CHAPTER 163 — THE WEIGHT OF GREED
The pale plane did not fracture.
It did not tremble.
It did not burn.
It simply grew silent.
Long Hao remained on one knee.
His breathing was uneven, sharp, unstable in a way it had never been in battle. His hands trembled—not from physical injury, not from exhaustion, but from something far worse.
Memory.
Not images.
Not visuals.
Weight.
A crushing, suffocating weight.
He remembered the choice.
Not the details of how steel met flesh.
Not the sounds of impact.
But the decision.
The willingness.
That was worse.
His fingers dug into the empty ground beneath him as if trying to anchor himself to something solid.
"They trusted me," he whispered.
The words barely made sound.
Zehell stood before him, silent.
Not laughing.
Not mocking.
Just watching.
Long Hao's shoulders began to shake.
For the first time since childhood—
He cried.
Not a single tear sliding quietly.
He broke.
