Skinwalker Belle – Chapter 444 – For the Continuation of Humanity… I Am Not Wrong

Zhu Yan’s fist did not hesitate.

Dragon Qi at the peak of the seventh tier condensed around her right fist, its golden radiance illuminating the surrounding ruins.

Chen Dingjun had not moved since reaching the side of the aircraft.

He stood in place, his spine straight as a rod.

The force of the punch was already rushing into his face.

He didn’t dodge. Instead, he reached into a hidden compartment on the aircraft and pulled something out.

What came out was not a weapon.

A palm-sized black storage chip, with a yellowed label stuck to it. The handwritten words had smeared into an illegible blur, leaving only a single character—”Zero”—still recognizable.

“Catch.”

Chen Dingjun tossed the chip toward Zhu Yan.

Her fist stopped thirty centimeters from his chest.

The golden Dragon Qi bounced the chip upward, and she instinctively snatched it out of the air.

“All the data from my current research,” Chen Dingjun said, staring into her eyes, his voice hoarse beyond recognition. “The complete parameters of Bloodline Fusion, the sequencing patterns of the gene chains, analysis of the failed cases—it’s all in there.”

Zhu Yan’s fingers tightened around the chip.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“Because you’re the only one who succeeded.” The corner of Chen Dingjun’s mouth twitched—whether that curve counted as a smile was hard to say. “Zero… no, Zhu Yan. The data in your body can’t be replicated. But the chip records the entire process, including all the failures.”

He paused.

“Give it to that white-haired woman, or Chu Chen—whoever it is that truly stands guard over Blue Star. Anyone will do. The Dragon Clan’s bloodline is not invincible. My experiments have already proven that. It’s just that the method…”

Zhu Yan glanced down at the chip, then raised her eyes again.

“You’re telling me all this now—are you trying to make me go easy on you?”

“No.” Chen Dingjun shook his head, crisp and decisive. “Those who deserve to die must die. I know that well. For everything I’ve done over these years, any judge would hand down a death sentence.”

His gaze drifted to the side for a moment. Wind swept through the ruins, carrying up a scrap of charred paper.

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“But this precious data shouldn’t die with me.”

He straightened his back once more, lifting his chin slightly.

“Do it.”

Zhu Yan’s lips trembled.

Golden Dragon Qi reignited across her knuckles. Brighter than before. Hotter, too.

“Commander.”

“Mm.”

Chen Dingjun didn’t answer.

Zhu Yan didn’t wait for him to.

The fist came down.

No flashy technique. Just a single punch, driving straight into Chen Dingjun’s chest.

Peak of the seventh tier against mid-fourth tier.

The force of that blow was enough to pulp an ordinary human’s heart along with half their ribcage.

Chen Dingjun’s body flew backward through the golden shockwave, his spine slamming into the aircraft wreckage. The steel plate caved into the shape of a human body, swallowing most of him into the dent.

He didn’t scream.

A thin line of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. His murky eyes stared up at the gray sky overhead.

The sky had never been clear since the Post-apocalypse began—it was always that same dreary, ash-colored tone.

“…I was right.”

His voice was barely audible now. Blood had flooded his trachea, and every word came out bubbling.

“For the continuation of humanity… I was not wrong…”

His head lolled to one side. He didn’t move again.

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Zhu Yan stood in place, the residual warmth of Dragon Qi still lingering on her fist.

She stared at Chen Dingjun’s corpse for several long seconds. The body leaning against the steel plate was crooked, the chest of his military uniform caved in, but the button at his collar was still fastened neatly.

Zhu Yan slowly slipped the black chip into her pocket.

No tears. No sense of relief either.

Just a hollow emptiness.

She couldn’t say what had once filled that hollow space. Perhaps hatred. Perhaps something else, something more complicated.

Lin Fan rose from the rock.

Walked over, glanced at Chen Dingjun’s body on the steel plate, then looked at Zhu Yan.

No commentary.

The man who deserved to die was dead. There was no need to say what didn’t need saying.

In Lin Fan’s view, Chen Dingjun wasn’t a matter of right or wrong—just a difference in standing.

The biggest difference between him and Wang Shan was that Wang Shan was a spineless coward who begged on his knees, while Chen Dingjun was a madman who chose to die standing.

