Chapter 211: The Divine General List: Name Engraved!

Master Siming saw the Master Jiankuang arrive at the battlefield in an instant, and let out a long sigh.

The old man sat down at once on the back of the Black Tortoise.

As the Black Tortoise's manifestation floated slowly over, he saw the Master Jiankuang in his blue robe standing there, while those around him acted as if they couldn't see him at all, still going about their own business.

The blue-robed Master Jiankuang stood before the simple main command tent, watching Murong Qiushui treat Li Guanyi's injuries; the old man stared blankly, hands clasped behind his back, trembling slightly, gazing deeply, yet his steps felt impossibly heavy, unable to move forward.

Master Siming stood beside the Master Jiankuang and sighed.

He knew the Master Jiankuang's feelings now—when he had met Li Guanyi before, he had not revealed his identity; the old man had barely managed to hold his emotions then, but now, seeing Murong Qiushui chatting with Li Guanyi, the boy clad in battle armor, he felt regret, and the woman smiled as she reached out to ruffle his hair.

Such ordinary family moments were unattainable for the Master Jiankuang, who had spent his life proud and invincible.

The Master Jiankuang's aura was immensely strong, capable of masking his very presence; Master Siming said:

"What, now that you've come this far, you dare not take a single step forward?"

The Master Jiankuang merely said: "I am merely deliberating."

Master Siming said: "Deliberating what?"

The Master Jiankuang, Murong Longtu, said: "Should Guanyi remain in the Jianghu, or step onto the battlefield?"

Master Siming paused slightly, looking at the blue-robed Master Jiankuang—he knew this peerless swordsman was truly pondering this matter seriously. The world was vast, and freedom sounded glorious, yet the wars between nations were perilous beyond measure.

The Turkic Great Kehan, the uncrowned king beyond the passes, and the Grand Preceptor of Ying State—these three Divine Generals.

Under their command, armored soldiers numbered a million, capable of launching massive battles involving tens of thousands.

When their energies converged, they became terrifying as dragons; Li Guanyi stepping onto this world would inevitably face these foes. Beyond them, the world held too many complexities. The aged Murong Longtu had already witnessed the deaths of his beloved granddaughter and great-granddaughter, and his most promising young generation, Li Wanli, in this world.

Master Siming smiled faintly and patted Murong Longtu on the shoulder.

Even the Master Jiankuang, who wielded a three-foot green blade and could overturn heaven and earth, was at this moment merely an old man hoping his descendants could live well and safely.

In the eyes of this blue-robed swordsman, wielding a three-foot green blade, roaming the Jianghu—this was true joy.

To be unbound by the lords of the world—that was the true path.

After seeing the grotesque wounds beneath Li Guanyi's armor, Murong Longtu naturally fell into such thoughts—he had already seen the fates of Li Wanli and Su Changqing; could he still bear to let his last remaining bloodline step into this chaotic era?

Master Siming thought for a moment and said: "Then let us see his choice?"

"Hm?"

The Master Jiankuang turned his head toward the Yin-Yang School's Grand Master, who sat cross-legged atop the manifestation, invisible to others; Master Siming smiled carefree and said: "Your struggle now stems from seeing Li Guanyi ride across the world, yet fearing he will perish in this turbulent age."

"But though your nature is wild, you are not one of those rigid elders who force their juniors into decisions—so you struggle. If that's so, let the two of us simply stay here and watch what he chooses to do."

"And calm your own emotions—you're two hundred years old. Don't let a tear from Qiushui make your old eyes turn red; otherwise, the Master Jiankuang's reputation will be utterly ruined."

But Murong Longtu said: "What of the Master Jiankuang?"

The old man said carefreely:

"For Murong Longtu to weep before his descendants is no shame."

Master Siming pointed at himself: "What about me?"

Murong Longtu sneered slightly, and the Black Tortoise flipped Master Siming over instantly.

The old man sat on the ground, laughing heartily; the blue-robed Master Jiankuang calmly watched Li Guanyi and Murong Qiushui, then stepped back and sat cross-legged beside Master Siming—elders ultimately wished to see how the younger generation would choose, whether they had the mettle to step onto this world.

