Chapter 328

In the terrified gazes of Long Han'er and the others, the vast army suddenly moved—its prior pause had merely been a brief readjustment of formation; sometimes, when the enemy's momentum halted, it was not to cease, but to better aim.

Like a ten-thousand-zhang peak suddenly collapsing.

In the epic of the desert, even the snow mountain's goddess in wrath could muster no greater might.

Sound seemed ripped away in an instant, vanished.

Or rather, when sound surged from silence to its peak in a single breath, it struck the ear with an eerie stillness—the mighty warhorses charged forward, the golden curved-sword cavalry split apart in an instant, drawing their razor-sharp blades.

Yet only a piercing hum filled her ears; the world seemed to recede—Long Han'er's beautiful face turned pale as she drew her waist blade with her Wu Gong, her fourth-tier inner energy surging instantly.

As a Holy Maiden of the Mo Sect, her Wu Gong surpassed Nangong Wumeng's during her time in the Yin-Yang Wheel Sect; though young, at this age, a Holy Maiden of a top-tier sect carried renown, status, strength, and tactics.

Comparable to the Dao Sect's Dao Zi and the great sect's young masters.

She had once faced lone cavalrymen, elite frontline troops of the Central Plains.

Beneath this blade lay the perfected Heaven Demon Dancer's Cut, which twisted hearts, concealed murderous intent, and unleashed a thousand slashing blades—victims never knew how they died; her movement was ethereal, like a celestial dancer scattering flowers.

She possessed numerous secret arts and hidden treasures; her weapon had been forged for her by a master of the martial world, who, captivated by her peerless beauty, had fallen utterly in love—a lifelong ascetic consumed by obsession.

She had intricate ties with the Dao Sect's prodigies, young heroes of the martial world, and nobles of the Wang Fu.

She wielded the methods and experiences of the legendary female protagonists from storytellers' tales—ambiguous, alluring, even more legendary; it was certain that, if she lived, her name would echo through the martial world for decades to come.

Yet her opponent was—

Simply—

One hundred thousand troops.

The mere instant the enemy raised their weapons, the low hum of steel echoed like divine whispers—Long Han'er gripped her blade tightly; a frosty gleam formed upon it, dense and refined, and an inner-energy armor cloaked her graceful form.

Around her, faintly, celestial birds circled.

This was the divine aura of martial arts.

In an instant, her aura surged, nearly crossing into the fifth tier.

As she channeled her inner energy to complete her secret art, the army arrived—a crushing aura of malice; she unleashed her full strength in one slash, meeting the long, sharp curved blade of a foreign general head-on.

Boom!!

Long Han'er felt every meridian in her body tremble.

But she blocked it!

In that instant, a faint glimmer of survival rose within her.

Yet almost immediately, a second slash came—she blocked it again, then was thrown off-balance, crashing into the charging horsemen; this blow already shook her inner energy.

Then came the third, the fourth.

With the momentum of the army's unified aura, the golden curved-sword cavalry swept past, each slash unleashed with pent-up force, relentless—until the thirty-third strike, when Long Han'er's inner energy cracked.

Immediately, the following unbroken blades widened the crack.

She could not even withstand the charge of three thousand golden curved-sword cavalry.

In her final sight, a decisive blade gleam appeared—like dancing wind—it struck her blade, then spun upward, forcibly tearing open a gap in her inner energy; her body stiffened, helplessly watching that slow blade descend upon her neck.

In her last vision, she saw the Lord of Aqi'ni City pierced through the chest by the lead general's spear—ripped from his peerless shadow-step technique, the spearhead emerging from his back, thrown to the ground, trampled into pulp by the endless iron hooves.

She never even met the lead general, Tian Ge'er.

In her final sight, she saw a girl at the general's side, her hood lifting, silver hair swaying faintly.

Long Han'er's vision sank into eternal darkness.

This elite guard of a thousand noble warriors, before one hundred thousand, stirred not a ripple—crushed outright by the superior golden curved-sword cavalry.

Nangong Wumeng, in the flank force, saw these noble elites of Aqi'ni City hauling cart after cart of gold, silver, and artifacts—many of excellent quality, proving—

She was instantly drawn to them.

These were good things!

Then these must be the very best things.

Nangong Wumeng thought confidently, estimating in her heart—this was a fortune!

That fellow would surely—

The banners ahead waved forward.

Li Guanyi's gaze never once fell upon the tempting gold.