A madman deserved at least one word.

“Bury him properly.”

Zhu Yan nodded.

Lin Fan didn’t look again. He turned and walked toward the flagpole.

Wang Shan was still lying there.

Floral underwear, covered in dirt, his old face still wearing the expression he’d used to mock Chen Dingjun moments ago—if you could call it a smile. The kind that was forced out through the mouth alone.

Seeing Lin Fan approach, his expression froze.

“Don’t… don’t rush.” Wang Shan scrambled backward, his back hitting the flagpole base. With nowhere left to retreat, he simply wrapped both arms around his head. “I’m useful. I’m useful to you. You need intel, right? I’ll give you everything. As much as you want…”

Lin Fan crouched down.

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Tilted his head and studied Wang Shan in this sorry state.

“Old Wang.”

“I’m… I’m here.”

“You said you’re useful.”

“Useful! Truly useful!” Wang Shan’s eyes darted wildly, his voice cracking. “Think about it—I’m the only line you have into the Dragon Clan’s channels! The Portal coordinates, the Dragon Emperor Hall vanguard’s order of battle, even news of the Dragon Emperor himself—I can—”

Hum.

The communicator at his chest buzzed.

Lin Fan frowned, pinched the collar, and pulled out the communicator.

Chu Chen’s encrypted frequency.

“Speak.”

“Emergency.” Chu Chen’s voice came fast. “The energy threshold at the Chuanxi Rift has spiked threefold in the past hour.”

Lin Fan’s fingers paused.

“How much?”

“Threefold. Not fluctuation—unidirectional climb, no sign of receding.” The sound of keyboard clattering came through on Chu Chen’s end, dense and rapid. “And it’s not just Chuanxi. I ran a synchronized satellite scan of every Rift on Blue Star. Same conclusion.”

“All expanding?”

“All of them. One hundred and three, without exception.” Chu Chen’s voice remained steady, but each word grew heavier. “Take the Chuanxi Rift—its current passage threshold has already jumped from the fifth-tier cap to seventh-tier.”

Seventh-tier.

Lin Fan stood up.

Wang Shan shrank at his feet. He didn’t even look at him.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that from now on, seventh-tier peak lifeforms can freely pass between Blue Star and the Dragon Spirit Continent.” After Chu Chen said this, there was a beat of silence. Even the keyboard stopped.

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Lin Fan’s fingertips traced the edge of the communicator.

She didn’t respond. Not because she had nothing to say—she was calculating.

The keyboard sounds resumed on Chu Chen’s end, crackling like firecrackers.

“I ran a linear projection based on the expansion rate over the past six hours. If this trend holds… one month.”

“One month, then what?”

“The Rift will stabilize completely in an unrestricted state.” Chu Chen stated the conclusion, his voice still steady, but with a layer of something new in his tone that hadn’t been there before. “No level cap. No energy threshold. As many as they want to come through, at whatever level they want.”

There was two seconds of silence.

Lin Fan’s gaze swept across the ruins. In the distance, Zhu Yan was still crouched beside Chen Dingjun’s body, her golden hair drifting strand by strand in the wind.

Further away, most of the Black Palace complex had already collapsed, and the light of the Dragon Clan’s Rift flickered faintly in the northeast.

“Dragon Emperor.” Lin Fan spoke.

“Right.” Chu Chen immediately picked up, chewing on something—probably candy—and said in a muffled voice, “If my deductions about the Dragon Clan’s ‘Devouring Plan’ are correct, then the day the Rift fully opens is the day the Dragon Emperor personally descends upon Blue Star.”

He swallowed, his voice clearing a bit.

“Maybe not even just the Dragon Emperor.”

Lin Fan said nothing.

She was silently calculating the distance to her next fusion.

“Still fifty Epic-grade Skins short.”

In one month, the Rift would fully open, and the Dragon Clan’s highest combat power could descend at any moment.

She needed to gather the remaining fifty Epic-grade Skins within a month, fuse with Long Xi, and push herself to a level where she could contend with peak ninth-tier opponents.

Was there enough time?

Just then, Chu Chen’s voice came again.

“And one more thing—if my guess is right… then this month is the last month that decides whether the people of Blue Star go extinct or not.”