And—

The Master Jiankuang merely watched his two children in silence, and his heart ached.

Master Siming sighed.

The Master Jiankuang was peerless in the world, standing atop the pinnacle of sword Dao and the Jianghu, yet the mountain peak was too cold—around him, no enemies remained, yet no friends either. Master Siming unhooked a wine gourd from his waist and tossed it casually to the Master Jiankuang, who lifted the gourd and drank.

Jianghu—or the world!

No one knew the Master Jiankuang's inner thoughts; within this newly won camp, a feverish excitement surged—people came and went, each occupied with their own tasks.

Especially Lei Laomeng and his brothers.

These five brothers stared with great delight at the warhorses with beast-bloodline.

Their eyes fixed.

Normally, wounded warhorses would be slaughtered, yet they persistently applied the secret techniques of Divine Beast Manor to heal these beasts and tame their violently temperamental natures.

Even when thrown flat by a horse's kick, they laughed cheerfully.

For disciples of Divine Beast Manor, such abundance of strange beasts felt like returning home.

No.

Even within Divine Beast Manor, at their rank, they could never have encountered so many strange beasts; and the physicians were following Li Guanyi's demands—speed, efficiency, standardization, aesthetics be damned.

They gathered a group and began crude, makeshift production of hemostatic powder.

Huh? Aesthetics? Beauty? Convenience?

What's that?

So many people, so urgent—why care?

One physician spat directly onto a wound, then pressed a clean leaf soaked in dissolved medicine powder onto a soldier's injury with a slap—the man's face twisted in agony, nearly screaming, until someone shoved a shoe into his mouth to stop him from biting his tongue.

The hemostatic powder these physicians concocted was brutally potent.

But its effect was absurdly effective—the wounds stopped bleeding quickly.

Yet the pain left men utterly drained.

Shi Dalin wiped sweat from his brow and said: "Next! Come forward!"

"Don't run!"

"Damn it, someone grab him and drag him over—he's survived sword cuts, what's a little hemostatic powder? Am I some demon from Fengdu's hell?"

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!"

Another physician, heir to ancestral bone-setting, cracked bones with rhythmic snaps.

Sweat poured from his forehead; as he reset bones, he turned his head, gritting his teeth: "I think my ancestor who founded bone-setting never set more bones in his life than I have today."

"I feel my bone-setting skills are becoming increasingly effective."

At the same time, the remaining soldiers finally realized that the internal Qi arising within them was because a warrior's internal Qi emerges when the blood and qi are abundant, the spirit is highly focused, and the body's blood and qi power catalyzes it.

Thus, a quiet room is needed, incense burned to concentrate the spirit, and internal martial arts to drive the muscles beyond their limits.

During battle, the spirit is intensely focused, free of distractions; muscle restrictions are lifted, the heart beats beyond its normal limit, and with the aid of the *Taiping Book*, bear meat stew, and pills, once endured, internal Qi naturally arises.

Ultimately, after these soldiers developed internal Qi, this force—now reduced to just over sixteen hundred men—finally reached the threshold where every soldier possessed internal Qi, barely meeting the lowest standard of all military units in this era.

Far from the frontline units, where every soldier had entered the realm.

And even further from elite units, where every cavalryman possessed the Second Heaven Realm.

But they did not care about these gaps; they were simply overjoyed by their own small progress.

And they began secretly calling the seven physicians "Old Ghost."

Changsun Wuchou finally finished inventorying the supplies, and the captives were handed over to Pang Shuiyun for handling; additionally, the captives were taken to bury the corpses of the slain Yuwen soldiers, which left Yuwen Tianxian and Yuwen Hua with complex expressions.

Li Guanyi further requested that the seven physicians devise a medicinal water from common herbs used to dispel plague, turn it into a spray, and scatter it across the battlefield to prevent plague from following the corpses and blood after the summer heat.

After Pang Shuiyun had Nangong Wumeng summon Li Guanyi, he began discussing the future direction of the army with Ling Pingyang and Changsun Wuchou, laying out his strategy, which was then approved by Li Guanyi, Ling Pingyang, and Changsun Wuchou.

Li Guanyi said: "Though dangerous, this is currently the most viable option."

