Chapter 377

In the winter desert, dry and cold, Li Guanyi's unit consisted of elite troops selected from the twenty thousand-strong army of present-day Anxi, seven thousand in total, each equipped with spare warhorses and carrying a supply of provisions.

At this critical moment when all factions across the Western Regions had thrown their forces into battle.

They bypassed all the major and minor city-states and settlements of the Western Regions, galloping swiftly across the vast land, covering eighteen hundred li, circumventing layer upon layer of garrisons, and appearing here with pinpoint precision.

After three days of constant horse-swapping and galloping, the provisions, grain, and supplies they had carried were entirely consumed; at this moment, they finally reached their first objective.

In the depths of winter, Li Guanyi exhaled a large cloud of white mist; his gaze fell upon the central royal tent, where light blazed skyward, tents linked together in clusters, with cattle, sheep, and horses surrounding them, forming a mobile city.

In the night, this encampment of Western Region nobles stood out like a blazing fire, glaring and unmistakable; Li Guanyi turned back and looked at the cavalry around him, young generals gathered at his side.

Seven thousand men.

Although Li Guanyi could now command tens of thousands of troops.

Yet below ten thousand, battlefield charges were his greatest strength.

Whether they could turn the tide, whether they could establish a foothold in this world, whether they could succeed—

Let us see now…

Li Guanyi exhaled a puff of white mist, raised his hand, and struck his chest; the winter iron armor was icy cold, and Li Guanyi murmured: "I shall stand with you all."

"Deploy by battle formation."

"You all—"

Li Guanyi raised his hand, and the Divine Weapon, Tiger Roar Heaven Halberd, appeared in his grasp; a deep, grim aura of military battle formation spread, and the entire cavalry's sounds and breaths were suddenly suppressed, like a predator poised to strike.

The desert stood grim, iron armor and yellow sand beneath the night; the Central Plains general lifted his weapon.

"Charge."

The cavalry suddenly dispersed—not immediately charging, rushing, or slaughtering.

But silently, slowly closing in, until the final moment.

Golden curved-sword cavalry.

Beiwei Corps.

Xianzhen Baibao Camp.

Under the leadership of their respective commanders, they erupted suddenly; the thunder of hooves shattered everyone's dreams. Scouts noticed something amiss and reached for their weapons—Wang Shunchen's arrows fell; those scout cavalrymen had already been pierced through the throat and collapsed completely.

The whistle of arrows seemed a signal.

Khan Qibili and Fan Qing's eyes lit up.

The Western Regions' charging roars, the Central Plains' howling gales.

The thunder of hooves lifted the curtain of chaos.

These Western Region noble cavalry had never imagined that, deep in the Western Regions far from the battlefield, such a force would appear—silent, striking, slaughtering; the Prime Minister of Shatuo raised the curtain and his curses froze.

His gaze locked, staring ahead.

Golden curved-sword cavalry sliced through; Beiwei Corps charged the formation.

Xianzhen Baibao Camp rained down arrows, reaping the enemy.

Precise, efficient, terrifying pressure; the scent of blood instantly drowned out the perfume of beauties; the clashing of blades shattered the swirling melodies of Hu Xuanwu dances; the nobles stood frozen—this blade and sword, blood and fire, shattered completely the dream of indulgence in Hu Xuanwu's waist.

The nobles emerged, realizing the change.

Though the Western Regions were valiant, some commanders still drew weapons to fight—but the next instant, two wolf-tooth barbed arrows pierced their necks; they groaned and collapsed dead; the scent of blood, the thunder of hooves, the chilling, deadly wind.

The Western Region nobles, the Prime Minister of Shatuo, and the uncles, grand uncles, and foster fathers of the khans of other nations all fell utterly silent; before them stretched the ink-black sky, behind them the warm royal tents; their bodies stiffened as they heard the hooves approaching.

A towering dragon steed stepped forward; a general clad in black armor and crimson battle robe appeared here; the horse took step after step, shattering the dream of the Western Regions; the Tiger Roar Heaven Halberd pressed against the ground, blood dripping down.

The Prime Minister of Shatuo turned ashen, murmuring:

"…Tian Kehan?"

That day, Yu Langwang fought alongside, clashed with He Ruo Qinhu, and won; He Ruo Qinhu escaped with only five thousand men; Yu Langwang laughed, calling it a feigned retreat to lure the enemy, then returned; He Ruo Qinhu flew into a rage; Chen Lu declared:

"The ruler of a small state must bow to the minister of a great state," and beheaded him, sending his head to the three armies.

