Chapter 519: Those Eight Hundred Years of Fiery, Gallant Spirit in the Central Plains

The specially made hook-sickle spear howled in the wind, emitting a low, murderous hum.

Zhou Xianping froze. He felt as if he were dreaming, watching a tall young man riding a dragon steed charge forward, cleanly cleaving and killing that Turkic war-general, then vaulting down from his horse, reaching out, and seizing the hook-sickle spear that had been driven point-down into the ground.

Crash—

When the wind blew, the newcomer's battle robe billowed, carrying with it an aura of deadly killing intent.

The armor on his body, and that billowing Fire Qilin-patterned battle robe, proved his identity.

The young man passed him by, walked to the front, and then naturally took command of the Zhou family's hook-sickle spear phalanx's formation, as if he had been learning it since his youth. He had studied this formation for too long, was far too familiar with it.

Zhou Xianping murmured: "... Liuying?"

The child that Zhou Xianping once protected had surpassed him, stepping onto the battlefield of the realm.

But, how could he be here?

Zhou Liuying lightly kicked the rear end of his war spear; the hook-sickle spear spun a full circle and was gripped in his hand. The spear's blade pointed forward, and the war-general from the Fire Qilin army stood together with Chen Kingdom's final, death-defying elite.

Zhou Liuying drew a deep breath.

This had once been the scene of his dreams—at least, the dreams of his youth.

But at this moment, he merely gripped this long spear, standing within Chen Kingdom's military formation, his voice cold and murderous: "War-general of Qin Wang, Your Majesty—Zhou Liuying, under orders to reinforce. Chen Kingdom's Zhou family hook-sickle spear phalanx awaits your command!"

"Brothers in arms, together we shall overcome this hardship."

"Hook-sickle spear formation, rise!!"

And Ye Zhongdao looked at the young man in armor, gripping a long spear, his expression aloof and silent. Both men were momentarily dazed, but that young man urged his warhorse forward and naturally merged into the entire momentum of the Night Gallop cavalry.

Ye Buyi was silent, his gaze fixed ahead, a long spear in his hand, still as ever concise: "Chen Kingdom has no more reinforcements."

"But."

"The men of the Central Plains still do."

The men of the Central Plains still do.

These five words alone were enough to dissolve the hostility of an elite army like Chen Kingdom's Night Gallop cavalry. Indeed, under such circumstances, on such a battlefield, the appearance of a Central Plains general was already enough to earn trust.

Reinforcements... eh?

Which general would they have sent?!

Was it Yue Pengwu, or Chen Wenmian and Xiao Wuliang?

Or perhaps...

The murderous hum of weapons spread outward; the hoofbeats of warhorses struck the ground, the sound like rolling thunder.

Zhou Laosan spat, raised the blade in his hand. His helmet had fallen off somewhere—who knows where. Anyway, after that thing had taken a saber strike for him, it had earned those few pieces of iron.

His hair hung over his face in the wind, soaked with blood, damp and sticky, truly a sorry sight. Summoning all his strength, he pulled his blade free from the face of that Turkic man across from him. That fellow was still young, so his experience wasn't rich enough.

So he fell for it—this was the experience he'd picked up rolling around on the battlefield.

Falling for a trick like that, no loss, no loss.

Damn it, I've also rolled around in the Hall of the King of Hell, that's how I learned this move.

He strained to lift his head. He was an old soldier, an old soldier with no real skill. Not every soldier had the talent to cultivate Wu Gong. A man like him couldn't learn martial arts, couldn't learn letters either; most of the rewards he got were spent on drink and meat.

He'd been scraping by under heaven for how many years now? His hair had gone white, but he still couldn't scrape by properly.

Still just a rank-and-file soldier. He'd once been a squad leader of five, but later when the soldiers all died, he hid under the bodies of those fellows and survived, got beaten a dozen or so times with a staff, and was stripped right down to the bottom.

And so in a muddled way, years passed.

But he didn't understand, didn't understand.

How did former brothers-in-arms become traitors? How is it one day you fight this one, the next day you fight that one? How, as you keep fighting, do you forget your country? The thoughts of those lords and famous generals—he truly couldn't figure them out, couldn't think them through.

He was just a rank-and-file soldier, had never seen any great general.

The biggest official he knew was a Captain, in charge of their hundred-odd men. Wherever the boss told them to strike, they struck. But how, as they kept fighting, did Great Chen end up a ruined state?