At this moment, he ignored wealth, gold, silver—even the Mo Sect's accumulated human-destiny Gongyang Suxiang; he rode a steed with beast-blood, his eyes holding dragons, fixed on the distant city.

Nangong Wumeng fell silent, then touched her black temple hair, muttering:

"He doesn't seem like a poor scholar anymore."

One hundred thousand troops, abandoning plunder, surged with renewed morale.

Using the blood of these Aqi'ni nobles to open the aura of malice, they entered full charge.

The profound stratagems of the Central Plains' Confucian and Hundred Schools' military arts fully unfolded—this army's speed, strength, and defense began rising continuously with the charge and surging morale.

Like boulders cascading down a mountainside.

And the first enemy standing before this army—

Would face an unstoppable blow.

The army surged forward in charge, guided by Central Plains battle formations; Li Guanyi gripped his battle spear, activating the Nine Tripod's trait—the divine aura of the Tiger Roaring Heaven Battle Spear now resided within this Heavy One.

The Tiger Roaring Heaven Battle Spear, the divine beast Fire Qilin, were the symbols of Qin Wu Hou Li.

But strategically, 【Li Guanyi】 could not appear in the Western Regions.

No matter.

Yet let us once again reclaim the old mountains and rivers!

The golden Wang Yin at his waist glowed into a sphere; Li Guanyi's consciousness emptied, merging with the entire army—becoming selfless, guided by Central Plains military formations; as he led one hundred thousand troops, he suddenly understood what 【Military Form and Momentum】 truly meant.

Form and momentum are not merely the army itself.

Celestial phenomena, geographical terrain, troop morale, enemy and ally combat intent, circumstances—these are all forms of strategy.

The form of military strategy is also an extremely profound art of warfare.

It is not about recklessly charging straight into battle.

It is, before battle, using numerous stratagems and tactics to elevate your own strategic momentum while lowering the enemy's combat intent—like one side atop a height, the other in a valley—and then, at the most critical moment, leading an army brimming with morale to launch a sudden, devastating strike.

What is called "form" is not merely military momentum.

It is the grand momentum of the world!

Ride this momentum downward, and nothing can stand before you!

General Xue Shen, at this moment, I finally understand the art of warfare.

Li Guanyi gripped his spear; as he comprehended this instant, his thinking shifted, his spirit suddenly emptied, and he realized that commanding an army did not mean controlling every detail, but rather uniting the hearts of one hundred thousand soldiers with his own.

To make every single soldier pursue the same goal and obey orders.

Like a mountain collapsing, a sea surging, descending from above, attacking like fire, moving like Lei Ting.

This is the highest form of military strategy.

As he comprehended this moment, Li Guanyi instead drew his Yuan Shen inward, no longer rigidly controlling the momentum of one hundred thousand troops, but merely guiding—not commanding. His spirit instantly emptied; strangely, after this, the momentum of the hundred thousand troops grew even more furious, even more natural.

Like mercury pouring onto the ground.

Li Guanyi's spirit also grew calm.

It was not like directing one's own limbs, but like riding a collapsing mountain slope, acting in accordance with the flow.

No longer tense.

As Li Guanyi galloped swiftly across the western lands, he heard the howling wind at his ear; he lifted his head, following the sound, and saw a sudden change at the direction of the city.

The desert's sand and dust whirled and howled, converging together; the sky itself seemed to press lower, two massive storms of opposing directions merging into one colossal, tearing vortex.

It stretched downward to Nicheng, upward to the boundless sky.

The vast sky of the western lands pressed down.

Clouds were sucked into the colossal storm; the air grew thick with oppressive energy. Li Guanyi stared at the immense sandstorm vortex engulfing nearly half of Nicheng and murmured: "...!! Is this… an array?!"

"The Elder has been apart from us for a month… just to…"

"Complete this array?"

Li Guanyi gazed at the terrifying sandstorm vortex, its power rivaling celestial phenomena; for a moment, he was dazed—could a single person's Wu Gong reach such a realm, such grandeur, nearly matching Grandfather Tai's sword strike?

Nicheng stood alone upon the western lands.

One hundred thousand troops surged like thunder, their momentum majestic; yet at one point of the city, the storm grew ever more wild—until, suddenly, the clouds above and the two opposing sandstorms collided at their peak.

A flash of white light pierced the eyes of all.

The white light lingered in their vision for three breaths before fading.

Within the colossal tornado, bolts of Lei Ting raced and roared.

Immediately after came a relentless, deep vibration that left the mind numb; even Li Guanyi's military momentum was slightly shaken. The people of the desert feared Tianwei, revered the heavenly gods, and honored the goddess of the snow-capped mountains.