————《Chen·Lu's Biography of King Zhou of Ye》

With valiant warriors charging eighteen hundred li, they beheaded and captured five thousand twenty-eight heads, seized the Prime Minister and Danghu, beheaded the Grandfather of the Chanyu, captured the Uncle, and seized all cattle and sheep as provisions—《Historical Records·Annals I》

………………

Li Guanyi completed his resupply; after one battle, the army rested and treated wounds; the Western Region nobles seemed utterly unable to believe Li Guanyi's strategy—they had been scattered and slaughtered; Li Guanyi, however, learned more about the plan to rebuild Wang Ting from the Prime Minister of Shatuo.

Among the Western Region tribes, not all wished to join Shatuo's Helian Bo; many hoped the Western Regions could achieve a stable, peaceful order, unwilling to return to the chaos Helian Bo desired.

Several khans and nobles of tribes wished to negotiate peace and form an alliance with the Central Plains.

But all these khans had been imprisoned by Shatuo.

Li Guanyi gazed at the vast sky, his expression calm; this was their first major battle—overwhelming the few with the many, fresh against weary, elite troops launching a surprise attack—and thus it had been so easy; yet it also meant their force, without supply lines, had now pierced deep into the heart of the Western Regions, severed from rear supply bases.

They had become a lone army.

A lone army penetrating deep was a grave taboo in military strategy.

If they failed to achieve their strategic objective, this seven-thousand-strong combat unit would surely be annihilated upon this boundless desert, collapsing under enemy pressure, hunger, and bitter cold.

Even elite troops, though fiercely capable, felt a sense of dazed melancholy in this situation; their expressions changed.

Li Guanyi said:

"I told you Yu Langwang's strategy was reckless—he's using fifty thousand troops to rapidly swallow the Western Regions, aiming finally to seize the Xiang Kingdom's Wang Cheng and its secret vaults, sustaining his vast army through constant expansion, constant military merit, gains, and plunder."

"What's different about us now?"

"We too have abandoned logistics, relying solely on our entire force to gallop across the battlefield; if we cannot swiftly conquer the enemy and secure supplies, we ourselves will collapse."

Li Guanyi drank a sip of mutton broth and said: "It's all the same—we're all racing against time."

Khan Qibili, Fan Qing, Generals Ling Pingyang, and Wang Shunchen remained expressionless.

Then they heard Li Guanyi shout.

The four paused, thinking something had happened—but Li Guanyi pulled a pinch of seasoning from a small pouch, tossed it into the pot, and said earnestly: "I saw the meat was done; if we keep cooking like this, it'll turn to leather."

"Forget it, since we're here, let's eat meat first."

The officers: "…………"

Only Fan Qing nodded, sat down, pulled out a knife, and began slicing meat to stew in the pot.

The other soldiers were also given pots and meat.

Too many men, too little time—Li Guanyi successfully introduced the hotpot to these fierce cavalrymen; no fuss needed, just a pot, mutton, and the local military ration, guokui, easily made a meal.

Here, they replenished supplies, and all who surrendered were pardoned.

These nobles heading to the Sacred Mountain to offer sacrifices to Heaven and ancestors also received some food; after surrendering, Li Guanyi did not mistreat them—he was not a bloodthirsty man. The surviving Western Regions nobles bowed their heads to eat, saying nothing, their expressions growing ever more reverent.

They could not help but be afraid.

One moment they spoke of the wrath of the Eternal Heaven, the next, this army appeared out of nowhere.

It naturally inspired awe.

Li Guanyi exhaled a puff of white vapor; before him, the pot boiled with beef and mutton, bubbling out one after another. He took the steamed bun from Yao Guang, held it in the steam to warm and soften it, then passed it back to her.

He also ladled a bowl of meat broth for the girl.

The Fire Qilin happily ate meat.

Seven thousand men feasted here, consuming much of the nobles' cattle and sheep.

They also took the fine horses from this encampment to prevent word from spreading. Before leaving, Li Guanyi told the Western Regions people: "I know your thoughts, but the situation is still uncertain—you might as well wait a few days."

All bowed and murmured assent, daring not to speak further.

After Li Guanyi and his men departed, the surviving Western Regions nobles sighed in relief, exchanged glances, and saw each other's pale faces—where was their former composure?

"…They abandoned their supply lines, bypassed our vanguard, and stormed over a thousand li—truly madmen."

"The madmen from the Central Plains have come again to ravage our Western Regions."