He panted heavily, drew his blade. The blade was bound tightly to his hand with coarse cloth, to keep his grip from slipping. He grinned: "Hey, hey, hey, Zheng Old Dog, you said it—if I survive this one, I'll go back and drink up your burial money..."

He heard no reply.

He glanced sideways. Zheng Old Dog's blade lay tossed aside, its edge curled.

How could he tell at a glance it was Zheng Old Dog's blade?

Because at the handle's grip, that old fool had carved a silly dog's head.

That fellow had lost his parents young, his sister married off several hundred li away, unseen for decades. He heard that when she gave birth to her seventh child, it was still a girl at a glance; she couldn't catch her breath and died in childbirth.

He only had one dog.

Central Plains blades were sharp, but not hard enough. Damn it, those barbarians wore a layer of thick armor on their bodies, like a slab of pig iron. A sharpened blade swung out, hacking at that thing, and the edge would curl in one strike.

If you weren't careful, if you put a little too much force, the blade would snap.

Zheng Old Dog had enlisted the same year he did.

That year they campaigned in the Western Regions, General Lu Youxian led them.

General Lu Youxian's tactics, those in the know all knew—one word: steady.

Two words: boring.

Zheng Old Dog, that fellow, only had himself to feed so the whole family never went hungry. Maybe he was bored stiff, and from somewhere fished out a dog, raised it like his own child. Everyone laughed at him, and as they laughed and laughed, it became Zheng Old Dog.

Zheng Old Dog had flared up a few times, no use—the angrier he got, the happier everyone was.

How happy? Just by mocking him, just laughing at him.

If you, kid, aren't happy, then the brothers are happy.

That fellow kept his head down and said nothing, but his dog was protective, yowling and barking. Everyone laughed even harder. Still, though they mocked him, they didn't truly bully him—any bones they picked up, they'd toss them to that dog too.

That dog, sly as could be—anyone who gave it food got its tail wagging hard. But when it saw those fellows who mocked Zheng Old Dog the hardest, seemingly chewing on a bone, secretly it would surely lift its leg and, whoosh, pee right on their shoes.

Some dimwit even went and sniffed it, feigning shock: "Zheng Old Dog, what the hell have you been feeding this dog?! It's getting inflamed!"

"Embarrassing!"

That time Zheng Laogou's dog got seized — supposedly some soldiers under the neighboring Captain had a craving for dog meat, so they took the dog. Zheng Laogou raised a fuss, and the Captain himself led men to catch them. Neither side used weapons or armor; they had a good long brawl.

In the end, both sides were punished. While they stood there taking their punishment, Zheng Laogou's dog stood there too, holding its body ramrod straight, as if it had been counted as a member of the army.

Zhou Laosan gasped for breath, both hands gripping the saber hilt, looking at the surrounding Turks.

A few years back, Zheng Laogou's dog died.

Now, he too is dead.

Looking around, his own side was few, the enemy many. The barbarians opposite seemed to have burrowed straight out of the grasslands. Zhou Laosan, ever the chatterbox, staggered backward step by step, slashing his blade diagonally forward, muttering as he went:

"Zheng Laogou, you useless bastard, how could you just die like that? Didn't you say we had to live to go back and raise another dog?"

"You died easy — dumping all these grassland barbarians on me — how am I supposed to fight them?"

"You died, what am I supposed to do?"

"After you died, the brothers on our side really only have me left — all the rest are dead."

Zhou Laosan raised the blade in his hand, pointing it at the barbarians ahead, gasping for breath. There would be no more reinforcements from behind, no more brothers-in-arms who'd rush out half-dressed to brawl over a dog.

He stood here, and beside him there would no longer be a little dog strutting about, chest puffed out, standing right here too.

After he died, would his own unit's designation just be gone?

At this moment, he suddenly found himself caring about this matter of no consequence.

"Third year of Tianhe, Vanguard Battalion of the Gui Battalion, under the Deputy General."

"The last man."

Zhou Laosan thought these words in his heart, exhaled a breath, gripped the saber with both hands. His right hand was bound to the hilt with cloth; his left hand seized the blood-soaked strip of fabric, wound it several times around, gave it a hard yank, and said in a low voice:

"Is it too late for me to run now?"

He paused, then changed his tone: "No running."

"Not allowed."

That sentence seemed to have been spoken on behalf of those brothers-in-arms who had fallen in battle in different places.