"Thank you, Elder Pang."

The next day, Li Guanyi gathered all sixteen hundred soldiers, along with the five hundred heavy cavalry and the thirty merchant escort cavalry; the youth exchanged his Tie Futu armor for the Central Plains general's armor brought by Ling Pingyang at Yue Qianfeng's order.

His black hair was slightly disheveled; that morning, Murong Qiushui had removed his wooden hairpin, letting his hair fall, and after washing, he styled it into a warrior's topknot; Li Guanyi wore the jade pendant given by the Young Lady over his battle robe, and stepped onto the platform in his battle boots.

Ling Pingyang looked at Pang Shuiyun beside him and asked in confusion:

"What is General Li going to do?"

Pang Shuiyun said: "Probably awarding merit…"

Ling Pingyang was even more puzzled: "Since ancient times, commanders have only held troop inspections on high platforms before campaigns; after a great victory, officials at the Captain level distribute rewards layer by layer—how could there be such a thing?"

Li Guanyi was acting according to his own habit—the habit etched into his mind.

He directly analyzed every phase of this great battle, explained it clearly to this group of former bandits and private soldiers, then had Fan Qing carry over a large stone slab and carved marks into it with a chisel.

Then he broke off a straight branch and began speaking.

"Here's why we won, and why the enemy had to charge at this moment…"

He recounted all his reflections on this battle.

Ling Pingyang froze: "Is he teaching them battlefield formations, morale, and attack nodes?"

Pang Shuiyun nearly pulled out his beard.

The old man's eyelids twitched wildly; he raised his left hand, then slapped it down with his right.

"The Young Master—he is the true Young Master, the Lord's own flesh and blood, his own flesh and blood."

Such bold behavior made the old man's heart pound wildly.

Since ancient times, military knowledge has been secretly transmitted!

What is this? What is this?

Is he trying to train these men as officers?

One thousand six hundred warriors—even with internal Qi—they're still at the tail end of second-tier forces. Teaching them these things—can they even understand?

Even if they do understand, what are you planning to do?

Pang Shuiyun, a top strategist, suddenly envisioned a scene: the army charging, the general held back, then the deputy general continues leading the formation; when the deputy is held back, it's the Captain; when the Captain falls, it's the ordinary soldier—layer upon layer descending.

Everyone knowing exactly what to do.

Unlike this era's formations, led solely by famed generals, this required every individual to actively form the array.

What power this would unleash!

Pang Shuiyun shuddered.

Yet contrary to the expectations of these two classical generals and strategists, the battle-hardened soldiers actually understood—even if they didn't grasp the technical terms, they cleverly grasped the core, just like hunting rabbits: when to advance, when to flank.

They even excitedly voiced their own ideas; the young general didn't feel interrupted—he invited the soldiers forward and encouraged them to speak boldly.

Another day passed, and Li Guanyi ascended the platform again, ordering the troops to fall silent.

The youth, clad in armor, took a deep breath, then sank his Qi into his dantian; he listed the merits of those who led the assault and others.

Then he shouted: "Those whose names are called, step onto the platform."

Fan Qing's name was among them; though confused, he climbed up. On the crude earthen platform, the armored youth described each soldier's deeds—killing heavy cavalry, charging the formation—and praised each one individually.

Though he didn't understand, Fan Qing felt an indescribable sensation; he straightened his back and, meeting the gazes below, grew increasingly solemn.

A smile tugged at his lips, suppressed.

He couldn't control it—it grew wider.

Then men from the Changfeng Lady's faction brought forth weapons.

Li Guanyi handed Fan Qing a set of heavy armor, then passed him a sword.

He also produced a red cloth strip, no different from others, embroidered with a single golden thread.

"Extend your left arm."

Li Guanyi personally tied it to Fan Qing's arm.

Fan Qing held the armor, looked down at his comrades, and the youth said:

"All of you, men of merit!"

"Step forward, salute!"

Over a thousand battle-hardened soldiers stepped forward together, raised their palms, and struck their chests—not perfectly aligned, but bowing their heads in respect—still, a surge of uncontainable fervor rose in Fan Qing's chest, burning him whole.

Ling Pingyang's smile began to fade.

