The Beloved Guide Was Forced in a Love-Rival Shura Field - Chapter 104

Ning Ning raised his hand.

It was a beautiful hand—slender fingers, elegant knuckles, and under the surrounding blaze, it was as pale and warm as jade.

That simple gesture instantly captured the hearts of everyone present.

Time seemed to stretch infinitely in that moment, slowing to an almost unbearable pace.

The civilians kneeling on the ground held their breath, tilting their heads up, staring at their only deity with a gaze that was nearly worshipful.

The members of the “Guardian” squad behind Ning Ning tensed every muscle in their bodies. They could not see the expression of Master Ning Ning, yet they could feel the overwhelming aura emanating from him—a mixture of mercy and resolute determination that sent shivers down the spine.

The Marshal’s orders were absolute: protect him at all costs.

But the current situation had gone beyond any military contingency.

All they could do was raise their alert to the maximum, ready for any eventuality.

What would Ning Ning do?

Would he, as the legends said, descend divine punishment upon the guilty?

Or… would he manifest a miracle, saving these humble survivors?

Under countless eyes filled with hope, fear, and fanatic devotion, Ning Ning slowly closed his eyes.

He said nothing.

He performed no earth-shattering feats.

He simply parted his lips slightly, and a string of unformed, faint syllables spilled from his throat.

It was not any known language.

Nor was it a song that could be written on sheet music.

It was… something older, something more primordial.

Like the first rays of light at the birth of the stars.

Like the final sigh from the depths of the universe after all things had perished.

The sound was faint, almost negligible amidst the crackling blaze and the occasional collapse of distant buildings.

Yet the moment it arose, the world fell silent.

The voice seemed to possess a power that penetrated all barriers. It ignored physical obstructions and background noise, reaching directly into the very core of every listener’s mind.

The young mother kneeling on the ground, clutching the icy corpse of her child, was the first to react.

She had long since cried herself numb, her hollow eyes empty.

But as the song resonated, an indescribable, infinitely gentle force, like the softest spring breeze, brushed over her shattered, frostbitten spirit.

The excruciating pain did not vanish.

Yet it no longer pierced with the same sharpness.

It was as if a warm hand caressed her wounds repeatedly, gently smoothing the monstrous, maddening hatred and despair, bit by bit.

Tears poured out uncontrollably once more.

But this time, they were not cries of agony.

They were silent, cathartic sobs—grief fully understood, fully embraced.

She no longer screamed. She buried her face into her child’s swaddling, her shoulders shaking violently, releasing all her sorrow as scalding tears.

The same transformation occurred in everyone present.

The man with a severed arm, leaning against the wall, his face twisted in pain, gradually relaxed. He closed his eyes, finally finding a brief respite from torment.

The girl with a slashed face, wailing uncontrollably, softened to quiet sobs, wiping her tears with her still-clean hands, staring at the silver-haired boy as if seeing the most beautiful dream on earth.

Pain, panic, anger, despair…

All the negative, violent emotions were instantly cooled, calmed, and tamed, like pouring scalding oil into ice water.

People still wept. They still felt their wounds.

But the string of “reason” within their hearts no longer threatened to snap.

It was a strange, almost surreal feeling.

As if one’s soul had been soaked in a warm, moonlit spring, each wound being tenderly healed.

The pain remained in memory—but no longer ruled them.

This was “purification.”

A true miracle, belonging to the “Moon God.”

Ning Ning’s complexion visibly paled.

His slender body trembled slightly, a fine sweat forming on his temples.

Such widespread, high-intensity spiritual output was an immense burden.

He felt as though a crack had opened in his mind, with gentle, moonlit spiritual energy flowing outward, nourishing this land steeped in death and despair.

He was exhausted.

Bone-deep exhaustion.

But he did not stop.

He could sense the once-turbulent negative emotions slowly calming, transforming into quiet, sorrowful lakes.

He could “see” the jagged cracks in the spirits of those kneeling on the ground being repaired, gradually mended by his power.

That was enough.

…

At the same time, in the Imperial Marshal’s underground command center,

A massive holographic screen displayed the real-time feed from the Guardian squad members’ helmets.

One corner of the screen showed Ning Ning’s pale, delicate profile.

The other corner displayed the hundreds of people kneeling, weeping, yet eerily quiet and devout.

The entire command center was silent.

Every strategist and officer was frozen in place, eyes locked on the screen, not daring to breathe.

They were the empire’s elite, veterans of the fiercest battles and the most formidable weapons.

Yet this scene exceeded all their comprehension.

No explosions. No beams of light.

Only a voice.

A single, slender boy, humming an unidentifiable melody.

And he had calmed a disaster that could have driven over a thousand people to complete mental collapse.

This was not tactics.

This was not science.

This was… theology.

“Gulp.”

Someone swallowed hard.

Xiao Lin stood before the main screen, posture rigid like a spear.

He was not in uniform, only a simple black combat suit, which made his tall, broad, powerful frame even more striking.

He did not move. His deep eyes were fixed on that slender figure on the screen.

Inside his mind, the huge dark-gold wolf paced restlessly, emitting low, anxious whimpers.

It wanted to rush forward.

To carry the little Moon Rabbit, who was burning himself to illuminate others, back to its den, licking his wounds, wrapping him in the warmest belly fur, shielding him from even the tiniest harm.

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