"Shh, be silent!"

"Aren't you afraid they'll turn back and attack again?"

After completing their first strategic maneuver, Li Guanyi's force replenished their rations to a safe level and continued advancing into more distant lands.

Across this vast desert, sparsely populated and bitterly cold in winter, solitude pressed heavier; the men rode hard, sometimes for hours on end, the landscape ahead unchanged, ever more desolate.

Guided by Yao Guang's star-reading and aided by the cartographic scrolls seized from the Prime Minister of Shatuo, Li Guanyi's force plunged deep into the heart of the Western Regions, crossed Wuli, attacked Supu, crossed Hunu, and within seven days passed through five kingdoms.

Beneath a range of mountains, they encountered a Western Regions army marching toward Wang Ting.

From daylight to dusk, they captured the crown prince of Beilu Hou Kingdom, scattered his allied forces, confirmed their position, secured supplies from the defeated army, dispersed the remnants, and crossed Dashan.

Then they immediately made a sharp turn, avoiding several Wang Cheng.

They sent the Beilu Hou crown prince to invite several tribal kings to join them.

Conflict erupted.

Khan Qibili, Fan Qing, Wang Shunchen, and General Ling Pingyang led troops to suppress them; within days, they advanced hundreds of li, fought eight major battles—some Western Regions khans and kings submitted, others resisted. Li Guanyi displayed decisiveness never seen before.

Along the way, they defeated and killed the King of Shanhuang, the King of Puli, and the Khan of Xi Qiumi, annihilating their elite forces; the Prince of Hunye, his prime minister, commandants, and others were all captured.

Of the seven thousand troops, some were wounded, some fallen. Though led by a famed general, composed of elite warriors, and aided by Li Guanyi's knowledge of the Huangji Jing Shi Shu for healing, casualties still occurred. In battle, they could not carry away their comrades' bodies—only bury them on the spot.

They drove their swords into the earth above each grave.

Li Guanyi personally dipped his brush in blood and wrote a prayer, then nailed it to a nearby tree with his arrow, declaring: "This tomb belongs to the Lord of Anxi. Should any thief dare steal this sword, I shall personally come to punish him."

He paused, then added: "But if one needs it for self-defense or to save another, take this sword—it is permitted."

Li Guanyi dropped the brush, stared at the graves of his comrades, and fell silent for a long while. He poured the captured wine over the earth in sacrifice. The cold wind howled; behind him, his elite troops stood motionless in solemn silence.

In these days since entering the Western Regions, over a dozen battles, more than ten thousand enemies slain—their blades already stained crimson. Deep in enemy territory for thousands of li, there was no turning back.

Li Guanyi emptied the last of the wine from his wine-bun, then tossed the vessel aside.

"To you all!"

"When we return victorious, we shall bring you the good news."

"Then, with ten thousand troops, we shall welcome you home."

Behind him, the six thousand-plus soldiers stood solemn. After these great battles, deep penetration, relentless fighting, and victory, their spirit had transformed. Once drawn from three separate armies, they now felt unified, elevated.

Li Guanyi turned. The desert wind behind him, cold and mournful, whistled through the swords planted in the earth, emitting a clear, low hum. After this campaign, they had seized the sacred offering of one of the khans.

Li Guanyi led his troops onward.

Meanwhile, the Western Regions alliance, dispatched by Helian Bo and others, was held at bay behind Anxi City. Dozens of thousands of troops exerted immense pressure on Anxi's sixty cities, yet did not attack—only encamped outside.

They seemed ready to fight, yet held back—classic wolf-pack tactics of the Western Regions generals.

While the Western Regions front commander gloated, believing victory assured, the famed generals on the battlefield all sensed something wrong: Yu Langwang, He Ruo Qinhu, and Lu Youxian all noticed the disappearance of a man who should have been active on the battlefield.

In contrast, General Yue Qianfeng's battle spirit surged.

He achieved repeated victories.

Rumors spread of Tian Kehan's cunning, his avoidance of battle. Combined with struggles across other fronts, Tian Kehan's rank on the Divine General List dropped from twenty-seventh to thirty-third.

He Ruo Qinhu and others were baffled—where had Li Guanyi gone? Some even suspected he had conspired with Yu Langwang to strike them a deadly blow—or worse, that he had returned to the Jiangnan region.

"If he's alive, why doesn't he fight?"

"Could his target be Yu Langwang?"

Meanwhile, unknown to all, far beyond the core of the Western Regions battlefield—thousands of li away—a lone force surged forward with majestic boldness, crossed Junqi, crossed Juyan, reached Yue Zhi, and attacked Lianshan.