He didn't know why he still had to keep fighting, didn't know why Great Chen had gradually declined, didn't know why Great Chen was about to perish as a nation. But he only knew — Zhou Laosan, who had lost the great momentum of Chen — swung his blade and roared: "Come on! Fight!!!"

He was just a common soldier, a common soldier found everywhere, one who didn't know what he was fighting for, didn't know why fighting had started again, didn't know why he'd lost, didn't know why the nation had fallen — but who had always kept on fighting.

A man of no particular skill, a living, breathing person.

Knowing there were no reinforcements behind him, knowing he couldn't go back.

Then let them slaughter each other. Not knowing how he'd ended up at this step, then let them slaughter each other. He swung his blade in fury — but the next instant, an arrow fell from the sky, the arrow carrying a terrifying streak of light, seeming to bore straight through this position.

Boom!!!

Zhou Laosan's motion froze. The heavy-armored Turkic soldiers here had actually fallen. The sound of hoofbeats — reinforcements?! But in Zhou Laosan's mind, the thought had only just arisen when he crushed it back down.

Reinforcements?

There would be no more reinforcements. There wouldn't be.

More barbarian soldiers — but why had these soldiers died? He stood there in a daze, turned around, looked into the distance. From within the dust kicked up by the hoofbeats, one great banner after another tumbled down.

Before his eyes were cavalry, heavy-armored cavalry. That onrushing aura of killing intent was, without a doubt, the absolute great killing weapon of a true battlefield, the very pinnacle of the pinnacle. Zhou Laosan's body seemed to freeze; he seemed to have lost the power to move.

He stared blankly ahead. Ten thousand soldiers thundered forward, but as they neared him they suddenly split apart. The special heavy cavalry in crimson battle robes parted as naturally as quicksilver pouring across the ground, and a great banner unfurled.

A crimson Fire Qilin pattern, a great banner bearing the character Qin in ink-black.

Qin Wang.

The elites of Chen fell into a daze, as if in a dream. They watched the army of an enemy nation appear on the battlefield, and then, at the moment the Turks slammed head-on into Chen, this force bored in from the flank, tearing the Turks apart.

The Great Khan's brows furrowed, then finally eased.

He felt no surprise — only regret.

In the end, he had bet wrong.

But, no matter what, he had already given everything he had, already done the best he could. To fight with such desperate abandon — even in failure, it was better than waiting for death in the grasslands while the Central Plains were unified!

On the grasslands, a brave and fierce people should die on a galloping horse!

How could they die amid fine wine and song and dance?!

Chen Tianqi saw the arrival of reinforcements, and amid his joy suddenly noticed that the Great Khan — who should have been trapped in a desperate situation — had his aura flaring up violently, carrying a kind of calm acceptance, a kind of resolve, and fought with desperate bravery.

And at this moment, above this chaotic battlefield, two sharp, tearing whistles suddenly pierced the air.

Arrows split the sky, their killing intent chilling, piercing across the entire battlefield. Chen Dingye raised his head — two arrows shot past, nearly grazing his face. The arrows carried a fierce gust of energy that nearly sliced his temple hair clean off; white hair flew up and fell.

Those two arrows lodged into the shaft of Chen's great banner, sinking deep.

Chen Dingye raised his hand, caught the white hair falling by his temple, and gazed calmly into the distance. There, in silence, stood the one clad in ink-black armor, wielding the Tiger Howling Heaven Battle-Halberd — Qin Wang Li Guanyi — and, beside him, a youth in silver armor and a white robe, gripping a double-bladed long weapon.

Chen Wenmian.

Chen Dingye gazed deeply at that handsome young divine general.

Just now, it had been Li Guanyi and Chen Wenmian who had loosed those arrows — arrows that had shot away Chen Dingye's temple hair. This represented their killing intent, and, the restraint of that killing intent.

Before this great enemy, your head is temporarily left on your neck for now.

The Fire Qilin Army joined the battlefield. At their head, Qin Wang brandished his weapon, the battle-halberd grim and deadly, cutting down the Turkic war-generals charging toward him one after another. These fierce Turks fell. Qin Wang's gaze swept into the distance, landing in the direction of the Great Khan.

The Great Khan forced Chen Tianqi back. The Second Divine General, white hair flying, sat atop his divine steed, looking at Qin Wang with a solemn, murderous expression, and murmured: "Qin Wang… Qin Wang…"

"I had meant to kill a Chen Dingye, and instead Qin Wang comes."

