, his gaze fixed on the flowing mist ahead. "They use continuous, shallow-layer illusions to drain our mental state. Once we are exhausted and let our guard down, they will unleash the fatal trap."
The earpiece constantly carried Zhao Kai's fragmented reports as he monitored the spectrum. Most of the time, it was just a single sentence: No blank frequency bands; illusion web load is stable.
The waiting process was long and agonizing. A full two hours passed. The illusions in the gray fog rotated endlessly. Several times, they created the illusion of scaled beast clusters approaching, causing the squad's nerves to snap taut in false alarms. Everyone's nerves were stretched to the absolute limit. Some had foreheads covered in cold sweat, their palms so sweaty that the gun grips were completely soaked.
The discomfort in Lin Yan's Sea of Consciousness fissure continued to slowly rise. He did not release his perception to probe; he simply closed his eyes and regulated his breath, gathering all his spirit within himself to guard his inner core. He knew his own shortcomings. Unlike Gu Shen, whose Sea of Consciousness was complete and stable—where long-term soaking in the corrosive breath only caused fatigue—every extra minute he spent here meant his wound was being continuously eroded.
Finally, Zhao Kai's suppressed, excited voice pierced through the earpiece:
"A7 sector, new window! Estimated duration eight seconds! Here's our chance!"
"Move," Lin Yan commanded in a low shout, taking the lead as he darted out from behind the ruins.
The six of them accelerated once again, advancing along the gaps in the frequency band. The gray fog twisted wildly beside them. Countless phantoms flashed past: shattered faces, collapsed buildings, abyssal ground fissures, all streaking by the edges of their vision. Lin Yan's wisp of perception was thrust out once more, constantly guarding against the illusion web suddenly locking down the frequency band in advance.
The fissure throbbed with sharp pain as the perception was released. He gritted his teeth, his footsteps unceasing.
Eight seconds ended.
"Window vanished! Stop!"
This time, they had rushed into a pile of boulders. Large chunks of black basalt were stacked交错 (interlaced), with numerous crevices providing excellent cover. The group quickly钻 (slipped) into the gaps between the rocks, falling silent and dormant once again.
They were now very far from the West Bastion.
Separated by the thick phantom screen, the sounds and lights from the city walls behind them had completely disappeared. Between heaven and earth, there was only the gray fog, the corrosive breath, and the endless false noises manufactured by the illusion web.
Lin Yan leaned against a piece of freezing black stone, slowly inhaling. He raised his eyes to look deeper, toward the core of the curtain, which was the direction of the Rift No. 79 mother nest. The fog there was darker, and a faint layer of purple light faintly flowed and circulated deep within the mist.
"The illusion web density ahead is higher," Lin Yan told Chen Ye in a low voice. "The closer we get to the rift, the more priest nodes there are. The blank windows will be fewer and shorter. The risk doubles."
Chen Ye followed his gaze toward the purple fog, his expression solemn. "Once we get locked down over there, we'll even have a hard time finding a place to run."
Lin Yan did not reply. The fissure in his Sea of Consciousness was still faintly aching, constantly reminding him of that unhealable origin injury. He was only at the third tier, with the ninth tier still impossibly far away. Every step deeper into the darkness was a gamble with his life.
Just then, a clear, realistic sound of crawling rustled from the fog layer diagonally in front of them.
It was not an illusion.
It was a scaled beast.
Lin Yan raised his hand, signaling everyone to hold their breath and not move. He pressed that wisp of perception to its absolute minimum, carefully probing toward the direction of the sound.
The fissure violently twitched, and a sharp pain exploded for an instant.
The gray fog slowly parted. A second-tier scaled beast leisurely strolled out from the mist, its vertical pupils coldly sweeping across the entire boulder area.
End of Chapter.
The silhouette of the West Bastion behind them seemed to be covered by a thin veil. Although they had only left it a few dozen meters ago, the concrete city walls and the warning lights on the ramparts twisted and faded bit by bit, as if they would completely melt into the gray fog in the next second. Lin Yan deliberately suppressed his Sea of Consciousness output, maintaining only a wisp of perception as thin as a silk thread, probing ahead to catch any anomalies in the illusion web's frequency.
Even with this mere wisp of perception, the fissure deep within his Sea of Consciousness transmitted a fine, pulling pain, like needles repeatedly piercing him. He steadied his breath, following the rhythm of the ancient martial arts mental technique to slowly inhale and exhale, preventing the pain from spreading, and more importantly, stopping himself from subconsciously catalyzing more power to explore his surroundings.
"Don't look back, don't stare at those changing landscapes," Lin Yan warned in a low voice.
The five people behind him pressed close together in a tight cluster. Chen Ye walked on his right rear, his hand always resting on the shock baton at his waist. The four assault team members were dispersed on both sides, their gun muzzles pointed downward, their gazes locked only on the back of the person in front of them, absolutely refusing to casually scan the wasteland.
The six-second window vanished in the blink of an eye.
Just as they had rushed forward nearly forty meters, Zhao Kai's voice urgently rang out in their encrypted earpiece: "Window closed! Lie dormant immediately! Find cover in place!"
Lin Yan halted his steps, his gaze quickly sweeping the surroundings. To his left was a patch of broken, overturned concrete ruins, remnants of the rift disaster from years ago. "Over there!"
The six of them lowered their bodies and swiftly darted behind the ruins. Pressing their bodies against the cold, rough broken walls, they simultaneously took the initiative to conceal their own auras, completely quieting their Seas of Consciousness. Lin Yan also retracted that wisp of perception, leaving only his instinctive hearing and vision for vigilance.
Almost the instant they hid, the gray fog around them began to churn violently.