After several more major battles, Li Guanyi's Eight-Heaven Battle Array's lethal aura gradually coalesced.

Another force—of national annihilation—began to gather.

Not only Li Guanyi felt it; even the morale and spirit of his entire army swelled relentlessly. Even the most ordinary soldier now carried an indescribable, vast, overwhelming presence.

Like boulders tumbling down from a mountain range—the momentum was formed, unstoppable.

The Chanyu of Shanhuang and the Chief Tu Wang both surrendered.

They had lost all will to fight. The other captured khans and nobles of the Western Regions, defeated by Li Guanyi, were now forced to accompany him westward. Everywhere they saw, they fought—frontline enemies shattered.

The hearts of these Western Regions khans and chanyus were shattered.

The arrogance they once held—that they dwelled far beyond the Western Regions, that they were mighty and proud, that they possessed gold, silver, and beauties, and that even the great powers of the Central Plains, its famed generals and the Son of Heaven, could not surpass them—was swept away in a single stroke.

They could not believe such a battle tactic existed in this world.

Nor such heroic, majestic deeds, as if heavenly deities had descended!

After winning the great battle, Li Guanyi directly ordered the khans and chanyus to go forward and demand the cities surrender, instructing them not to inflict excessive slaughter, saying he wished to avoid creating too much bloodshed.

Thus, when the garrisons of the Western Regions' city-states, already panicked and helpless, suddenly saw a Central Plains army appear, their morale collapsed entirely; soldiers were forcibly dragged up, running to the highest points, drawing arrows and weapons to aim outward.

The defending generals took one look and turned pale.

The heavens were black as ink, churning endlessly; those cold, ink-black banners stood straight as spears and halberds, pointing toward the sky, their patterns hanging down like rolls of darkness tumbling from the highest heavens.

Beyond them, the banners of the Central Plains' Beiwei Army and the Western Regions' legendary Golden Crescent Cavalry surged together; these soldiers, hardened by solitary, desperate campaigns, now sat solemnly upon their mounts, their gazes calm.

At this moment, whether Fan Qing, General Ling Pingyang, or Khan Qibili—

all felt that these six thousand men no longer distinguished themselves as individuals, no longer spoke of being Central Plains people or Western Regions tribesmen, no longer identified as Beiwei Army or Golden Crescent Cavalry.

In this swift, thunderous campaign, they had been forged together, like refined ores cast into a furnace, hammered and tempered, until they became divine weapons.

These fierce warriors were beginning to show signs of transforming into an entirely new army.

And before this army, on the verge of becoming something entirely new—

the divine general, riding a divine steed and treading upon Lei Ting, gazed calmly and indifferently ahead.

The khans and chanyus, dressed in the splendid robes meant for ancestral and heavenly rites, for founding a Wang Ting, were sent forward by the soldiers to demand the cities open their gates and surrender in the biting wind.

A deathly silence.

Li Guanyi raised his hand, and behind him, the great army raised their weapons and roared: "Surrender!"

"Surrender!"

"Surrender!!"

The voice was grim and haughty, halting the heavy clouds.

Li Guanyi lowered his hand, and the three armies fell utterly silent; only the grim aura, the martial killing intent, surged upward, rising higher and higher, terrifying the khans, utterly broken, into trembling, their scalps prickling as they screamed:

"Open the gates! Open the gates!"

"Surrender!"

In three days, seventeen cities fell; two thousand five hundred high officials and Commandants surrendered; thirty thousand two hundred enemy soldiers were captured; five kings, their mothers, chanyu's consorts, and fifty-nine princes were taken.

Sixty-three high officials, generals, danghu, and Commandants.

Advancing at such speed, all who resisted bowed in submission; wherever they turned, they prevailed. Through battle, they replenished supplies, replaced weapons and mounts, refined detailed maps, then rushed toward their next target with even greater resolve and swiftness.

To outsiders, this was an unimaginably rapid strategic campaign; but to Li Guanyi and his men, it felt only like an overwhelming tide—under this vast momentum of conquest, stopping was nearly impossible; either they would achieve greatness, or face utter ruin.

Amid the relentless campaign, Fan Qing found his command growing ever more refined; if he abandoned subtle adjustments and coordination, his command ability might have risen slightly at its peak.

But this, he suspected, was already the limit.

After all, he was merely a fugitive from a peasant family.

Fan Qing was already deeply satisfied.