"Li Guanyi, last time the Sword Madman came and disrupted both our tempers. This time, it should be the two of us who settle who's superior."

Qin Wang raised his Tiger Howling Heaven Battle-Halberd; blood dripped from its edge. Qin Wang rode his mount at the front of this battlefield. The youth's voice rang out, solemn and calm, in the ears of the Fire Qilin Army and Chen's last remaining elites.

Word by word, measured, like the beat of war drums.

"I am Li Guanyi, of this generation of the Scarlet Emperor, Grand Marshal of All Armies Under Heaven."

"Commander of all armies under heaven."

"The Turkic barbarians have come to invade the Central Plains."

"Finally, in the name of the Grand Marshal of the Red Emperor's armies, I give the order!"

The Tiger Howling Heaven Battle Halberd cleaved down violently, the steel's keen shriek like a tiger's roar, pointing at the grassland ahead, pointing at the Tie Futu ahead, the young Qin Wang's black hair at his temples lifting, a surge of qi roiling in his throat, his voice carrying across the entire army.

"In facing the enemy, the Chen Kingdom and the Qin Kingdom, all officers and men, await your command."

Li Guanyi's voice was low, he said softly:

"Even if the Red Emperor's prestige is no longer at its peak, gentlemen, let this be the last time, shall we, fighting side by side once more…"

How could someone like me stoop to grubbing about like a dog after flies, doing those tedious things?

His qi surged and unfurled!

In an instant, the martial aura of the military arts shrouded the layered clouds above.

Silently, the aura of the Divine General representing the Qin Wang spread out, at once enveloping the entire battlefield, enveloping the Chen Kingdom's last elites, enveloping the fierce generals of the Fire Qilin Army, signifying that, so long as the Chen Kingdom's elites were willing, they could fight side by side with the Qin Wang.

But if they were willing, they could also strike against the Qin Wang's aura.

A momentary stillness.

The Qin Wang's right hand gripped the divine weapon Tiger Howling Heaven Battle Halberd, his left hand reached into his bosom, slowly drawing something out.

A dark golden faceplate.

He gripped this faceplate, slowly covering it over his face, black hair flying.

The Fire Qilin's roar surged up to the heavens.

Of course, as in legend and epic, at this final, most valiant hour of the Chen Kingdom's destruction, before this last blazing blood, in this most tragic battle defending the Central Plains' frontier, when the Chen Kingdom's last great battle saw two hundred thousand troops fight to the death until total annihilation—

【Tai Ping Gong】, once again appeared at the Chen Kingdom's edge.

Once again appeared before the Chen Kingdom's soldiers.

Once again, lifted his weapon.

Once again told them, you and I, side by side again.

A moment of silence; Zhou Laosan trembled his lips, he looked at that back, in a daze instinctively stepping forward one pace, just a simple single step, but this time, those who stepped out were slightly more numerous.

The Chen Kingdom's last elites, and the Fire Qilin Army, stepped forward in unison.

In an instant, the aura of slaughter rose, soaring to the heavens.

The Bai Hu's roar pierced the sky, but at the moment the tiger's roar reached its peak, the converging flowing light blazed grand and vast, the Chen Kingdom's and Qin Kingdom's strength gathered together, finally transforming into golden-red scales, layer upon layer surging up to the sky.

Transforming into a crimson dragon, the crimson dragon roared and sang long, shaking the four wilds.

The Tiger Howling Heaven Battle Halberd leveled down, its killing aura pointing at the Great Khan ahead, whose expression was complex; the Qin Wang's mount raced forth, emerging from the direction of Beicheng, leading the army to the rescue; Chen Tianqi was staking his own lifespan to fight the Great Khan, but saw Li Guanyi had already arrived.

The Great Khan exerted all his strength, bursting forth inner qi, forcing Chen Tianqi back.

Yan Xuanji then, with this grassland's fortune, with his own bold valor, fought with all his might.

In Li Guanyi's hands, the Tiger Howling Heaven Battle Halberd rose and cleaved out, the dragon and tiger's roar shaking the four directions.

The Great Khan rallied his courage and met it fiercely.

