Chapter Twenty-Two: I Will Climb to the Top, Step by Step

This matter must be traced back to half a month ago. In order to return to his homeland, Luo Zu had begun preparations early on. After all, when he fled back then, it was in great haste. Though the Wolf Demon tribe was later annihilated by the Wu tribe, leaving behind nothing but ruin, wild growth soon reclaimed the land. In this vast primordial wilderness, vegetation grew at an astonishing pace—a forest could spring up overnight.

Luo Zu had once considered returning home, but with eagle demons circling above, he set the thought aside, though he never truly relinquished his covetous longing for that piece of land. The place was truly remarkable: a small river meandered through, the earth was flat and fertile, a gentle breeze carried pure spiritual energy, and it was said the ancestors of the “Cavemen” had traveled countless millions of miles to settle there—surely not without reason.

Alas, they had failed to hold it.

While content to remain in the mountain caves, Luo Zu sometimes ventured back to survey his old home. The wild grasses thrived unchecked, and a herd of one-legged giant horses, each towering over a hundred feet, now roamed the valley, their leader reaching an astonishing one hundred and fifty feet.

Then, a storm rose in the mountains—a deluge that flooded every hollow, including the river valley. The herd of one-legged horses was swept away by the raging waters.

Not long after, a deity known as the “Elder Dragon God” passed by, dispersing the storm and leaving behind a colossal footprint among the mountains. Rainwater filled the depression, forming a vast inland sea.

Fortunately, the little river valley remained unchanged; its spiritual energy endured, and the soil seemed even richer than before. However, a new menace soon appeared: a proliferation of bloodthirsty purple vines blanketed the entire valley. Any beast straying into the thickets was quickly ensnared and drained to a desiccated husk. The valley became a field of corpses, ghastly to behold.

It was for this reason that Luo Zu insisted on thorough preparations, just as he had for their previous raid on the eagle demons’ nest. Once everything was in order, he chose his moment carefully—waiting until all the eagle demons had returned to their nests. Then, they shattered the mountain peak, destroyed the nests, and slew half the eagle demons.

Yet, just as they were halfway to their goal—having prepared only thirty barrels of rendered fat, far short of the hundred they needed—disaster struck.

But what exactly happened?

Ironhead, whose tongue was as clumsy as his name, could not explain. The other hunters, too, were at a loss. One said it was a dog, another a man, a third claimed it was a bear, and yet another insisted it was a horse—plus, it had eight wings.

In the end, Luo Zu had to see for himself.

When he arrived, he beheld a monstrous beast of peculiar form. Its body stretched for miles; a gigantic human head rested atop a mountain peak, a tiger-striped torso pressed against the slope, a pair of bear-like paws dangled to the foot of the mountain, and four pairs of brilliantly plumed wings draped over the mountainside. Its long horse tail swept the river valley below.

Swish, swish—the horse-tail’s coarse hairs lashed back and forth, clearing the valley of every bloodthirsty purple vine. No matter how ferocious those vines were, they could not withstand its sweeping force; roots and all, they were torn free.

With each breath, the beast sent gales rolling over the opposite mountains, toppling ancient trees, shaking them until those with shallow roots were ripped out, drifting away like dandelion fluff.

All the while, its four eyes never once lowered to the earth, but remained fixed upon the sky.

Suddenly, it roared—a sound so thunderous it seemed to set the very air trembling, a quake that churned the clouds and winds. The roar became a tangible force, forming ring upon ring in midair like ripples on water, growing ever larger as they soared skyward.

They pierced the clouds to ten thousand miles above, revealing a colossal figure hidden beyond the upper atmosphere—a giant with a hundred arms, grasping a long bow fashioned from fiery crimson vapor. The giant loosed an arrow, targeting the hybrid beast below with the power of that resounding roar.

Boom!

The sound wave dissipated as a golden arrow, sharp as a blade, shot toward the beast on the ground.

With a slap of its bear paw, the beast seemed to shatter the very “screen” before Luo Zu’s eyes—no, more precisely, it tore the fabric of space itself.

That was the only explanation Luo Zu could devise.

Yet the rift in space was quickly mended, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

But when he looked again, the arrow had already pierced the beast’s chest.

Blood sprayed in all directions.

Enraged, the beast yanked out the arrow, splattering even more blood, which withered ancient trees to carbon where it fell.

Then it hurled the arrow far into the distance, where it lodged in a towering mountain that touched the clouds.

The beast roared again, its eight wings unfurled, but without so much as a gust of wind, it vanished from sight.

No sooner had it departed than Luo Zu felt a chill at his scalp. Instinctively, he reached up to touch his head.

Disaster—he was bald.

But what shocked him even more was what he saw when he looked up: the mountains all around had been leveled.

Standing on the mountainside, he gazed in every direction—within ten thousand miles, the once undulating peaks lay even and flat.

Turning around, Luo Zu saw a perfectly smooth, mirror-like plateau: the sheer cross-section where the mountain he stood upon had been shorn away.

“This… this…” His companions were dumbstruck.

Worse still, three of them had happened to stand too high; their heads had been sliced clean off, vanishing like the summits of the mountains.

Someone began to weep—partly for their lost friends, partly from terror.

Luo Zu’s eyes reddened, his fists clenched, but he forced back his tears.

He found himself grateful—not for his own survival, but that the tribe’s settlement, the mountain cave, had not been situated above the cut. Otherwise, everyone remaining there would have perished.

“Go search the mountains for Yun and Zhi,” Luo Zu ordered.

Only one hunting party had come with him; another was still out on a distant peak, which had also been sheared in half. He worried for their safety.

“Ironhead, come help me collect our comrades’ remains,” Luo Zu said, pulling him over.

Three companions lay in pools of blood. By Luo Zu’s own decree, the bodies of friends