Moreover, perhaps because he had joined this grand and magnificent campaign, Fan Qing felt his Gongti—once thought utterly unbreakable—now faintly rippled, and had already reached the peak of the Fourth Heaven.

When he clasped hands, he could faintly hear a deep, roaring growl.

Was that a Dharma Form?

Fan Qing remained silent—what would his divine aura be, if he ever cultivated one?

The Fifth Heaven…

Could he, a man who might one day become a great general, truly reach this realm?

He looked at Li Guanyi's back, his heart stirred; and as the six thousand soldiers, on the verge of transformation, rested here, Li Guanyi gazed afar—where, not long ago, the distant mountains beyond Anxi had seemed impossibly far, now stood within arm's reach.

He could even see the peaks, straight as swords.

【Mount Juxu】—they were nearly there.

This was the last day of the year.

Tomorrow, the Xiongnu would perform ancestral and heavenly rites—also the day Li Guanyi turned one year older.

Li Guanyi exhaled slowly, his gaze calm. He sat in the captured city, where soldiers were repairing their weapons and adjusting their One's Own Heart Realm; after riding so far, they had no fear left, no dread.

There was no turning back.

What remained was only heroism, valor, a feeling of being swept up in a vast tide—should they succeed in this campaign, their names would echo through eternity; a sense of standing before the torrent of history and time.

And Li Guanyi was writing a letter.

To his aunt, and to his distant southern great-grandfather, Elder Murong Longtu.

It might never be sent—but it was a way to soothe his heart.

He told his aunt the qin melodies had grown worse.

To his great-grandfather, he spoke of sword techniques; the sword manual Elder Murong Longtu had left him, he had mastered thoroughly, and even created his own "Serpent-Slicing" technique—but Li Guanyi knew that one sword was likely the peak of his sword art.

If, in this life, he conquered the four directions and, by fortune, brought peace to the realm—

when he opened peace with the sword, perhaps he might yet awaken one final sword.

That sword would be the absolute limit, the ultimate peak he could never surpass.

Yet it would differ from his great-grandfather's path; the bold, elegant sword art of the Jianghu, in robes of blue silk, Li Guanyi could never master. He dipped his brush in ink and wrote on the Western Regions' papyrus:

"Thus, I feel I have failed your painstaking efforts."

"I cannot master all those sword techniques and forms—but I have this one sword…"

Li Guanyi lifted his gaze. He had sat still all night, calming his heart. Fan Qing held his spear. Khan Qibili wiped his blade with fine cloth. General Ling Pingyang embraced his spear, eyes closed. The six thousand comrades, who had ridden like Lei Ting, sat in silence, radiating a calm, martial killing aura.

The world clashed; Saibei contested; the Guo Shi of the Ying State and the Steppe's Tian Kehan battled on the northern frontier; the Hu Man cavalry and Night Gallop cavalry clashed in the Central Plains; Yuwen Lie wielded his spear; Jiang Wanxiang made his move; heroes from all quarters—Yu Langwang, old but fiercer than ever; the Phoenix, testing its first clear cry.

And I—

Li Guanyi's vision seemed to reveal the map of the realm.

Suddenly he chuckled, extending two fingers like a sword, slashing down from Anxi City alone.

Piercing the Western Regions, tearing apart the world, severing the great tide.

Li Guanyi's sword-finger halted in empty air, resting upon the "Western Regions Topographic Map" before him, his battle robe swirling, iron armor glinting coldly, eyes slightly lowered:

"This is my sword — different from yours, Great-Grandfather."

He slowly retracted his finger:

"This sword, when thrust, meets no obstacle; when raised, reaches no upper limit; when pressed, touches no lower bound; when wielded, knows no side."

"Though still unable to cleave the floating clouds above or sever the earth's axis below."

"Yet it can now shake like Lei Ting."

"Great-Grandfather, in just a few days, you shall see this sword of mine in Jiangnan."

"What manner of splendor it holds."

"In my own words, I invite you, Great-Grandfather, to witness this sword."

Li Guanyi placed the letter away, then grasped his weapon and rose, striding forward; Fan Qing, Qi Bi Li, Generals Ling Pingyang, and Wang Shunchen walked silently behind him, raising their gaze to the distant Western Sacred Mountain — Mount Juxu — now before them.

They were about to perform the grandest Wang Ting sacrifice to Heaven.

They did not know the 【Guest】 was coming.

Li Guanyi faced the silent, grim army and said only:

"March."

A thousand troops answered with but one voice:

"Yes!"

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