Chapter 407

The aura of martial legend surged violently; Jiang Su saw from afar how Chen Fubi's aura rose and coalesced into the vast, roaring energy of Qiongqi. Jiang Su lost all his arrogance and gave everything he had this time.

He raised his hand and seized the divine weapon Jìmie; on the spear's tip, malevolent energy swirled.

"... Five hundred years ago, Chen Baxian's Wu Gong had already reached this level—even if the old Duke of Chen were to return to this world, he would not be your match."

"First fight the Duke of Xue, then duel Chen Fubi—how exhilarating!"

One hundred thousand troops spread out in layers, surrounding and attacking Yu Langwang Chen Fubi; this battle was an absolute encirclement and annihilation, a clash of overwhelming strength against weakness. The Divine General shed his former impatience and arrogance, using his army to cut and divide the Wolf King's forces.

Even the Wolf King's elite could not escape being affected, cut apart, and fragmented under forces several times—even ten times—his own; the Wolf King's own military aura grew weaker and weaker.

Facing this final, desperate charge from the Wolf King, the Divine General chose the most stable battle method.

As the cutting and fragmentation continued, the Wolf King's last troops sank like into a quagmire and were quickly dismantled; this Divine General had once been a master of military formations, but after the Western Frontier War, his style changed.

But the war drums rolled, urging men forward.

Fierce and impassioned.

This time, Yu Langwang Chen Fubi no longer fought alongside his comrades as he once had; he gripped his long-hafted battle blade, pressing forward alone, never looking back. On this battlefield, the old brothers who still followed him fell away one by one.

"Your Majesty, then I take my leave."

"Let us drink again someday."

The strategist Dongfang Chen was struck by an arrow; his face grew distant, then he laughed aloud.

He chopped the arrow shaft from his wound with his weapon, gave a slight bow, slowed his pace, and led a hundred men toward the flanking army closing in; his Wu Gong was strong, but trapped within a force ten times his own, he ultimately tore through wave after wave of blood before being swallowed.

"Your Majesty, Master Dongfang…"

"I know."

And Yu Langwang Chen Fubi merely nodded quietly, his eyes fixed on the battle ahead.

He would not look back.

He could not look back.

When I reach the Underworld, I will apologize to them all again.

He had already led his men to the front, swinging his long-hafted blade and tearing out wave after wave of blood; Jiang Su's gaze was calm as he pressed forward, spinning his divine spear Jìmie and slamming it against the Wolf King's weapon in a violent clash.

The martial legend's military aura surged violently, crashing forward.

The Winged Tiger raised its head and roared, shaking the clouds, stirring layers of storms that covered dozens of li; the Jin Jia Divine Man thrust his long spear forward—both generals' military auras were immensely powerful and ferocious.

Jiang Wanxiang arrived atop the city gate, leaning on his sword, watching the battlefield unfold across the open ground outside.

The aura surged violently; the heavens themselves seemed to press lower.

The clouds were churned into chaos; the battlefield of martial legend had never been a domain ordinary cultivators could tread, let alone these martial legend generals of the military arts?! They had already reached an entirely different realm.

On the battlefield, the military arts were invincible.

On this once-bustling expanse where countless commoners had gathered, warhorses trampled the earth, their thunderous gallops shaking the ground; blades clashed, and the gray-lead armored Gray Wolf Army clashed with the standardized armor-clad troops of the Ying State like two vast, opposing torrents.

The torrents surged and twisted, entangling and killing each other; Jiang Wanxiang stared fixedly at the core of the battle.

Clouds spiraled in layers; the Winged Tiger and the Qiongqi phantoms raised their heads and howled, lunging downward; on the Wolf King's weapon, malevolent energy piled in layers, roaring skyward—it was no longer within the realm of mere generals.

"Chen Fubi, I have received your gift!"

"You wanted a wild, unrestrained brawl, a thrilling, exhilarating battle—then I grant it!"

"In this mortal world, you've roamed for sixty years—Chen Fubi, was it still exhilarating?!"

Jiang Wanxiang held the imperial seal in his left hand and a long sword in his right; in the void, faint dragon roars echoed endlessly, channeling the nation's might and destiny to bolster Jiang Su—Jiang Wanxiang had not lacked the resolve to make a bold gamble!

The Divine General Jiang Su felt the Son of Heaven's aura augment his own military force.

His eyes darkened slightly; he too unleashed all his power.