Storms, Lei Ting, the city—when charging toward these, the thunder falling from the heavens could devastate any army in the western lands; even Li Guanyi's own troops would suffer a sharp drop in morale.

They trusted Li Guanyi deeply, but not enough to surpass the legends and divine authority they had heard since childhood.

Almost the instant these tribes hesitated—

Po Jun had already reacted.

The young strategist spread his arms and shouted loudly: "This is the wrath of the heavenly gods!"

"We have come—and the sandstorms have retreated before us!"

"Upon the western lands, the hero Tian Ge'er, granted by heaven to the land and its people, leads his followers to punish this city! Look at those thunderbolts—they are the heavenly gods striking their war drums, cheering on our righteous army!!!"

Yao Guang's eyes glowed faintly silver; using her mystical arts, she carried Po Jun's voice to every corner of Li Guanyi's army.

Morale did not falter—it surged even higher.

The sandstorm nearly engulfed the entire Dacheng.

Yellow sand stretched endlessly; daylight grew dim!

All under heaven knows not to grant the array master sufficient preparation time—but no one has ever said what would happen if time were deliberately granted.

What situation would arise?

It would be as terrifying as the sword of Jian Kuang, as formidable as the military momentum of the Military God.

Master Siming stood there, holding the Black Tortoise before him, feeling his white hair lift upward against gravity; many strands, limp and lifeless, he reached out, pinched between his fingers—and a tiny electric arc sparked between his skin and hair.

Crack!

A little numb.

Still… heh, interesting.

Master Siming played with the electric arc, thoroughly delighted.

Only when he felt even his cultivation body tingling faintly did he stop his mischief; he merely grinned, and with the old Black Tortoise, stared wide-eyed at the sky, at the vast array covering all of Dacheng, murmuring:

"The fisherman's playing for real."

"No, why go to such lengths…?"

"Old friend, why is it that some, upon learning his weakness is his daughter, avoid her and treat her well—while others, upon learning the same, seek to use her to control him?"

Master Siming's face was genuinely confused:

"How dare they?!"

The old Black Tortoise pondered: "I don't know."

"Just as I don't know why someone would use their own Dafa as a shield."

Master Siming laughed heartily: "What a coincidence!"

"I don't know either!"

Saying this, he casually picked up the Black Tortoise to block a stone flung down by the whirlwind—CRASH! A white mark appeared on the tortoise's shell. Old Master Siming had no manners—he blew on his palm, spat into it, and rubbed the mark with a GRINDING, GRINDING sound.

The white mark on the Black Tortoise's back vanished.

The Black Tortoise's face was filled with melancholy.

The Whale Fisher came this way, using celestial phenomena, terrain, and storms as his array.

He guided the entire Western Desert's weather patterns all the way, finally triggering them here. Though he borrowed the power of heaven and earth, the array was crafted through clever ingenuity—harnessing forces, forming arrays on a whim—this was the realm of Master Siwei.

But to follow celestial timing, leverage earthly advantage, and bend them to one's will—that was the realm of legend.

Yet Old Master Siming knew another side of the Whale Fisher's arrogance: this sandstorm looked terrifying, but its killing power was minimal—it was meant only to scare the hundreds of thousands of townsfolk back into their homes, so none would be hurt during his revenge.

The Whale Fisher was born a beggar, sharp-tongued but able to distinguish the innocent from the guilty; he understood the common people's nature, and knew that if he acted like some martial hero and tried to reason with them before fighting, it would be useless.

Better to raise a storm—they'll hide themselves.

Old Master Siming saw a Central Plains monk sitting cross-legged with a tea tray in his hands, a long staff beside him. The staff looked familiar. He asked: "Little monk, you seem oddly familiar."

The monk glanced at him, surprise flashing across his face, and said:

"Are you Master Siming of the Imperial Academy's Yin-Yang Grand School?"

Old Master Siming beamed. "Oh? You know me!"

The monk laughed heartily. "Of course. Everyone at the Imperial Academy knows you."

"Master Siwei used to say every day that you're an old coward who hides behind your official title like a shield, a Yin-Yang practitioner afraid to fight."

Old Master Siming: "…………"

Old Master Siming cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Why aren't you hiding?"

The monk sipped scalding hot tea, puffed out his chest, and boasted:

"I've reached the highest level of Thirteen Hardening!"

"Impervious to fire and water!"

"So I don't even need to put down this scalding tea!"

"No need to hide."

CRASH! A stone stained with Lei Ting landed on the monk—shattered instantly, blue electric threads crawling over his body, his eyebrows standing on end, yet he made not a sound. His hardened sinews and muscles were truly among the best in the world.

With a clang, a stone stained with Lei Ting landed on the Monk, shattering instantly; thin strands of blue electric patterns writhed over his body, his eyebrows standing on end, yet he uttered not a sound—his hardened musculature was indeed among the finest in the world.

Master Siming's eyes lit up, praising: "So powerful?!"

Old Master Siming thought for a moment, then hid behind the monk.

He patted the monk like a shield. "Truly impressive!"

The monk tilted his head up, smug.

Old Master Siming said: "Absolutely incredible—far better than this old man!"

The monk's lips curled into a smile.

The Black Tortoise sighed, patted the hardened monk, and felt a flicker of pity.

The Black Tortoise sighed, patted the hardened Monk, and felt a flicker of pity within.

I'm your senior.

Old Master Siming, certain he was safe, raised his head to observe the changes. In the storm, the silver-haired man sat cross-legged in midair, his sleeves flapping. He reached out and seized the Juan Sect's scrolls, which immediately unfurled and rose into the air.

Ji Zongcheng stood within the Mo Sect's array. The secret chamber, the luxurious courtyard—all had been torn apart. The world always said the Array Chief's array was formidable, but his swordplay, fist techniques, and internal energy were inferior to the other three.

Ji Zongcheng stood within the Mo Sect's great array; the original chamber, the luxurious courtyard, had all been torn apart. The world spoke of the Array Master's array as formidable, yet his swordplay, fist techniques, and internal energy paled beside the other three.

Such claims—

Were pure bullshit!

The silver-haired man moved like a living beast of prey, tearing straight through the main road. Mo Sect disciples either had their skulls crushed into their chests by a single palm strike—still alive, staring in horror at their own hearts before dying—or had their crown of the head seized, their spine yanked out in one motion, collapsing dead on the ground. His sleeves swept, reversing hundreds of crossbow bolts, turning them into sieves of arrows.

The Array Chief's internal energy, swordplay, fist techniques, and movement were inferior to the others.

Or he would grip the crown of the skull and, with a simple pull, yank out the spine, leaving the body limp and dead on the ground; with a sweep of his sleeve, a hundred and more crossbow bolts reversed direction, turning the target into a sieve.

But the person who made that judgment never said—

His internal energy and supreme arts were only inferior to those few.

Now seeing this, Ji Zongcheng felt dread—but steadied himself. He seized the array, channeling the lingering human destiny energy, and shouted: "Array Chief, do you still remember me?"

"When I was famed throughout the martial world, you were still a sniveling child."

"You killed my son, daughter-in-law, grandson, and granddaughter-in-law. I bear a blood feud with you. Today, with this entire city's array, I challenge you, Array Chief!"

The Whale Fisher lowered his gaze, indifferent to Ji Zongcheng.

He merely picked up the scrolls, filled with the names of Mo Sect's core members. Ji Zongcheng still didn't understand, until the legendary figure of the martial world murmured softly: "Sang Wenyue."

A Western Desert name—a Mo Sect guest.

At the sound of his name, his heart twitched instinctively. He looked down—but the array had already seized him. A storm whipped him up. The next moment, with a ROAR, the array collided and unleashed a bolt of Lei Ting.

Purple lightning crashed down, shattering his skull—dead beyond any doubt.

The Whale Fisher moved his finger, calmly calling out the next name.

After each name, a Mo Sect mid-level member was swept up and obliterated by Lei Ting. The legendary silver-haired man, robes swirling, sat cross-legged in the storm, his hair flying. He hadn't come to reason. Not even merely to seek revenge.

He had only one purpose—

With each name spoken, a mid-level member of the Mo Sect was swept up and obliterated by Lei Ting—the black robe, the silver hair whipping wildly in the storm as he sat cross-legged, the legendary figure of the martial world; he had come here not to reason, nor even merely to seek revenge.

But to—

Torture!

To call a name was like the King of Hell naming a soul. Those swept up were blasted to death. Ji Zongcheng watched, eyes bulging with rage, and summoned the array's full might: "I'll be your opponent!!!"

Brutal slaughter!

To speak a name was as if the King of Hell himself were naming it, crushing all who were swept up to death; Ji Zongcheng watched this scene, his eyes blazing with rage; he stirred up his heroic spirit and called out to the might of the great array: "I shall be your opponent!!!"