As a preeminent general of this age, he vaguely sensed something.

Li Guanyi completed all the measurable merits, called out the names of those present, and led them forward—each received a reward; then he led all his soldiers to Zhongshan, where the fallen were buried upon this mountain, and the once solemn Fan Qing and others fell silent.

Li Guanyi planted his weapons—the longsword, the battle spear—upright into the earth of this mountain.

Then he tied red cloth strips from the fallen onto these weapons; he slowly withdrew his hand. At first, it was merely to distinguish friend from foe, but now, over a hundred weapons stood planted here, their red silk fluttering.

Li Guanyi knelt halfway to the ground, head bowed for a long time.

He rose, and the second group stepped forward, all kneeling halfway.

They raised their palms, clenched fists, and struck their chests.

They gazed solemnly at this forest of blades and spears.

Silent. Solemn.

Lei Laomeng, with strong internal energy, used hammer and chisel to carve each name into a stone stele; this stele would stand here.

Ling Pingyang's expression grew still; he felt something heavy awaken within these men's bodies, and he murmured, puzzled:

"Honored in life, mourned in death, all ranks united."

"... Military soul?"

This was merely the basic quality of a third-line regiment; even if one took their newly formed internal qi seriously, it was barely second-line—but it subtly gave him the cohesion unique to first-line troops: shared honor, shared grief, shared shame.

Pang Shuiyun stroked his beard and said calmly: "Of course, he is our young master."

That day, the men feasted fully, and Li Guanyi finally reorganized his army.

He repeated his strategy once more, then issued orders: over a thousand men descended the mountain.

He gave the leftover horse meat to the civilian porters seized by Yuwen Hua and others, gave them travel funds, and sent them home; then, using captives stripped of weapons and armor as laborers, he transported grain and supplies.

At the foot of the mountain, Fan Qing and others, clad in armor, gazed at Zhongshan, faintly seeing the upright blades and spears there; though they had stayed over a month, nearly two, they now felt an unexpected reluctance toward this place.

Beicheng—

After emerging victorious from the struggle among three generals, the former Beicheng Grand General Shen Xintshu, now also serving as city governor, enjoyed his hard-won triumph—yet one matter still haunted him:

That vanished army of Yuwen.

They had marched out to punish some "Spear Madman," intending to crush him with overwhelming force; he had no doubt Yuwen Tianxian would win, and even tacitly approved his conscription of civilians.

Yet five days ago, Yuwen Tianxian's army fell silent.

Scouts dared not approach too closely.

Three thousand infantry, five hundred cavalry, and over two thousand civilians—how could they vanish entirely? Even if they had clashed and lost, at least some broken troops would have fled—but none did.

No victory report. No fugitives.

As if swallowed by some presence, a faint unease stirred in Shen Xintshu's heart.

Could it be—

【Annihilation Battle】?

Shen Xintshu immediately discarded the thought. An Annihilation Battle—even with Ling Pingyang's five hundred heavy cavalry charging head-on against five hundred cavalry and three thousand infantry—could not produce such a result.

Military doctrine says: tenfold force to surround.

To achieve an Annihilation Battle against three thousand five hundred men, one needed thirty thousand troops.

And not just any incompetent general.

An incompetent general could not control thirty thousand men.

If Li Guanyi, that fifteen-year-old boy, had achieved an Annihilation Battle... Shen Xintshu shook his head violently, banishing this nightmare vision—when suddenly, his trusted aide sprinted toward him like a flying man, shouting: "General! General! Disaster!"

Shen Xintshu said: "Yuwen Tianxian is coming?!"

"No, not him—it's Li Guanyi gathering his forces!"

Shen Xintshu roared: "Where are your crossbows? Where are your traps? Can't you just shoot them down?!" But the deputy general turned pale: "You—you must come see for yourself!"

Shen Xintshu threw on his battle robe and stormed out, reaching the cliff pass; one glance turned his face ashen. The cliff pass's tiers were all armed—crossbows drawn, traps activated—and before it, along the path once trodden by the Yue family's eight thousand fully armored iron cavalry, an army appeared.

Yes—it was a true formation, not a rabble!

Shen Xintshu stared fixedly at the foot of the cliff pass.