They clashed endlessly, their divine weapons crashing together; Yu Langwang Chen Fubi swallowed the blood in his chest and roared with laughter: "Exhilarating? How can it be exhilarating if I couldn't ride my horse through Ducheng, drink from the rivers of Zhongzhou, or act as I pleased?!"

"I haven't killed enough men, fought enough battles, or had enough friends!"

"It's not exhilarating!"

"How is it, oh Divine General, that you no longer fight me one-on-one with equal forces, but instead bring such a vast army?"

"You've changed too."

"It seems you suffered a great defeat on the Western Frontier."

Jiang Su did not answer; he merely reined back, his weapon's edge gleaming as he slashed toward the Wolf King: "I did lose—but in the end, as long as I win, nothing else matters."

"Someone like you and me would never lose the will to win because of one defeat."

"Could a temporary loss ever dull the spirit of a hero?!"

The divine spear Jìmie blazed anew with divine light, its malevolent aura chilling; it did not stir in anger at the Wolf King's words, but its technique grew fiercer—three feet of gangqi remained unbroken, repelling countless divine arts; the spear swept horizontally, crashing heavily into the Wolf King.

Even clad in armor, Jiang Su's martial prowess was brutal, amplified by his military aura—unmatched; beneath the Wolf King's armor, bones cracked with piercing sounds; he spat blood, yet his aura did not wane—it grew even more arrogant.

"Hahaha, good! Come! Come!"

In his hands, the twin-bladed battle knife descended upon Jiang Su with Chen family's Mountain-Crushing force.

Qiongqi's frenzied blood, the martial legend—stronger with every clash, surpassing all limits.

Terrifying aura descended; the earth cracked open.

The Divine General Jiang Su raised his weapon and retreated to evade its force; their techniques grew ever more ferocious; the Wolf King gasped for breath, yet the war drums beside his ear grew louder and more impassioned—he could no longer look back, could not see how many of his comrades still followed him.

In his eyes now, there was only this one opponent.

One move after another, domineering and disdainful—only attack, no defense.

The sounds of the battlefield faded; only this body moved toward its final end.

The Wolf King was squeezing every last ounce of strength from himself.

Ignoring consequences, ignoring cost.

The Divine General Jiang Su was invincible under heaven; the next time Li Guanyi and Chen Wenmian faced Jiang Su, they would never again have tenfold troop superiority—then, Jiang Su's forces would likely outnumber them, not the other way around.

The affairs of the older generation are left to the older generation to settle.

The grudges of the older generation must be settled by the older generation themselves.

Chen Fubì roared aloud, his eyes bulging with rage, and exchanged another strike with Jiang Su.

The shriek of weapons exploded into thunder in the air, clouds scattered; Yu Langwang heard this thunderclap, yet for some reason, he thought of that day's events, of why he had stepped onto the battlefield—

"You said what? Who died?"

That was over ten years ago; in his hand was not a weapon, but a green bamboo stalk; on his body was not cold, deadly armor, but comfortable, fitted cloth robes.

He had long left the storms and swirls of this world, left the grimness of the battlefield, and found a place of clear mountains and pure waters, where he cultivated his spirit and nature, wrapping up his armor, planting vegetables, fishing, and watching the scenery every day.

Aside from the sword and dagger sounds still echoing in his dreams, aside from the constant phantom echoes of roaring war drums, he could already be said to have lived a peaceful life.

Until that day, the news of that man's death reached him.

He knew clearly: a man who achieved the Ninth Heaven level of Wu Gong at thirty could not possibly be drunk; if anything could affect him, it could only be poison—and in this vast world, only one poison could harm that man.

The Ying Kingdom's Fei Xin's blood.

Boom!!!

The weapon fell, shattering countless memories; Chen Fubì's lips bled, his double-bladed battle saber slashed down, repelling the spear blade surging toward him, then struck with the Break-Mountain Style, colliding head-on with the Divine General Jiang Su, who carried the might of a hundred thousand troops.

"Jiang Su!!!"

Yu Langwang roared, gripping his weapon with both hands and tearing forward in attack; the Qiongqi manifestation had nearly become real, continuously biting and lunging forward—he no longer needed any Wu Gong; every strike, every motion, was now a fatal kill.

Yet for some reason, in this moment demanding total focus, Yu Langwang's spirit drifted uncontrollably; past events surfaced one by one.

Back then, he and Li Wanli had joined forces to resist the attacks of this world's greatest divine general.

Back then, together they pacified the southwest, forcing the Yi tribes, who had rebelled for centuries, to submit to Central Plains rule; that boy had taken a pearl, floated down the river, gone to Jiangnan to marry—but no one knew who had accused him of embezzling gold and silver.

I went to fetch him; that boy still refused to yield.

In the end, the two of them fought inside the imperial palace, leaving each other bruised and swollen.

Look at how young they were then, how bold and fearless.

In the end, they returned to the beginning: he, then in his early thirties, had already served as the imperial court's frontline inspector; that boy, however, was merely a brash youth who had entered the martial world because of Chen Qingyan.

He remembered clearly: back then, he had gone to the military garrison just to enjoy the beauty hidden there; that boy had rioted over the army's withheld pay; the two had clashed over the oppression within Chen's army at the time.

He remembered clearly the clothes he wore, the armor he donned, the beauty in his arms, and remembered clearly that defiant boy.

"So, you brat—just who are you?"

I never change my name, never hide my identity.

The boy, still a teenager, wiped the blood beneath his nose, raised his eyebrows.

Jiangnan, Li Wanli!

I will walk ten thousand miles, meet the people of this world.

Remember this.

Clang!!

The double-bladed battle saber struck Jiang Su's weapon; the terrifying force of their clash compressed the surrounding air into a gale, sweeping outward in all directions—every arrow and qi could not approach.

The Divine General Jiang Su held firm against the frenzied Yu Langwang.

With both hands gripping the center of the Divine Spear Jiemie, he spun and struck repeatedly; spear tip and spear butt became like two short swords, raining down blows upon Yu Langwang's body, his armor—Jiang Su's Wu Gong was brutally powerful, amplified by military might and national fortune.

Cracks spread across Yu Langwang's armor; beneath it, the sound of shattering bones could be heard.

Yu Langwang gripped his weapon, then suddenly reached out and seized Jiang Su's white hair.

He yanked it fiercely toward himself; his weapon was locked, his Wu Gong suppressed—but he suddenly unleashed his brute force, pulling with that single tug, dragging the Divine General forward, then slammed his own forehead hard into the general's crown.

Once, twice, thrice.

The Divine General was wounded, blood staining his face, yet a faint fury glimmered in his eyes.

The Divine Spear Jiemie thrust out, striking Yu Langwang's chest.

Yu Langwang gripped his weapon and slammed it down hard onto the Divine General's shoulder, pressing the weapon down; the Qiongqi manifestation raised its head and roared, its aura surging— the full might of a Wu Dao Legend was fully unleashed.

The clash between two Wu Dao Legend commanders: the armies, unless arrayed and fortified, could not approach; Yu Langwang forced down the weapon, the overwhelming military might swelling—by his ears, the war drums grew bolder, grander.

The Divine General Jiang Su reached out and seized his double-bladed battle spear.

His expression was resolute, faintly tinged with arrogance.

The colossal golden-armored divine figure stood tall like a mountain, gripping a massive divine spear, driving it down with crushing force; from afar, the clouds of battle aura formed by the army were torn apart layer by layer—as if a mountain-sized giant had struck, piercing straight through the Qiongqi's back.

"Kneel!!!"

Yu Langwang fought back fiercely.

The two forces of Wu Dao Legend clashed violently; this aura surpassed even the battle against Zhang Ziyong—if the Longlife Guest had remained here, he would die unless he retreated immediately.

……………………

At the distant edge of the battlefield, an old monk emerged; the Western Region's living Buddha watched the stormy battlefield, watching Yu Langwang and Jiang Su—one an aged madman, the other a divine general who had lost all weakness after a crushing defeat.

After the colossal Divine General's manifestation struck, the winged tiger's momentum surged violently; after several more clashes, the wind and clouds churned, the entire world trembled—the wind swept away the clouds; the Divine General Jiang Su retreated in the wake of the momentum, refusing to fight Yu Langwang to the death.

The old monk sighed, clutched his robe, and rushed desperately inward; when he arrived, he saw Yu Langwang walking out of the battlefield, the Divine General Jiang Su forced into retreat—or rather, after such a clash, he refused to exchange blows with Yu Langwang.

The living Buddha saw Yu Langwang and paused slightly; the mighty king's armor was nearly shattered, his black battle robe and greatcloak drenched in blood; the Divine General's last strike had been too brutal—this warrior, barely stepping into the Martial Dao Legend, could not withstand it.

Not to mention he had no military might to bolster him.

No national fortune to support him.

The living Buddha was moved: "Yu Langwang…"

Yu Langwang's one eye was shut, blood streaming continuously; he stared at his opponent, glanced sideways at the old monk, and said indifferently: "Old monk, why are you here?"

The living Buddha said: "The old monk promised to accompany His Majesty and watch over hell."

"A monk never lies."

"Heh…"

Yu Langwang smiled faintly—weak, compared to his former self—and praised with a smile: "That's why they call you a living Buddha."

"You really know how to speak."

The old monk looked down with compassion at the wolf king, who stood tall before him, his body continuously bleeding. The old wolf king gazed at Jiang Su, who was gathering momentum in the distance, holding his twin-bladed battle knife. He let out a whistle, and his steed galloped swiftly toward him. The wolf king said:

"I know you want to die with me."

"But even as a friend, this is my final request, old monk."

The wolf king did not look at the old monk, only smiled:

"Take my corpse back to Li Guanyi and Chen Wenmian."

The old monk froze.

A calm smile appeared on the wolf king's face as he whispered: "As a soldier of war, knowing yourself and knowing your enemy is the key to great victory. Li Guanyi will face the Divine General, but that is only the general as a warrior—not the one who fights without restraint."

"But I will force the Divine General to reveal every single technique he has."

The old living Buddha's face twisted in sorrow; he understood the wolf king intended to use his own body as a trial, to gather intelligence and information for Li Guanyi and Chen Wenmian's future victory.

The wolf king paused, then said: "Of course, if it becomes too dangerous, just save your own life... don't throw it away recklessly."

"I no longer care much about the outcome for those who come after me. If you can, tell future generations what Chen Fubai's final battle was like."

"Let them know I was cruel. Let them know I was bold."

"But none of it matters."

"The war drums are growing louder—I cannot stop."

Jiang Su charged forward. The wolf king mounted his steed, took a deep breath—the scent of blood pierced his body. He spurred his horse toward the equally battered Divine General, gripping his weapon tightly.

Ripples spread through the air. The Qiongqi manifestation raised its head and roared, towering as high as mountains, becoming solid, tearing the earth as it surged forward. The Divine General raised his weapon toward Chen Fubai.

Chen Fubai's eyes locked onto Jiang Su's throat. The war drums pounded beside his ears, grim and relentless, urging him onward. Since childhood, when he had secretly slipped into the palace and struck that war drum, the sound had seemed forever lodged in his ears.

It was there when he served as military censor. It was there when he met Li Wanli.

Even in seclusion, the war drums had always followed him—each beat heavy, grim, pushing him forward. Why had he come here? Why this slaughter?

To fight for the younger generation? Ha—that was merely incidental.

To avenge Li Wanli? That was only one reason.

The reason I stepped onto this battlefield was not because of some grand cause—it was simply to ride freely across this battlefield. Why must there be so many reasons?

The wolf king stared fixedly at Jiang Su's throat. His steed galloped through the gale. The manifestation shook heaven and earth. Closer, closer—the distance shrank. In each breath, he felt the stabbing pain in his lungs, the agony of blood surging backward. The wind carried the grimness of swords and blades.

He raised his weapon and slashed forward.

This feud could end now.

The twin-bladed battle knife rose, then, fueled by the manifestation's power, slashed downward—transforming into the Qiongqi's fangs, shattering layers of Wu Gong, tearing through waves of qi. But this time, the fangs halted three inches from Jiang Su's throat.

No further progress.

The next instant, the wolf king's body stiffened abruptly.

The sound of metal piercing flesh rang out—clearer, grimmer than ever. The wolf king slowly looked down. His chest had been pierced through by the Divine Spear, Jiemie.

The winged tiger rampaging across the battlefield froze.

Then, beginning from its wings, it shattered layer by layer, dissolving into faint wind that swept across the entire battlefield. The wolf king watched as the spear seemed to vanish—then reappeared, already piercing his heart.

It was as if this technique was so overwhelming it created the illusion that the piercing of the heart and the strike happened simultaneously.

The Divine General Jiang Su, commanding his army, empowered by the fate of the Ying Kingdom.

Truly... terrifyingly dominant.

The wolf king, with admiration in his gaze, spat blood from his mouth.

Li Xiao, Wenmian—can you two stop this move, when he's in this state, fueled by the kingdom's destiny?

The Divine General Jiang Su gripped his weapon with both hands, facing Chen Fubai. Within the Ying Kingdom, he revealed his ultimate power. Winds rose, clouds churned. The golden-armored divine figure drove his weapon downward, utterly shattering the Qiongqi manifestation. Black gales surged.

White hairs at the wolf king's temples fluttered. His heartbeat gradually slowed.

He saw that his battlefield with Jiang Su had long since spilled beyond the army's boundaries. The brothers and comrades who had followed him here were all dead—his old companions, and Mr. Dongfang, all fallen.

Behind him lay ten thousand troops.

The old monk shouted something, running toward him.

Hmph... too far away. Can't hear a thing.

Can't hear.

After wiping out the wolf king's remnants, the remaining tens of thousands of troops formed layered ranks—mechanical crossbows, siege engines, bows, military souls—all deployed. One hundred thousand soldiers gathered their martial momentum, roaring in unison under the command of their generals.

The martial momentum of one hundred thousand troops coalesced into columns of fiery aura.

"Grand General of Loyalty and Valor, Taishu Yi of the Great Ying Kingdom!"

"General of Peaceful Distance, Baili Chen of the Great Ying Kingdom!"

"Cavalry General, Gongyang Yiyun of the Great Ying Kingdom!"

"Great Ying Kingdom..."

They pointed their weapons at the wolf king's back.

Chen Fubai heard no other sound—only the war drums.

One beat.

Another.

Heavy. Grim. Why does this war drum sound so loud, so irritating?

The wolf king lowered his head. In his final moments, he suddenly understood: the so-called war drum had always been his own heartbeat. The drum that had urged him, for this sixty-year life, to rise in defiance—it was the pulse of this man's heart.

'A man like me belongs on the battlefield.'

He suddenly bowed his head, a faint smile appearing.

The wolf king sharply squeezed his thighs against the steed. The elite dragon-headed divine horse reared its head and neighed, its eyes nearly brimming with tears—then, in an instant, it surged forward in a frenzy. A storm of wind erupted.

The divine steed's explosive acceleration nearly left afterimages.

The old monk shouted: "No!!!"

Thousands upon thousands of soldiers watched helplessly as the Wolf King's mount carried him forward, causing the divine spear Jingmie, whose tip had pierced the Wolf King's heart, to be dragged violently forward, almost entirely piercing through from his chest.

Fresh blood gushed from his back, turning into a vast mist of crimson.

Thousands upon thousands of soldiers fired arrows in unison, a myriad arrows launched together, guided by the formation's pull, streaking toward the Wolf King.

The Wolf King closed the distance to General Jiang Su in an instant.

He opened his eyes.

All memories—all the so-called children, the so-called realm, Li Wanli, and the woman of the Dan Tai surname—dissolved from this body and this heart; only the roaring, domineering beat of the drum crashed down upon his ears.

Someone like me…

Clutching the battle blade in both hands, he brought it down from above.

The General unleashed divine might, shattering the Wolf King's heart, his legendary martial physique, utterly to pieces.

At the same moment, the battle blade slashed diagonally downward, its aura like a rainbow, a strike born of death, cleaving across Jiang Su's face, carving a diagonal gash—General Jiang Su's left eye was severed outright by the Wolf King.

Zing!

The battle blade flew from his grasp, clattering to the ground, ringing with a mournful howl.

The Wolf Wang Chen Fubì's eyes were hollow and dim.

The vitality of his entire life burned out in this final surge.

Not from his wounds.

As a child, he secretly slipped into his father's treasury, where gold and silver treasures abounded, palace beauties like jade filled the halls, the arms depot held divine swords and weapons, and secret martial arts scrolls were everywhere.

But he disliked them all, pacing back and forth until he saw an ancient, plain battle drum—nothing more than an ordinary drum, kept only because it had once been used by a valiant unit that died fighting in the founding of the Chen state.

Young Chen Fubì clenched his fist and lightly struck the ancient drum within the secret chamber; it was nothing precious, and he soon forgot it—but after that, the drum's sound echoed through his entire life, never ceasing.

The drum surged fiercely, driving his life forward—this was his unyielding, restless ambition.

Thousands upon thousands of soldiers, swords and blades ringing, the drum's sound surged violently, then abruptly halted.

The drum fell, its final note.

The Wolf Wang Chen Fubì died on the battlefield.

Exhausted, he perished!

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