Upon this grassland, bolstered by the army's battle momentum, he and Li Guanyi exchanged several strikes, neither gaining the upper hand, until finally the two divine weapons collided together, and he roared angrily: "Li Guanyi, Chen Dingye bears the enmity of killing your father and mother before you, how can you conspire with him instead of joining hands with me?!"

The Qin Wang's halberd came down, saying: "Family feuds and national hatreds, naturally both must be avenged."

"But—"

The Tiger Howling Heaven Battle Halberd cleaved down heavily; the Great Khan, relying on his troops and battle momentum exceeding what Li Guanyi currently led, under the army formation's augmentation, blocked it head-on.

The Qin Wang gripped the Tiger Howling Heaven Battle Halberd with one hand.

His other hand rose, pressed upon the halberd's shaft, as if pressing down, bit by bit, pressing it downward, killing aura surging, he said word by word: "One thing at a time."

"First we defeat the foreign foe together, then we settle matters between me and Chen Dingye."

Then he heard the grey wolf's howl; Chen Wenmian had arrived, brandishing the weapon in his hand, cutting off the other war-generals' support to the Great Khan; Li Guanyi had the Great Khan pinned down; Chen Tianqi's wrist moved, and Chen Baxian's weapon nearly spiraled out in a thrusting stab.

Chen Baxian's spear art crushed mountains.

Xue Shen's halberd art rolled up waves.

After a parting of five hundred years, appearing once more upon the battlefield, the two of them, who had had some friction between them back then, could trust each other on the battlefield, and on this day, again facing the great battle against the grasslands, again a slaughter.

Divine weapons and ultimate arts, like old friends sharing a smile.

The Great Khan finally could not withstand the joint assault of two Divine Generals among the world's top ten.

The Great Khan retreated.

Blood at the corner of his mouth, he looked at Li Guanyi over there, and said slowly: "It was I who thought poorly… a pity, a pity, I never expected you could truly set aside your own hatred and come against me."

"Since it is so, this old man need say no more, words to sow discord between you and Chen Dingye."

"Then come, let us fight to the death."

"Li Guanyi!"

The Great Khan reached out, wiping the traces of blood from the corner of his mouth; at this moment, he actually felt a sense of exhilaration and boldness—before his stratagem began, he had already made his resolve: if it succeeded, it could strike a blow against the Central Plains' resolve for unification.

And now that it had failed, even in failure, it was nothing more than death.

What difference did it make?

The world surged, the age of chaos had reached this point.

Even he himself was not free…

But very soon, the Great Khan realized something was wrong; the supplies from the rear had suddenly slowed, the rear army had actually failed to arrive as agreed, failed to continue joining up.

The Great Khan's Expression Solemn, Chen Dingye smiled lightly:

"Hahaha, Great Khan, oh Great Khan, do you truly think that what I, this king, stake everything to accomplish, is merely to take your life?!"

"Do you think your life is really worth that much?!"

The Great Khan's heart sank.

All these years of feuds and grudges—Chen Dingye, with his own life, with two hundred thousand of the Great Chen's elites turned into a mire of flesh and blood, had held the Great Khan fast, dragged him to death here, forced to summon his army for support, but now, his reinforcements clearly had failed to arrive.

Could it be that the intelligence had been intercepted again?

The great army, in which the Great Khan had placed such high hopes, and the young war generals had indeed received orders; they knew that their Great Khan had been held fast at the front by that poisonous dragon of Chen, who had used his own flesh and blood to forge chains. They were anxious too.

They followed the Great Khan's military orders and dispatched the great army forward, yet this mighty force of a hundred thousand troops had to halt its steps before a mere eight thousand. The mother river of the grasslands flowed past.

The armor on those eight thousand cavalry up ahead bore markings like the stripes of a fierce tiger.

Before this mother river that had nurtured the grasslands for thousands of years stood an old man. His bearing was solemn and dignified; outside his ink-black armor hung an ink-black great cloak, falling calmly, a solemn black, like towering immovability, like iron-cast mountains.

A spear, unusually long, was held at a slant.

Yet it awed the entire hundred thousand army behind on the grasslands and those valiant war generals, so that they, holding a hundred thousand troops, dared not advance a single step. They did not fear those eight thousand cavalry — a hundred thousand army also had famous generals; how could a mere eight thousand stop them?

What truly awed them was only the man up ahead.

One spear, one man.

The spear was named Jiemie — Oblivion.

The man was called: God of War.

The foremost divine general of the Central Plains, Jiang Su.

Enters the battle.

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