He has been reincarnated through countless worlds, adorned with billions of mythological terms!

To the north, the military region's headquarters.

Zhao Yuanshan stood at the entrance of the command center, watching the falling stars in the sky—three thousand nuclear bombs stopped ten kilometers above the ground, swallowed whole by a colossal beast.

The cigarette he was holding burned the filter, scalding his lips.

He didn't move.

He was confused.

He was at a loss.

He wondered if he was dreaming.

Yun Yi fell from the sky and landed at the entrance of the command center.

With its wings folded, Yun Nian lay on his back, already asleep.

Zhao Yuanshan looked at him, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and stubbed it out.

"You're back?"

"Um."

"Those nuclear bombs—"

"It's been dealt with."

Zhao Yuanshan nodded and did not ask any further questions.

The main problem was that he didn't know what to ask.

He felt that the world was too magical, so magical that he no longer recognized it.

He turned and walked into the command center, picking up the walkie-talkie on the table.

"Attention all personnel, the crisis is over."

"Each battalion should count its personnel and report back."

A cacophony of noise came from the walkie-talkie.

Zhao Yuanshan listened for a while, then put down the walkie-talkie and walked to the window.

Outside the window, the parade ground was filled with soldiers.

Some people sat on ammunition boxes, some leaned against tank tracks, and some squatted on the ground—all of them were looking at the nuclear bombs that were frozen in the sky.

No one speaks.

Yunyi stood by the window.

Within the realm of perception, the glimmers of life are extinguishing—starting from the south, city after city, like dominoes.

Linhai City was destroyed, Nangang City was destroyed, and Yuezhou was destroyed.

One by one, like candles being blown out.

Those blue dots were spreading northward at a speed that his perception range couldn't keep up with.

Zhao Yuanshan's walkie-talkie rang again.

"Commander, something's happened in the south... in the south."

The voice trembled, like someone who hadn't worn enough clothes in winter.

"What's going on?"

There was a three-second silence.

"The...zombie is down."

"They're falling one by one; at this speed, they'll be here in less than ten minutes."

The walkie-talkie went dead.

Zhao Yuanshan looked at the buzzing machine in his hand, then looked up at Yun Yi.

Over the years, I've developed a habit—whenever something important happens, I check Yunyi's information first.

Even he, as the commander, couldn't break this habit.

Yun Yi didn't look at him.

He was looking out the window.

A layer of blue fog was spreading across the eastern horizon, moving so fast that it was visible to the naked eye.

Where the fog passes, trees wither, grass wilts, and birds fall from the sky, turning into a pool of blue water before they even hit the ground.

"What is that?"

Zhao Yuanshan's voice was somewhat hoarse.

"Virus," Yunyi said, "a virus that can wipe out all living things."

Zhao Yuanshan remained silent for a long time.

He looked down at his hands—a veteran's, rough, with machine oil embedded in his fingernails that couldn't be washed off.

"Is there any way?"

Yun Yi did not answer.

He walked out of the command center, stood on the playground, and faced the spreading blue fog to the south.

Yun Nian was still lying on his back, asleep.

Breathing was light and even.

He put her down on the grass in the playground.

She frowned slightly, and reached out her hand to touch the air, but couldn't find the ugly rabbit.

Yunyi pulled the rabbit out from under her arm and put it back in her arms.

She clenched her fist, rubbed it against her face, and her brows relaxed.

He stood up, facing the layer of fog.

His body began to glow.

It wasn't the kind of light that burst open like scales before; it was something else entirely—warm, gentle, like the first rays of sunlight on a winter morning.

The skin changed from white to silvery white, from silvery white to pure white, and from pure white to transparent.

Beneath the transparent skin, you can see those genes flowing—30,000 kinds, each one glowing like stars in the Milky Way.

His hair grew longer.

It changes from black to white, then from white to transparent, fluttering in the wind like a flag blown away by the wind.

His eyes changed—not amber, not gold, but a color he had never seen before, like the entire starry sky compressed into two tiny specks of light, placed in his eye sockets.

It's not bright, it's deep.

A pair of wings unfolded behind him.

These weren't the combat wings from before; they were something else entirely—wings, white, with every feather glowing.

Light seeped through the gaps in the feathers, like the morning sun filtering through the leaves.

His body was expanding rapidly.

In an instant, it transformed into a hundred-meter-tall behemoth.

Bai Ze.

A mythical auspicious beast that knows everything.

He opened his mouth and uttered a syllable—not a human language, but a language older than humans, one that existed before the invention of writing.

The syllable fell into the air, creating a ripple.

It was silvery-white, like a pebble thrown into a calm lake.

The ripples spread outwards, encountering the layer of blue mist.

The fog has stopped.

It wasn't blocked, it was purified—the blue faded from the fog, like faded ink, becoming transparent, becoming white, becoming nothing.

Inside the military base, the wounded soldiers found their wounds healing rapidly.

Those who had a cold or were sick recovered in an instant.

On the playground, the grass turned from withered yellow to emerald green, the trees sprouted new buds from their bare branches, and the flowers emerged from the soil and bloomed.

Zhao Yuanshan stood at the entrance of the command center, watching all of this.

The cigarette fell from his mouth, but he didn't pick it up.

He slapped himself hard across the face.

"Holy crap!"

Within Yun Yi's perception range, the extinguishing light spots stopped.

It didn't light up again; it just slowed down the rate at which it went out—from collapse to gradual decline, and from gradual decline to stagnation.

His purification efforts are working to combat the spread of the virus, but they are not fast enough.

The virus surged up from Antarctica like a tide; his purification pushed outward from the military region like ripples.

The tide is too fast, the ripples are too slow.

He calculated the time.

He was confident he could clean up the world in a month.

But if even a trace of the virus remains in a purified area, it will spread again—the moment he stops, everything will go back to square one.

The moment his body returned to normal, he frowned and began to think of a solution.

Just then, the panel flickered in the depths of my consciousness:

[New gene detected—Extinction Virus·Blue. Genetic information has been recorded. Current life gene count: 2896.]

It wasn't collected from zombies, it came from the air—from those blue viruses that were devouring lives.

In the process of destroying gene sequences, viruses release new genetic information, which they then capture.

The panel is displaying numbers: 31,000, 35,000, 40,000.

The numbers are rising, rising every second.

As the virus spreads, each time it infects a living organism, it causes a genetic recombination, and each recombination contributes a new gene.

He watched those genes being recorded in his sensory domain, as if he were watching a global-scale harvest.

He did not purify it further.

He stood on the playground, facing the fog, waiting for it to come.

Zhao Yuanshan stood at the entrance of the command center, watching the layer of blue fog stop at the edge of the military region—as if blocked by an invisible wall, unable to rise or retreat.

He looked at it for a long time, then turned around and walked back to the command center, picking up the walkie-talkie.

"Attention all battalions, the virus is under control. Remain in place and await further orders."

On the parade ground, the soldiers sat on the ground, watching the blue fog roll in the sky like wild beasts locked in a cage.

No one speaks.

Yunyi sat down on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes.