Chapter 430: Ten Thousand Armies Arrive

Li Guanyi's words carried far with internal force, causing Xiong Tianrui, Meng Zehao, and others to pale slightly; they exchanged glances, a mix of shock and confusion—this Li Yushi also wanted to lead the Southwest out into the world.

Could he also be an ally?

While they remained uncertain, Duan Qingyu said: "Young Master Yushi, what do you mean by 'the world'?"

Li Guanyi smiled: "The scenery of Jiangnan is fine; the western deserts hold their own grandeur."

"What do you think, King of the Southwest?"

Xiong Tianrui and Meng Zehao both felt a jolt in their chests.

Bad!

He's here to ruin things!

Just as they moved to stop him, Duan Qingyu's eyes lit up, and he burst into loud laughter: "Hahaha, good, good, good! So this is it—all is Chen Tianyi!" He extended his hand, a torrent of overwhelming internal energy surging forth, lifting the twenty-four pearl orbs.

He activated his movement technique, soaring into the air, gazing at the rising tide of popular will, and declared loudly: "Our Southwest Kingdom has long dwelled here; our people have never sought to contend with the world. But halting this overwhelming tide does not mean our kingdom will remain forever at peace simply by refusing to compete."

"For three hundred years, warfare has never ceased."

"More than twenty years ago, we made an alliance with Tai Ping Gong and Yu Langwang—this is the first."

"Our people have enjoyed twenty years of rest and recuperation."

"Now, our former national treasure has been recovered; we have jointly signed the alliance pact with Qin Wu Hou—this is the second."

"But suddenly, a new change has arisen: the national treasure was lost again, and the Nine Li Divine Weapon, Jin Tie, blazed with brilliant light—thus it is said, whoever obtains these pearl orbs can awaken the Nine Li Divine Weapon, Jin Tie, and shall lead our Southwest Kingdom to prosperity—this is the third."

"Now, the Divine Weapon, Jin Tie, has not yet awakened."

"But the auspicious sign has returned."

"Whoever obtains these pearl orbs, accompanied by the auspicious sign, has also proposed an alliance with Qin Wu Hou—these three elements united—are they not Heaven's decree?!"

Xiong Tianrui's head felt numb; Meng Zehao was stunned and furious.

They had never expected that the King of the Southwest, who appeared bold and unrestrained, even overly lax and idle, would think so swiftly at this critical moment and instantly seal the matter.

In shock and fury, Meng Zehao drew his blade: "You damned rascal!!!"

Tai Bo Yong swept his wolf-tooth club with the power of Peak Sixth Heaven, forcibly blocking Meng Zehao.

Duan Qingyu seemed utterly unaware; he revealed his Dharma Form, and with the bolstering of his profound internal energy, his voice rang far and wide:

"Let all my fellow townsfolk and elders know!!!"

"We go to form an alliance with Qin Wu Hou—the Fifth Divine General of the World."

"He is the son of Tai Ping Gong Li Wanli, who made the alliance with us more than twenty years ago; his father's pact now rests upon his shoulders. The return of our national treasure and the manifestation of auspicious signs all prove that Tai Ping Gong is our Southwest's honored guest."

"Qin Wu Hou is our Southwest's honored guest!"

"These three—past, public will, and Chen Tianyi!"

"Now that we proclaim it openly, who could possibly refuse?!"

The winds of the world stirred, but those affairs of heroes and champions were far removed from the Southwest; even King Duan Qingyu needed Xue Shuangtao of the Changfeng Lady to deliver news from beyond.

The people of the Southwest knew something of the upheavals in the Central Plains.

But the relationship between Qin Wu Hou and Tai Ping Gong was not known to all.

Now, Duan Qingyu had just stepped on the faces of Wang Taihong and others, forcibly linking the stirred public sentiment and prestige they had cultivated to Qin Wu Hou—after long, bitter efforts, they had merely made clothes for someone else's back. Even Xiong Tianrui and Meng Zehao were stunned and furious.

What startled and enraged them was not the fact that the King of the Southwest intended to ally with Qin Wu Hou.

It was the realization.

Once this succeeded, their plan would fail—and whether in the Southwest's thousands of li, or in Chen or Ying's Central Plains, or even in Qin Wu Hou's western lands or Jiangnan, the entire world would offer them no place to hide.

How could they not be stunned? How could they not be furious?

But Xiong Tianrui saw deeper: "Duan Qingyu—the general repeatedly defeated ten times by Tai Ping Gong and Yu Langwang—has such skill, vision, courage, and decisiveness?"

