Chapter 219: Qilin, Li Guanyi!

The Fire Qilin Army's banner unfurled as it marched—thirteen thousand five hundred men, combat troops and logistics units combined into two hundred and seventy basic combat units—scattered into the mountains, yet moved like spilled mercury, traversing these treacherous peaks for a full eight months.

This route was familiar; the entire force moved at a speed that would terrify second- or third-tier battalions.

Meanwhile, scouts had already been deployed beyond.

They silently swallowed several outlying reconnaissance units from the Ying and Chen states.

Approaching the final stretch of the mountain path, nearly at the point of emerging from the mountains, they were now less than thirty li from Jiangnan's Eighteen Provinces, where the Murong clan's border city stood.

For an army composed almost entirely of Qi-users skilled in battlefield charges, this distance was sufficient to launch a rapid advance and immediately form battle lines; Li Guanyi opened his command tent and ordered all units to rest and recover their Qi.

Those who had demonstrated partial command ability during the eight-month charge gradually reported to the command tent; Fan Qing remained silent, staring at his fists—thirty-something, the first test subject of the Beast Doctor Corps, he had finally achieved a breakthrough.

His third-tier Qi armor remained thin, yet it now belonged to the general's level.

He exhaled, donned the armor, gripped a long-handled battle axe, clenched his five fingers, and strode forward solemnly; Ling Pingyang smiled with ease, his entire body clad in the heaviest armor in the Fire Qilin Army, yet it did not slow his step.

Li Guanyi wore a black armor, but over it he donned a battle robe; Murong Qiushui looked at the sixteen-year-old boy and said, "Will you wear the Tie Futu general's armor?"

Li Guanyi gazed at the Tie Futu general's armor resting inside the chest.

As one of the three greatest heavy cavalry units in the world, the Tie Futu general's armor offered far greater defense than the ordinary Central Plains general's armor Li Guanyi wore, yet he merely shook his head and answered naturally, "I am a Central Plains general."

"This is our first appearance after eight months of vanishing from the world."

"I cannot wear steppe armor."

The boy smiled; his hair had grown long, tied into a ponytail at his waist, free and proud—he loosened it, letting it fall, his brow calm, the tear mole beneath his eye unable to dispel the resolute, solemn aura of lethal determination.

He was no longer a wandering swordsman.

No wandering swordsman could possess such heroic, blazing spirit.

Murong Qiushui personally tied the boy's black hair into a general's topknot.

As she tied his hair, Murong Qiushui's voice grew gentle:

"Little Cat is becoming a general now, isn't he?"

Li Guanyi whispered, "I still don't understand—seven thousand combat troops, six thousand five hundred logistics personnel—this is a corps-level force. Last year, we stood against General Yuwen's three thousand men along Chen's border."

"My command is no longer one thousand eight hundred men."

Murong Qiushui adjusted the boy's topknot slightly and said, "It doesn't matter."

"Let me tell you something, Little Cat."

Murong Qiushui looked at the heroic boy and smiled softly: "Auntie herself, when she was still in her teens, pretended for this long that she was already an adult—I think you should pretend to be a great general."

"Perhaps, in time, it will become real."

The boy couldn't help laughing: "How could it be as you say, Auntie?"

"The troops are all assembled, Auntie—I should go now."

Li Guanyi rose; his stature had already surpassed Murong Qiushui's.

In his right hand he held his helmet, clad in black-scaled Heavenly King armor, waist-bound with a tiger-head-clasped exquisite belt, then draped over himself the crimson battle robe, blazing like fire—he strode away, and every fierce warrior along the way, seeing the sixteen-year-old boy general, bowed their heads in solemn silence.

Li Guanyi strode into the command tent; the atmosphere inside was grim and lethal.

Li Guanyi's gaze swept across them, and he said gravely, "Sit down, all of you. We have traveled this vast distance over eight months; ahead lies Jiangnan's Eighteen Provinces—this will be our home. The first border fortress is now surrounded by Chen state troops."

"How many, according to the scouts?"

Yuwen Tianxian's eyes lifted slightly.

Fan Qing rose and said gravely, "Report, General: the scouts report a full ten thousand."

"According to Miss Nangong's assessment, they are eight thousand combat troops, plus over two thousand laborers and civilians—claiming thirty thousand total, surrounding Dongdu City, intending to starve and dehydrate it over several months before killing everyone inside."

"Military doctrine says: surround with tenfold force. Since they claim thirty thousand, the defenders inside Dongdu City can number no more than three thousand, mostly militia, martial artists, and wandering swordsmen."

"They likely won't hold out long."

Yuwen Hua didn't know why he was here.

He had his own suspicions, but kept them silent.

Yet when this former bandit spoke these words, he couldn't help glancing over—the giant had broad shoulders, clad in black mountain-pattern armor, his messy hair tied into a general's topknot, his brow calm and lethal.

He didn't look like a rabble-rousing bandit chief.

Li Guanyi stared at the city, paused, then rose and surveyed the generals: "Today, all of you know what we are about to do. We have walked through these woods for eight full months—from Xia Mo until now, spring is nearly here."

"As we re-enter the world, we must make our name echo across the land."

"Poets say: 'In March's misty blossoms, descend to Jiangnan'—how fitting now."

The sixteen-year-old boy general drew a deep breath, then suddenly said:

"Ling Pingyang!"

The armored 【Dragon of Yue Army】 rose, clasped his fists: "Your servant is here."

The atmosphere instantly grew silent and lethal; only the wind outside the command tent blew—a spring breeze from Jiangnan, carrying the scent of flowers, whipping the banners outside. Li Guanyi picked up an iron token, closed his eyes, then opened them—and fear, cowardice, panic—all vanished.

He threw the crude tiger tally across:

"You are my Right Patrol Commander. Lead five hundred heavy cavalry and prepare on the eastern flank."

"When the enemy's momentum wanes, charge and annihilate them."

Ling Pingyang caught the tally, bowed his head: "Yes!"

He bowed deeply, then turned and left.

Inside the tent, all generals fell silent, yet instinctively straightened their backs.

Li Guanyi said: "Fan Qing."

The man, once a bandit who killed officials, rose and bowed deeply: "Your servant is here!"

For some reason, as he spoke these words, he felt his heart pound hard—his past: killing officials, being captured, beaten with the punishment stick, sores forming on his back as he awaited death—felt distant, impossibly distant.

Sometimes he wondered: could a man like him ever get a fresh start? Each time he thought of this, regret, pain, and shame nearly swallowed him whole.

The boy general had just thrown him a tiger tally.

Fan Qing was seized.

Those past events seemed to vanish completely.

Li Guanyi merely said: "You, as Left Deputy Commander, lead five hundred heavy shield troops, five hundred archers and crossbowmen, and one thousand spear soldiers, circle around and prepare from the left flank. After the heavy cavalry launches their charge, you advance onto the battlefield—your Yin-Yang Battle Array must now appear in this world."

Fan Qing exhaled a breath and said: "Yes!"

He held the tiger tally as if gripping his own life, turned, and strode away.

One army had already been mobilized.

War banners flapped fiercely, footsteps grim and deadly.

Li Guanyi had few generals he could rely on; after ordering Lei Laomeng to lead his five hundred beast troops into action, he turned toward Yuwen Tianxian, picked up a tiger tally, and personally brought it to Yuwen Tianxian's side. Yuwen Tianxian was visibly stunned—he snapped his head up, staring at the young general.

Li Guanyi smiled and said: "Then, General."

"Your original two thousand four hundred men, plus those who joined later, total three thousand."

"The central army—the most crucial force."

"I entrust it to you."

Yuwen Tianxian stared at Li Guanyi. Though he had spent nearly a year with him and understood Li Guanyi's nature, this was different—not a question about military strategy, but the direct transfer of command over an entire army.

Yuwen Tianxian fixed his gaze on the young general before him, locking onto him. Before this, Li Guanyi had personally lifted the spiritual phantasm suppression from Yuwen Tianxian's body—so this man before him was none other than the 87th-ranked Divine General on the Heavenly Divine Generals List: the Immovable Venerable.

Yuwen Tianxian slowly extended his hand, his palm closing over the tiger tally.

He said nothing else, only:

"... Alright."

Li Guanyi nodded, merely bowed, then said sternly: "Arm the General." Already, men had stepped forward bearing a heavy general's armor, followed by a captain's armor. Yuwen Hua and Yuwen Tianxian donned their armor.

Yuwen Tianxian extended his hand, fastening his arm guards. He looked at the three thousand iron-clad soldiers before him. Since his return, two hundred had become heavy cavalry, one hundred had become light cavalry—now that command was returned to him, these men would remount their steeds.

Yuwen Hua lowered his voice: "Uncle, we cannot repay kindness with betrayal."

Yuwen Tianxian looked at his Yuwen clan nephew and said: "I know."

He gripped his helmet, staring at the heavy armor before him, and roared: "Who are you?!"

For a moment, no one answered—until the newcomers among the warriors shouted in unison: "Fire Qilin Army!"

Yuwen Tianxian asked again, striking his spear against the shield in front of him:

"Who are you?!"

The response grew quieter, more solemn than before.

Yuwen Tianxian suddenly drew his blade and slashed in an instant—the neck of a nearby warhorse was severed. Blood surged violently, the scent of death sharp and chilling, instantly freezing the true elite before him. Yuwen Tianxian's gaze turned cold and deadly: "Who are you?"

Three thousand men stepped forward half a pace in unison, replying grimly: "Fire Qilin Army!"

Yuwen Tianxian said: "Good."

He looked at the corpse of the warhorse beside him and said: "Give him a proper burial."

He placed his helmet on his head, gazed at the young man inside the command tent, and said calmly: "What a foolish man… Li Guanyi. But since you trust me so completely, then—"

He leapt onto his beast mount, patted his old companion, lifted his heavy spear, and muttered to himself: "This time, let me clear the path ahead for you."

"As a gift before our inevitable parting."

Li Guanyi led the remaining one thousand heavy armored troops.

The crimson war banner rolled and fluttered as they departed. As they left, the young general suddenly heard a series of grim war drums. He froze slightly, turned back—and saw, at the rear guard's position, the war drum.

Murong Qiushui struck the drum herself, her rhythm grim and deadly, like the ancient Battle-Cutting Melody of old.

It added threefold the will to kill, the will to fight.

Li Guanyi, mounted on his warhorse, turned his head.

The Fire Qilin Army marched onto the battlefield and scattered across thirty li.

……………………

Dongdu City · Main Gate.

The river had been blocked; the gates were sealed shut again, barricaded with heavy objects. Murong Yuan stood behind the city wall at the gate, clad in iron armor, cradling his sword, asleep against the arrow tower behind him.

The city walls were thick with arrows and marks of Mo Family siege machinery.

There were too many of them.

After being surrounded, he led the Murong clan youths within the city in desperate charges outward—but despite their valor, they were useless against the massed army, leaving behind countless corpses.

These men wanted to seize this place because Dongdu City was one of the empire's vital ferry crossings.

This narrow, small region of the Eighteen Southern Provinces relied on this crossing for half its economic throughput. If seized now, the Eighteen Southern Provinces would have their throat cut. The opposing general's judgment was sharp—or rather, this was the most basic judgment any commander must make.

Murong Yuan had not left the battlefield for seven days.

Each day, he rested only during brief lulls in the enemy's assault. Dongdu City's supplies had been cut off; Murong clan youths, disciples, and recruited civilian warriors held the line.

But they could not hold much longer.

Suddenly, someone shoved Murong Yuan: "Yuan-ge, the enemy's coming again."

Murong Yuan opened his eyes—bloodshot and weary. He rose and saw that this time, the enemy had rolled out three cloud carts. These Mo Family siege machines stood ten zhang tall; soldiers in armor and shields climbed up under cover of crossbow fire.

He rose, grim and deadly, and roared: "Murong Clan youths—form ranks!"

Murong clan youths stepped ahead of the laborers, clad in armor, attaching their personal martial swords to long shafts, transforming them into broad, two-edged polearms, forming a battle array.

Murong Yuan thrust forward with his sword, cleaving through a shielded, armored soldier—man and armor both severed.

He kicked the corpse off the wall; the man screamed as he fell. Murong Yuan gasped for breath—exhaustion from prolonged combat had stretched his spirit to its limit. He turned back: the city behind him was in ruins, many houses shattered by Mo Family siege machines.

Murong Yuan gripped his sword and suddenly roared: "Murong Clan youths—with me, charge!"

"This time, if we don't break the cloud carts, we all die!"

He suddenly stamped on the city wall and leapt into the air.

Murong Yuan landed atop the cloud cart's ladder.

Holding a long-handled double-edged greatsword, he slashed wildly downward, internal qi tearing through the air, the blade shrieking mournfully; suddenly, he leapt up from halfway up the ladder, crashing hard onto the ground, rolling to dissipate force, and with a roar, swung the long-handled double-edged greatsword in a furious arc.

He repelled enemy soldiers while smashing the siege towers.

He had actually succeeded—fierce and fearless—he sprinted toward the city, when suddenly the Murong clan youths who had charged down with him shouted: "Can you abandon us?!"

Murong Yuan, who had already run far ahead, turned back, wielding his long-handled double-edged sword, brutally piercing through dozens of soldiers in the line, joining the Murong clan youths, then guarding them as they charged toward the city.

Ropes had been lowered, waiting for them.

The Chen general said: "Fierce and fearless—what a pity."

"Shoot arrows."

Murong Yuan knew his Day of Death had come; suddenly he roared, slamming his palm hard onto the backs of the Murong clan youths, then turning to charge at the Chen general, eyes blazing red, fierce beyond measure—until multiple hook-and-sickle spears entangled his legs, yanking violently, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Still unwilling to yield, he let out a final howl, gathering his last internal qi into the long-handled double-edged sword.

With his final strength, he hurled it.

The sword flew hundreds of steps, piercing straight into the general's front, a chilling aura of killing intent, sinking three feet into the earth.

"Such killing aura!"

"Too bad he's a traitor."

At that moment, a sudden uproar erupted—such chaos shook the Chen army encircling Dongdu City; even the hook-and-sickle spear troops surrounding Murong Yuan froze. The man roared, executing a sudden leg technique, ignoring the flesh torn from his legs, blood gushing.

He seized a hook-and-sickle spear, and in five breaths, slaughtered all five spear soldiers. Leaning on the spear, his face ashen, his vision blurred with afterimages, he gasped heavily, still refusing to fall—when he saw, in the distance, a new army appear.

"More enemies…?"

Murong Yuan thought, but noticed their aura seemed different.

He widened his eyes and saw, between heaven and earth, a crimson banner suddenly unfurling, flaring like clouds falling from the sky—its dark embroidery bore the pattern of a Fire Qilin, and in ink-black characters was one large word—

That character… it seemed… it had appeared here many years ago.

It was—

Murong Yuan grew hazy, as if returned to his youth, when people gathered across the Eighteen Southern Provinces, and a young general rode an exotic beast through them—back then, too, such a banner, that character.

【Li】

The Chen army's rear was under assault!

The rear command and the left and right flank commanders saw the approaching force; General Yuwen Tianxian, mounted on a dragon horse, raised his battle spear, armored soldiers advanced with shields, grim and icy, war drums rolling, the crimson battle flag flaring wildly.

First drumbeat: all squads raised spears and banners, chanting in unison.

Second drumbeat: all squads lowered spears and banners, chanting 【Yu】!

Grim and icy, spear tips and banners whipped wildly, entering battle readiness.

The Chen army's rear command shouted orders for shield troops to move to the rear.

General Yuwen Tianxian's formation: all crossbowmen emerged behind shields, preparing to nock arrows.

Third drumbeat: nock arrows; fourth drumbeat: all chanted "Feng!"

Fifth drumbeat: all chanted "Da!"—archers stepped forward to the earth trench, each assuming the nocking stance.

Sixth drumbeat: all chanted "Feng!"

The war drums continued without pause, and crossbows and bows unleashed arrows in a steady, rhythmic, chillingly lethal torrent.

Three thousand armored soldiers chanted: "Da Feng!"

When arrows and bolts were spent, they raised heavy shields and advanced with the force of a moving mountain, like cliffs and boulders, crushing and grinding forward—regardless of enemy reactions, they pressed relentlessly.

Seventh drumbeat: spear troops thrust forward through gaps in the shields.

Eighth drumbeat: spears retracted, troops withdrew.

Ninth drumbeat: swordsmen slashed, cutting down remaining limbs.

Precise, stable, high-frequency—filled with the cold, indifferent efficiency of professional soldiers.

This was the strongest and most complete general the military system could produce; only an unparalleled genius, one who could rapidly ascend on the battlefield, could surpass him—and even such a genius could never match his comprehensiveness and stability.

Thus, enemy morale began to collapse; suddenly, an elderly Captain turned pale and burst into tears: "It's—it's the Immovable Vajra King! The one who, years ago, crushed our ten thousand with only five thousand!"

Enemy morale shattered completely. Yuwen Tianxian remained silent, raising his spear.

He drew a deep breath, and the chilling aura of the battlefield reignited his blood; softly he said:

"These months of camaraderie—I repay you with this battle."

"Yuwen Tianxian will carve the first crack in this world for you—the enemy's morale is broken!"

He raised his spear: "Fire Qilin Army!"

Level it—

"CHARGE!!!"

At the instant the enemy infantry lost morale, this world-renowned general spurred his warhorse, once again raising the spearhead; behind him, iron cavalry converged, forming a wedge formation, smashing through the enemy center!

The great shields immediately scattered like petals, five shield-bearers encircling five others, while spearmen behind thrust through the gaps, piercing deeply, then began calmly harvesting the battlefield—like a turning millstone—after the cavalry had shattered the enemy lines.

The 87th greatest general in the world: Immovable Vajra King, Yuwen Tianxian.

Engaged!

As the inner and outer armies shifted positions, Ling Pingyang, stationed in the battle array, remarked: "The Immovable Vajra King—unless faced with a general whose style specifically counters him, he is nearly the most stable of them all."

"Gentlemen, come!"

"We, too, must step onto this era."

As the Chen army fell into chaos, a long howl rose from the east; a heavy-armored cavalry unit thundered forward, roaring as they charged—its leader, in his thirties, imposing and fierce, wielding a long spear, howled—and the entire army suddenly glowed with a blue radiance.

The lead cavalry general raised his spear.

Each cavalryman's qi linked together, converging into primal energy, allowing the commander to manifest a martial formation resembling a divine form: first scales, then dragon claws—accompanied by a deafening dragon roar, a blue dragon appeared upon the battlefield.

It cleaved straight through the disordered troops.

The young lead general thrust his spear forward, first piercing the Chen cavalry general's skull, then sweeping it horizontally in an arc, severing the deputy general's neck—and then he howled:

"I, Ling Pingyang of Yue Mountain, dare any man to fight me!"

Rank 97 on the Divine General List: Dragon of the Yue Army, Ling Pingyang.

Engage!

Almost instantly, the tide of battle reversed.

The townspeople and common warriors atop Dongdu City watched as that army crossed mountains and rivers, appearing here—the charging general, the most calm and efficient central force—and suddenly they were bewildered, not knowing who this was.

Who is this? Why have they come?

Are they from Ying State?

Or is there internal rebellion?

Until that brilliant burst of fire surged upward.

The elders in these border towns of the Eighteen Southern Provinces—no, nearly everyone—suddenly froze. They remembered at once the events of over a decade ago, and in a daze, they saw the crimson flames as if burning through the sky itself.

Then, a divine, ferocious roar shook the entire battlefield; crimson fire filled the sky, just as it had before. The being within the flames descended to earth, rose upright, and roared toward the heavens.

Black topknot, dark-gold faceplate.

Ink-colored general's armor, swirling battle robe, crimson as blood.

Their minds went blank. Suddenly, an old man with white hair burst into tears, his weapon falling from his hand as he sobbed: "Tai Ping Gong—it's Tai Ping Gong!"

"Wu-wu-wu, it's Tai Ping Gong, Tai Ping Gong still lives, Tai Ping Gong still lives."

Elder Murong stared, dazed, at the armor, the Fire Qilin, the battle robe before him.

The legends, passed mouth to mouth, crossed through time like pages from yellowed histories, traversed amber-hued years, and returned once more to the battlefield. The once-fierce, unyielding Elder Murong, now wept uncontrollably, remembering the figure he had seen as a boy.

The Fire Qilin landed. The heroic general, like a legend made flesh, cut through the disrupted central and rear forces and appeared at the front, sweeping his battle halberd—Chen State's commanding general's face turned ashen as he shouted the true identity of this figure.

His voice nearly drowned out the name of Tai Ping Gong, teeth clenched, terrified, disbelieving:

"Fire Qilin, Li Guanyi!!!"

Thus, time and reality, legend and future, blurred and exchanged places.

Rank 83 on the Divine General List.

Fire Qilin of the Chaotic Age, Li Guanyi.

Engage!