Arpious of the Planes - Chapter 637 Witch City’s Forest (Final)

In a world where fate is scripted and power determines survival, Arthur Nightingale was never meant to shine.When he awakens in the world of Saga of the Divine Swordsman, he isn’t the destined hero, the villain, or even a major side character—he’s an extra. A nobody. A mere background figure in the shadow of Lucifer Windward, the overpowered protagonist who will one day ascend beyond gods.But Arthur knows the truth.The world he now inhabits is doomed. The plot is destined for a catastrophic downfall, and the so-called “geniuses” will not be enough to stop the tide of destruction. Armed with knowledge of future events and his own will to defy fate, Arthur refuses to be just an extra.

STAFF NOTE: The author had proven ownership. RighteousEgg is the original author. I have added a pinned comment to the first chapter to show this staff note is legitimate.---Chu Xuan traversed the Mystic Azure Realm and became a demonic cultivator in the Infinite Sect. To cultivate as a demonic cultivator means to plunder the essence of the heavens and earth and seize the quintessence of all things. One has to slaughter countless beings to rise as a supreme demon lord. However, such killing was intolerable under the heavenly Dao of the human race. Consequently, the Infinite Sect was annihilated by the orthodox sects. In desperation, Chu Xuan stumbled upon a Blood Mirror, which allowed him to travel to a post-apocalyptic planet overrun with zombies! He realized that this place was a perfect sanctuary exclusively for demonic cultivators! If he dared to sacrifice a million humans, the heavenly laws would strike him with thunder and burn him to ashes. But if he sacrificed a million zombies, not only would he face no disasters, but he would also be showered with golden blossoms, enveloped in glorious light, and blessed with merits!

Vincent van Gogh, the painter who refused to be an accessory Of power and painted with his soul at the tip of a brush, was not understood by anyone and had to die like a madman, and he woke up in 21st century Korea.

Like a wheat field melted with gold, like a sunflower that swallowed the sun, a dazzling painter once again takes the brush.

How long I’d been here, I couldn’t quite recall. From this sorry situation, I as always raised my eyes to the sky; a sky in which the great, massive sun was clad in levity. Sunlight poured gently upon all. What a blessing it would have been for the world if only the skies could remain clear. For tomorrow too, and for all days to come, I was to continue to pray for calm. To endure for those who cried, with desperation I remained in prayer.

And then, one freezing, forlorn, soulless, stagnant, drizzly day we died. Or so I thought…