He began to realize a problem.

Could Duan Qingyu actually be very strong?

Yet because the legends of Tai Ping Gong and Yu Langwang in the Southwest mostly carried a gentle, harmonious aura, their deeds, in the end, were always the same:

They arrived, there was a fight, and they won.

Duan Qingyu retreated dozens of li in defeat.

Plain, simple, almost as if anyone could have done it.

But if Duan Qingyu possesses such decisiveness and vision, then what skill and level must those two famed generals have?

He suddenly felt a sharp, agonizing regret—he had boarded the wrong ship.

But it was too late to turn back; Meng Zehao, a valiant general of his region, realizing all was lost and that negotiation or stratagem could no longer achieve his goal, immediately resorted to force.

His Xuanbing-grade blade flashed from its sheath; with a low roar, a black bear Dharma Form appeared behind him, its aura fierce and overwhelming—this signified a Grandmaster-level warrior had unleashed his full power.

In just a few strikes, the experienced, steady, yet merely Sixth Heaven-ranked Tai Bo Yong was wounded and forced back; Meng Zehao had no time to cut down the damned old bastard—he swung his weapon, unleashing a 【Furious Wind Dance】 toward the sky, tearing through the air.

"Attack!!!"

Duan Qingyu's brow darkened; he activated his technique, his Dharma Form roaring and swelling violently. The King of the Southwest's first reaction was to step directly before the people, shielding them with his supreme divine art.

The once serene and lively Wang Cheng suddenly erupted into chaos.

Meng Zehao seized the initiative and shouted: "All attack together!"

Hundreds of armored soldiers, clad in armor and wielding weapons, formed ranks and surged forward; the martial aura of the formation settled upon them, and Meng Zehao instantly gained three-tenths of confidence—he raised his hand and tore off his ornate robe, letting it fall to the ground.

Beneath the robe was a suit of iron armor, gleaming with cold, lethal light.

The plan had changed, but this capable general seized the moment.

Meng Zehao charged forward, shouting with bold confidence:

"Left Army! Right Army! Where are you?!"

But few answered him; his triumphant expression froze. He suddenly sensed something was wrong—but there was no time to think. Li Guanyi sat atop the auspicious sign, watching the armored ranks charge toward them.

The Nine Li demonic energy in his right hand seemed to grow denser.

His left hand pressed against the Auspicious Beast's back.

Li Guanyi whispered inwardly: "Help me. This is the southwest. Before the pact is sealed, if I strike first, the people will resent me. You are the southwest's Auspicious Beast—your action is only natural."

The Auspicious Beast's face trembled. "I'm not good at fighting…"

Li Guanyi said: "Five giant basins of beast milk."

The Auspicious Beast's thoughts froze, caught in struggle.

Li Guanyi said: "Do you know of a sect in the Central Plains called the 【Beast Manor】? They specialize in caring for exotic beasts and crafting the tastiest giant basins of beast milk."

"Special-made!"

"And lucky for you, I have such talent under my command."

The armored soldiers had formed ranks and charged alongside Meng Zehao. Li Guanyi roared: "They're not here to fight you!"

"They're here to steal your bamboo shoots and seize your beast milk!"

The Auspicious Beast roared in fury, rearing up on its hind legs, facing the hundreds of armored soldiers, and slammed its massive bulk downward. This Iron-Eating Beast was no ordinary panda—its weight and physical strength were extraordinary.

The hundreds of armored soldiers turned pale, raising shields in unison to form a wall.

The Iron-Eating Beast's paw came crashing down.

The heavy shields shattered in unison; over a hundred men tumbled backward. No dazzling Auspicious Beast techniques, no inner qi manifestations—just a simple, brutal charge, splitting the shield wall wide open.

Behind the broken shield wall stood spearmen, holding long spears.

But they dared not attack the Auspicious Beast. At that moment, the Auspicious Beast let out a roar. Meng Zehao gritted his teeth, hardened his heart, and lunged forward with his dark weapon, his Black Bear Manifestation exploding with power, swelling into a mountain-sized form, immense and thunderous.

He pierced through the soldier ranks and crashed headlong into the giant Auspicious Beast.

Two colossal forces erupted, colliding, unleashing a storm that toppled nearby bamboo towers, cracking the ground with deep fissures. Meng Zehao, a Master at forty, froze in shock.

No, no!

He had already manifested his Master Form.

His Manifestation—the Pushing Mountain Bear—was renowned for pure strength.

Yet now he could not budge the Auspicious Beast.

How could this Auspicious Beast be just a symbol?

Meng Zehao strained desperately, but before all eyes, the enraged Auspicious Beast pushed him backward. His massive Black Bear Manifestation, taller than the tallest building in the Southwest Wang Cheng, was forced steadily back, leaving two deep grooves in the earth.

Hold on! Hold on!

Damn it—I can't hold!

Meng Zehao screamed, gritted his teeth, and unleashed a blade aura from his long knife, stabbing straight for the Auspicious Beast's neck. Even Xiong Tianrui's face paled in fury: "Meng Zehao, are you mad?!!"

Meng Zehao's eyes bulged. "If we don't kill Him, how will anyone know our ambition surpasses even the Auspicious Beast?!"

His blade aura was a Master-level Wu Gong—capable of splitting mountains and severing rivers.

Li Guanyi's right hand tightened, ready to draw the Tiger Roar Spear—but the Auspicious Beast seemed to awaken, roaring and opening its mouth to bite down hard. In the clash of weapons, the Auspicious Beast clamped its jaws around Meng Zehao's blade.

Then, as if by instinct, or as if taught, it snapped its head sideways.

Crack!

The dark weapon shattered.

Meng Zehao stared, stunned, as fragments of his weapon and blade aura scattered before him. In that instant of tearing apart the blade, the Auspicious Beast revealed a solemn, terrifying aura.

Was this the Auspicious Beast of later ages—or the Auspicious Beast of millennia past, who battled the Ancient Crimson Dragon?

The Auspicious Beast tilted its head upward and bit down like swallowing bamboo shoots, crushing it to pulp.

At the same time, Meng Zehao's body was yanked from midair, slammed to the ground. The Auspicious Beast's claw pressed down, pinning his broken dark weapon to the earth.

Meng Zehao gasped for breath, face pale, sweat beading on his forehead.

That exchange hadn't been fighting a harmless Auspicious Beast—it had been battling a martial master.

Iron-Eating Beast…

Laozu, you name it.

Should we name it literally?

Meng Zehao stiffly raised his head. Before him stood the giant Auspicious Beast, motionless. In its true form, it stood nearly three stories tall, its black-and-white fur rippling slightly in the wind, as if blotting out the sky and casting vast shadows.

Meng Zehao stood frozen.

The Auspicious Beast pressed its left claw on the weapon, raised its right claw.

After a moment's thought, it spat directly toward the direction of its own claw.

Expressionless, it swung its paw forward with a sharp *pam*.

Pure physique. Pure strength. Enveloped in a gale, tearing through primordial qi.

Meng Zehao's Black Bear Manifestation roared—then was slapped across the face by the Auspicious Beast's paw. The colossal bear form shattered instantly, torn apart by the wind, sweeping every window and door along the street into violent chaos.

Meng Zehao's hair was flattened backward by the wind's pressure. He stared blankly ahead, staggered, then collapsed backward onto the ground, his heart pounding wildly.

The Auspicious Beast swung its paw backward and struck Meng Zehao.

The Master felt as if struck by a mountain hurtling at full speed.

He was flung hundreds of zhang backward, like a siege crossbow bolt, accompanied by a thunderous boom. He embedded himself into the city wall, writhed weakly, limbs dangling, then passed out cold.

Li Guanyi looked at the Auspicious Beast: "Didn't you say you couldn't fight?"

The Southwest Auspicious Beast answered as if stating the obvious: "I can't fight—but that doesn't mean they can. How are you even dumber than me?"

Meng Zehao's rebellion was swiftly quelled.

His forces were too few—only a few hundred armored soldiers. Even with a surprise strike, they never gained momentum. Then, suddenly, several screams rang out. A handful of soldiers staggered out, pale and clutching the walls.

They were the Left Army Captain—who should have been burning the grain stores.

The man's face was ashen. He rushed out: "General! Disaster!"

"Someone spiked the food with Ma Fei San. Even my fourth-layer Wu Gong couldn't hold out. The men—all mostly second-layer—are all knocked out, General!!!"

More men staggered over from another direction—captains and warriors sent to burn the armory, their faces ashen, screaming:

"General! General!"

"Someone slipped strong castor oil into our drinks, General!"

"Someone has struck at us!"

The two captains rushed out, then suddenly spotted Xiong Tianrui over there; both flew into rage, drawing bows and crossbows to shoot him, shouting: "General! It's this man! It's the work of Yan Daiqing, under Mu Taihong!"

Xiong Tianrui blocked with his blade, a stifled rage choking his chest, nearly spitting blood—these two captains were indeed brave, still standing despite their condition—but after only a few exchanges with Xiong Tianrui, they realized the ambush, the auspicious omen before them, Tai Bo Yong swinging his spiked club with ease, effortlessly subduing them both.

Though the incident was sudden, Duan Qingyu's protection had spared the people of Wang Cheng from harm; yet just as Duan Qingyu had no time to speak with Li Guanyi, news arrived: a large army had arrived outside.

Duan Qingyu's face darkened; Meng Zehao, though badly wounded by the Iron-Eating Beast's blow, possessed a Master's body beyond human limits and was now awake, bound tightly—he laughed loudly: "Hahahaha! Even if you've defeated me, what does it matter?"

"Hahahaha! I'm merely an inside man. Tang Yichen, Qiu Yihan, why hide? Hahahaha! Aren't we allies? We may have failed our strategy, but other cities long ago dispatched their elite troops."

"Now eight hundred thousand troops have gathered—how many garrison soldiers do you have in this city?"

Meng Zehao laughed again: "Hahahaha! Defeating me changes nothing!"

The auspicious omen, drinking from a large bowl of beast's milk, lifted its head, deep in thought.

It made its decision.

Another slap.

And the world fell silent.

Duan Qingyu climbed the wall to look—and saw tens of thousands of troops advancing, their armor unlike any elsewhere: from the Western Regions, rich in mountains and waters, made of special materials neither metal nor iron, wooden in appearance yet impervious to blades.

This was the unique armor of the Western Regions' elite.

Light as light armor, yet nearly as resilient as heavy armor, it allowed soldiers to link their Qi more easily, forming battle arrays; in these mountains and forests, they moved like flying, swift and agile—Duan Qingyu had once relied on such elite troops to clash repeatedly with Li Wanli and Chen Fubi's forces.

Though defeated, these "heavy infantry" who moved as if on flat ground had given Li Wanli and Chen Fubi great trouble.

At that time, these two central plains generals had seen the Western Regions' heavy cavalry, the Turkic Tie Futu, the Yan Empire's Tiger Barbarian cavalry—but never a troop type so resilient, executing such tactics in such complex terrain.

They moved like flying.

Li Guanyi's gaze swept over, subtly sensing the martial aura, deducing the enemy's numbers: not eight hundred thousand, but still tens of thousands—cutting off the city's escape routes, surrounding it—troublesome indeed.

Li Guanyi suddenly understood Jiang Su's situation that day.

Even if the enemy had a million troops, Li Guanyi could escape.

But to single-handedly crush an army led by a Seventh Heaven cultivator?

That was impossible.

Jiang Su had been just like this…

Duan Qingyu moved to mobilize the troops of Anxi Wang Cheng—perhaps gathering ten thousand men. Li Guanyi observed them alone. Master Wen Qingyu arrived on the wall, somehow in an unknown capacity, smiling: "Lord."

Li Guanyi looked at him and said: "Master, your methods are impressive."

Wen Qingyu smiled: "They trusted me too much."

"I merely invited them to drink some wine."

"Just added a tiny bit of seasoning."

"Truly, just a tiny bit."

Li Guanyi asked: "How many compound ingredients?"

Wen Qingyu replied: "Only thirty-seven. They're just too weak."

Li Guanyi: "…………"

Looking at this earnest, sincere master, Li Guanyi could not tell whether his own worldview was flawed—or whether the norms of the Fire Qilin Army and Tiance Prefecture were. He only stared at the Western Regions' flying troops.

Wen He said: "Lord, are you worried about these troops?"

Li Guanyi answered: "Yes. They're troublesome."

Wen He said: "Lord, do not fret. To me, this is simple."

"I sense the wind rising—soon, a northwesterly will come. Then, lure them into a valley, douse them with oil, and when the wind rises, unleash but one Fire Qilin flame—eight hundred thousand troops will become ash."

"This armor resists ordinary fire and water—but when oil floods them, the wind fuels the blaze, and the Fire Qilin flame burns through—no problem at all."

Li Guanyi's brow twitched, stopping Wen He, sighing:

"Master, we don't need this yet."

Wen He smiled: "Please call me, Southwest Yan Daiqing."

Li Guanyi fell silent.