Thousands of men: two thousand four hundred captives, plus over two thousand heavy-armored troops.

They converged as one vast mass.

Five hundred heavy cavalry, clad in heavy full plate armor, rode at the center; in their midst, a young general on a Fire Qilin held a battle halberd; behind him, over one thousand four hundred men wore heavy armor, helmets, swords at their waists, spears and halberds in hand, crossbows slung.

A chilling, deadly aura radiated; as they marched, they did not glance aside—bloodshed from real battle clung to them, majestic and terrifying; even a dozen giant bear-like beasts advanced slowly, their backs bearing massive siege crossbows.

These were the creations of Lei Laomeng's five-man team; they could not bear to abandon those siege crossbows.

Nothing else—poverty!

Lei Laomeng gritted his teeth and led men to scour the mountains for bear cubs.

He forcibly crafted these beasts bearing giant siege crossbows, using the Divine Beast Manor's methods to control them; one thousand four hundred heavy infantry, five hundred heavy cavalry, and even the rescued warhorses of the Divine Beast Manor carried riders who could mount—adding two hundred light cavalry.

This was now an army.

A chilling, deadly army.

Yet when he raised his bow to order his troops to fire, a laugh came from the other side: "General Shen Xintshu, it's been a long time!" Shen Xintshu looked—and saw a carriage halted, an old man sipping tea: Pang Shuiyun.

And bound before him: Yuwen Tianxian, Yuwen Hua.

Shen Xintshu aimed his arrow at them.

Pang Shuiyun had kept these two seated beneath the city gate, not marching with the army; Shen Xintshu roared: "You think two Yuwen generals can hold me hostage?!"

Pang Shuiyun said: "You've released the Yue army, imprisoned the Emperor's appointed city governor—you're unacceptable to Chen State. Now, will you kill Yuwen Lie's brother and nephew?"

"Neither Chen nor Ying State will tolerate you. General—how will you stand?"

Consider Wang Bazhi's remaining strategies; examine the critical leverage.

Shen Xintshu was clever—and so the old man's words pierced his chest like a dagger. Shen Xintshu's chest heaved violently; Pang Shuiyun watched him calmly, unruffled—not a gamble. He saw everything, clearly, clearly.

Shen Xintshu suddenly roared in fury and snapped his bow in two.

On this day, the greatest pass under heaven welcomed its second army to cross before it—a grim, battle-hardened force of heavy infantry, light cavalry, heavy cavalry, and beast-drawn ballistae, with the Fire Qilin leading, growling low, crossing the inviolable barrier with calm composure.

This was precisely Pang Shuiyun's strategy.

Li Guanyi, cross Chen State!

The next day, when the army had established itself fifty li outside Zhenxi Xiongcheng, the boy suddenly remembered something and said, "I have one matter left unattended." Then he altered his aura and appearance, donned a Daoist robe, and returned to Beicheng with Yao Guang.

On this day, Xue Zhaoji of the Xue Clan saw a new secret scroll.

His expression solemn, he slowly unrolled the scroll, seeing its text flowing freely, until he reached the revised ranking of the Divine General List—

【Divine General List, No. 83】

【Li Guanyi】

The battle record was simple: a single line of text, with two characters painted red—【Annihilated】—and leading his forces across Beicheng.

【Title—】

Xue Zhaoji murmured the name softly:

"Fire Qilin of the Chaotic Age."

At that moment, on the street, the former mayor of Qiantong sighed—he was no longer mayor, only hoping to spend his remaining years in peace—when, amid the chaos, someone called his name. He looked up and saw a young Daoist walking swiftly toward him.

Suddenly, a flash of swordlight—his vision inverted.

The stench of blood surged forth.

Those around screamed in terror; the boy, sword in hand, laughed loudly as he departed through the bustling marketplace.

Thus, the head of Zhao Huarui, behind-the-scenes leader of the Yin-Yang Wheel Sect's Beicheng branch, was taken by the boy.

When the Fire Qilin of the Chaotic Age, the newly risen general, returned to camp,

he saw an old man in blue robes seated calmly within his main encampment.

In the old man's eyes, nothing remained but deep admiration.