The originally relatively calm illusions started to breed. From the distant wasteland came the faint sound of shouting. It was the familiar voices of the soldiers on the West Bastion ramparts, calling for them to retreat, calling for them to come back. The voices were utterly real, filled with anxious emotions, as if something had gone wrong at the rear defense line and the squad was being recalled.
One assault team member's ear twitched, and his shoulder subconsciously lifted, wanting to peek out.
"Don't believe it," Lin Yan warned in a breathy whisper. "The illusion web is simulating sound waves, specifically targeting the attachments in our hearts."
The man's whole body went rigid. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, suppressing the restlessness in his heart.
The concentration of the corrosive breath within the curtain was several times higher than outside the defense line. Even without actively catalyzing his Sea of Consciousness, the sticky psychic erosion was omnipresent, drilling into his consciousness through his skin and his breath. Lin Yan could clearly feel the corrosive breath slowly washing over the fissure in his Sea of Consciousness. The hidden pain continued to escalate, shifting from needle-like pricks to a heavy, distending ache.
Silently, he drew a red line in his mind: once the pain reached the level of his previous overloaded combat, he would immediately cease all Sea of Consciousness exploration. He absolutely would not push through it. The three strong-dose stabilization agents lay quietly in his inner pocket; unless he reached the critical point, he would not use them.
Time passed minute by agonizing minute.
The gray fog continuously spawned illusions of every variety. Sometimes the ground cracked open, and dark green scaled beast fluids bubbled up from the depths; sometimes they saw the ruined remnants of the North Sentinel bastion, covered in corpses, dead and silent; and other times, the sound of scales scraping against rocks echoed in their ears, sometimes near, sometimes far. Yet, when they looked out, the field of vision was completely empty, without any physical outline of scaled beasts.
Chen Ye leaned against the broken wall, his fingertips lightly tapping his baton to send a calming signal to those beside him. He whispered to Lin Yan, "Waiting here like this is too grueling. No one knows when the next window will come."
"This is exactly the priests' goal," Lin Yan nodded gently, his gaze fixed on the flowing mist ahead. "They use continuous, shallow-layer illusions to drain our mental state. Once we are exhausted and let our guard down, they will unleash the fatal trap."
The earpiece constantly carried Zhao Kai's fragmented reports as he monitored the spectrum. Most of the time, it was just a single sentence: No blank frequency bands; illusion web load is stable.
The waiting process was long and agonizing. A full two hours passed. The illusions in the gray fog rotated endlessly. Several times, they created the illusion of scaled beast clusters approaching, causing the squad's nerves to snap taut in false alarms. Everyone's nerves were stretched to the absolute limit. Some had foreheads covered in cold sweat, their palms so sweaty that the gun grips were completely soaked.
The discomfort in Lin Yan's Sea of Consciousness fissure continued to slowly rise. He did not release his perception to probe; he simply closed his eyes and regulated his breath, gathering all his spirit within himself to guard his inner core. He knew his own shortcomings. Unlike Gu Shen, whose Sea of Consciousness was complete and stable—where long-term soaking in the corrosive breath only caused fatigue—every extra minute he spent here meant his wound was being continuously eroded.
Finally, Zhao Kai's suppressed, excited voice pierced through the earpiece:
"A7 sector, new window! Estimated duration eight seconds! Here's our chance!"
"Move," Lin Yan commanded in a low shout, taking the lead as he darted out from behind the ruins.
The six of them accelerated once again, advancing along the gaps in the frequency band. The gray fog twisted wildly beside them. Countless phantoms flashed past: shattered faces, collapsed buildings, abyssal ground fissures, all streaking by the edges of their vision. Lin Yan's wisp of perception was thrust out once more, constantly guarding against the illusion web suddenly locking down the frequency band in advance.
The fissure throbbed with sharp pain as the perception was released. He gritted his teeth, his footsteps unceasing.
Eight seconds ended.
"Window vanished! Stop!"
This time, they had rushed into a pile of boulders. Large chunks of black basalt were stacked交错 (interlaced), with numerous crevices providing excellent cover. The group quickly钻 (slipped) into the gaps between the rocks, falling silent and dormant once again.
They were now very far from the West Bastion.
Separated by the thick phantom screen, the sounds and lights from the city walls behind them had completely disappeared. Between heaven and earth, there was only the gray fog, the corrosive breath, and the endless false noises manufactured by the illusion web.
Lin Yan leaned against a piece of freezing black stone, slowly inhaling. He raised his eyes to look deeper, toward the core of the curtain, which was the direction of the Rift No. 79 mother nest. The fog there was darker, and a faint layer of purple light faintly flowed and circulated deep within the mist.
"The illusion web density ahead is higher," Lin Yan told Chen Ye in a low voice. "The closer we get to the rift, the more priest nodes there are. The blank windows will be fewer and shorter. The risk doubles."
Chen Ye followed his gaze toward the purple fog, his expression solemn. "Once we get locked down over there, we'll even have a hard time finding a place to run."
Lin Yan did not reply. The fissure in his Sea of Consciousness was still faintly aching, constantly reminding him of that unhealable origin injury. He was only at the third tier, with the ninth tier still impossibly far away. Every step deeper into the darkness was a gamble with his life.
Just then, a clear, realistic sound of crawling rustled from the fog layer diagonally in front of them.
It was not an illusion.
It was a scaled beast.
Lin Yan raised his hand, signaling everyone to hold their breath and not move. He pressed that wisp of perception to its absolute minimum, carefully probing toward the direction of the sound.
The fissure violently twitched, and a sharp pain exploded for an instant.
The gray fog slowly parted. A second-tier scaled beast leisurely strolled out from the mist, its vertical pupils coldly sweeping across the entire boulder area.
End of Chapter.