If Yan Daiqing burned the Western Regions' flying troops after torching the Tangxiang Wang Cheng, that gentle, jade-like gentleman of Jiangnan would never wash clean his name—future Shi Guan would surely record it.

Tiance Prefecture's Chief Secretary: outwardly refined, inwardly a master of ruthless schemes.

This legend was too wild.

Li Guanyi rubbed his temples: "Master Yan Daiqing would be furious if he knew."

Wen He laughed: "No matter. There'll be next time."

Li Guanyi chuckled, shook his head, pressed his hands against the wall, and asked about the others' status; Wen He answered each in turn. Li Guanyi looked at the army and said: "These tens of thousands are themselves the Western Regions' elite."

"Though their city lords harbor rebellion, these soldiers may not know—each army follows orders; ordinary troops have no idea what they fight for, or against whom."

"To burn them with this plan would violate the Dao of Harmony."

Wen He said: "It won't harm the Dao of Harmony."

"But Lord, you see hearts—not just victory. Yet now, the city has no troops or generals—even if Wang Cheng has its own soldiers, they won't obey you. Even a skillful housewife cannot cook without rice. What can be done?"

Li Guanyi turned toward another direction, sensing a familiar martial aura: "Then it is time to reveal our trump card. The matter in the Western Regions must be concluded."

Li Guanyi clenched his five fingers; threads of golden light gathered.

Forming an ancient, simple war bow.

Divine Weapon: Break-Cloud Thunder-Sky Bow!

Li Guanyi gazed into the distance; about a hundred li from this place, a faint aura of martial wrath gathered like clouds—he had sent a letter, and in just over ten days, Chen Wenmian had led his army across this distance, pressing straight toward the southwestern frontier.

Li Guanyi said: "We have our own elite force, and it is stronger than theirs."

"Now that the southwest is our ally, how can we not come to aid when our ally is in peril?"

The Bai Hu manifestation roared; Li Guanyi gripped the divine weapon and drew his battle bow.

Qi gathered and coalesced into an arrow, nocked upon the bowstring.

After building momentum, Li Guanyi released the bowstring.

A beam of light shot skyward.

It crossed the distance, hurtling toward the towering, steady military formation—iron armor gleamed, banners stood in rows; Chen Wenmian wore full armor, one side flanked by Xiao Wuliang, his arm severed, the other by Xu Huiyang, at the peak of the Sixth Heaven.

He had arrived with his troops several days ago, but had not advanced recklessly.

He sat there, unmoving.

Xiao Wuliang looked at Chen Wenmian, his expression complex; since the death of the Yu Langwang, this former Crown Prince—who had once been as gentle as jade—had changed day by day, gradually growing steady, his brow slowly acquiring the bearing of a great general.

When the Yu Langwang, his father, was still alive, Chen Wenmian could still be himself.

But now, the world was in chaos, and the Yu Langwang was gone.

Chen Wenmian held his father's weapon, leading the fifty thousand Canglang Guard cavalry he had deliberately been left, slowly becoming more like him.

Xiao Wuliang sighed.

He did not know whether this was good or bad.

Whether Chen Wenmian should remain himself, or whether this version was better.

If the King were still here… what would he do?

He thought of that bold, unrestrained monarch—and imagined that if the man were here, he would only laugh loudly and curse: "You come to ask me about this? Do whatever you want!"

"Dare boldly!"

"Proceed slowly!"

Suddenly, a sharp aura pierced the sky; Xiao Wuliang opened his eyes and looked toward that direction—in the southwestern mountains, an arrow shot skyward, the true, unmistakable aura of Qin Wu Hou.

Qin Wu Hou had marked his position.

Xiao Wuliang's gaze sharpened; suddenly, he sensed a shift in the steady, mountain-like military formation—the aura surged like a tide. He turned and saw the young man before him open his eyes and reach out to grasp his weapon.

A chilling, deadly energy slowly awakened.

"The moment has come."

Thirty thousand Canglang Guard riders rose in perfect unison, mounting their horses; an indescribable aura of deadly solemnity radiated from the motion—this, the finest raiding and stealth cavalry in the world, evolved from the Yu Langwang's night-riding troops, moved as one, with Chen Wenmian seated before them.

Chen Wenmian, twenty years old.

Commanding—fifty thousand.

He raised his weapon's tip, pointing forward—as if pointing at the tide of the world, at the deadlocked states; on his young face, the sharp edge of the Yu Langwang's youth finally emerged. Chen Wenmian spoke slowly, word by word:

"By the Lord's command."

"Beat the drums."

"Advance!"

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