The formation activated, boundless and vast, majestic and profound, reaching the pinnacle of mystery.

The Whale Fisher's finger fell with calm indifference.

The boundless formation shattered instantly.

Ji Sect Cheng was violently reversed by the formation, spouting blood from his mouth; all his grandeur and valor seemed to shatter in that instant—he realized the gulf between himself and the legends of martial cultivation, as he saw the silver-haired man coldly say:

"What are you?"

"How dare you speak to me?"

He gazed at Ji Sect Cheng, paused, then said softly:

"Just a dog that has lived two hundred years."

Ji Sect Cheng's inner defenses exploded in an instant, but facing the Whale Fisher's open intimidation and slaughter, he clenched his fists and suddenly roared: "You may kill me, but you cannot insult me!!!"

The Xiangliu Manifestation erupted.

Yet at this moment, no thunder sounded—yet a roaring thunder came instead.

The Whale Fisher's eyes flickered with a hint of surprise; he looked up toward the distance—

From where the horizon met the earth, a line of dark yellow tide suddenly rose; the city walls still held guards, gripping bows and crossbows—they were the discarded pawns abandoned by the Mo Sect's high-ups and the nobles of Nicheng.

But these archers saw that distant line of dim yellow.

They had never left the desert in their lives, never ventured to the Central Plains, never seen the Central Plains' tidal wave.

Yet now, here, they saw a sight like the Jiangnan tidal wave—ten thousand troops charging in unison, thunder in the sky was the pinnacle of martial rivers, thunder upon the earth was the sword-edge of all heroes.

The commanding general trembled, yet still drew his bow.

Thousands of archers, including high-priced crossbows bought from the Central Plains, all fired; the general's eyes were bloodshot as he watched the thunderous army surge forward, dust billowing—he knew all his efforts were now a joke.

But as commander, now that the nobles had fled, he could not leave.

Even facing an invincible foe, he could not run—behind him lay the city.

He swung his hand fiercely, eyes red, roaring: "Fire!!!"

A rain of arrows shot forth—this mighty display of ten thousand arrows fired at once now seemed tiny, powerless; Li Guanyi raised his hand, watching the falling arrows, lifting his weapon.

Under the mad charge, the military formation of the Strategists finally took shape.

Wind-Cover Formation!

Breath linked, qi connected; centered on Li Guanyi, a flowing wind appeared, deflecting arrows, forcing them off course as if smashing head-on through the arrow rain.

This was one of the foundational military formations of the Central Plains'兵家, yet also one of its highest-limit formations—capable of repelling sword qi and arrow rain; yet in this instant, the golden Wang Yin at Li Guanyi's waist trembled.

Li Guanyi's spirit and mind unified—he seemed to glimpse another transformation of this formation.

Thus, the surging wind shifted and transformed, becoming a low, roaring tiger's bellow—the military formation most famed by the Tuyuhun King three hundred years ago: Cloud Follows Dragon, Wind Follows Tiger—this was the Tiger Soul Wind Roar Formation.

The gale twisted, seeming to become a vast, boundless tiger—this was the martial spirit born when a great general's aura merged with his army's might.

Gathering the momentum of one hundred thousand men, Li Guanyi's tiger martial soul raised its head and roared.

As if reborn from three hundred years past, it now stood in this later age.

The falling arrow rain froze in the wind.

Li Guanyi's heart pounded violently; by instinct, he raised his long spear, wanting to shout "Wind!"—but this was not the Central Plains; following the power of the Tiger Wang Yin, he shouted aloud the Western Regions' battle cry.

Behind him, the ten thousand soldiers' battle intent reached its peak; they moved as one, lowering their swords.

Picking up their bows.

Firing arrows forward; the arrows swirled in the wind, racing ahead within the tiger's roar, forming the tiger's fur—thus, the illusory tiger stepped forth from empty space, becoming real.

Li Guanyi controlled this army's might with his spear, thrusting violently forward.

As if reenacting history.

This city, once conquered by the Tuyuhun three hundred years ago.

Now faced again the very force that had once conquered it.

The formation, recorded only in ancient histories, reappeared.

The colossal tiger martial soul charged forward; arrows that would have scattered in all directions were now swept up—hundred thousand arrows, like a storm of spears, crashed down upon the city.

"Tiger Roar!!!"

Thus—

The city fell.

【In the fifth month, we attacked Nicheng; Heaven beat its drum, one strike decided all.】

————《Heaven ■■■ Chronicle》·Sa Atandi.

?? The day after barely controlling his sleep schedule

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