Chapter 541: Ask the World to Die

Warhorses thundered like rolling thunder; atop the towering Zhenbeixiongcheng, Li Guanyi clad in heavy armor, his battle robe whipping violently in the gale, stood beside Yue Pengwu, Yan Xuanji, and Wang Shunchen, their eyes locked forward.

The Divine General Jiang Su had arrived.

The two great armies faced each other.

In this turbulent era, the Divine General Jiang Su had fought the Duke of Taiping, the Wolf King, and finally slain the Divine Martial King—the supreme general who had sacrificed all to forge a legend—cutting out but one of his eyes before dying.

Undisputedly, the strongest general of all.

Yue Pengwu gripped the Liquan Divine Spear, the golden-winged Peng bird’s spiritual form unfurling behind him; he lifted his gaze, his phoenix eyes narrowing as he saw storm clouds gathering, the grim aura of war, and the vast, majestic expanse of the land.

The two armies stood opposed; though it was the sweltering sixth month of summer, the clash of these two terrifying military forces sent waves of cold through the air, as the martial qi surged toward the heavens.

Clouds churned overhead, charged with the sharpness of martial spirit.

Li Guanyi stared at Jiang Su—his hatred needed no words.

Yet Jiang Su’s military bearing, solemn and awe-inspiring, carried an indescribable pressure—even the elite of the Qilin Army, knowing they were to face the Divine General who had been invincible for three centuries, felt crushing dread.

Jiang Su…

Li Guanyi clenched the Jiuli Divine Weapon, Jintie.

Of the entire Qilin Army, of the entire Tiance Prefecture, only he could stand directly before Jiang Su—no one else could.

Life and death were grave matters, but he could not turn back.

He could never let another stand here; along this path, they had drawn ever closer to the ideals of their youth, yet lost too much—countless masters, friends, and comrades had perished on this road.

Nine years ago, it was right here.

Outside Zhenbeiguan, how many of those three thousand wandering soldiers still lived?

Thinking of this, a fire burned in Li Guanyi’s heart.

It was this fire that burned men, driving them forward through struggle.

His palm pressed against the gate of Zhenbeixiongcheng—built of coarse, hard blue rock, cold to the touch—and he gazed far beyond, as if still seeing that band of wandering soldiers, once arrayed in the Queyue formation against the Yuwen cavalry.

“Do you still know who I am?”

The Qin King whispered the first words he had spoken to those men all those years ago.

And so, that sorrowful courage still burned in the heart of this young man.

Against the Divine General, there was no chance of victory.

This was merely cold, numerical data.

Yet the courage to grip weapons, to roar and charge despite such odds—this was true will. Those who broke and surrendered at the sight of superior strength were not rational—they were cowards who called themselves wise.

There are times when one must advance.

Jiang Su leaned forward, gently patting his steed, gazing far at Li Guanyi and Yue Pengwu atop Zhenbeixiongcheng’s gate; seeing the banners fluttering in the wind, the twenty-two-year-old Qin King, gripping his divine weapon, radiated fierce majesty.

The Divine General sighed with admiration: “The Qilin are valiant, unmatched in combat.”

“If only he had five more years, when the Emperor grows old and dies, should he break through the passes, the realm would need no more strife—then we could simply yield it to him.”

“But you and I—we fight for that one breath upon the battlefield.”

Jiang Su recalled his youth, Jiang Wanxiang, and their final meeting—when he had marched to the steppes to ally with the warlords against the Great Khan. Jiang Wanxiang had smiled and said:

“My life, up to now, has been a grand play. All plays end, and all have their final climax—but before that, there must be the warm-up.”

“Chen Dingye may fall. I, too, must now make my final battle.”

As a co-ruler of half the realm, he staked his own life as a pawn, for but a sliver of victory.

The Wolf King did so. Chen Dingye did so. Even the defeated Great Khan did so.

When the balance held, powers entangled; but when opportunity came, the end of chaos often came within years. Jiang Su raised his hand, plucking at his white hair.

No general escapes death on the battlefield.

The Qin King, who had swallowed Chen Guo and seized half the Turkic lands.

It would take years to fully assimilate these vast territories; until then, while the land was conquered but not yet fused into his rule, he was most vulnerable.

And that was when Ying Guo’s chance was greatest.

The future of the realm may belong to you.

But not today.

“Wanxiang, let our great vow end this chaos,” Jiang Su murmured, gripping the Divine Spear, Jimie.

Everyone has their own will, everyone has their absolute reason to step onto the battlefield. In this chaotic age, on this field, both sides had lost too many comrades, too many friends—paid too bloody a price.

No good or evil, no right or wrong—only victory or defeat.

Today’s resolve, today’s slaughter.

Our lives.

On the annals of history.

Just a few words.

Yet for those few words, we stake everything.

The great array of Zhenbeixiongcheng activated; Jiang Su intended to charge straight through the city. In the past, bypassing such a fortress instead of storming it meant the city would cut off supply lines.

Then Zhenbeixiongcheng’s army would close in from behind.

The force crossing the city would be trapped, front and rear—certain death.

But now, no army or general stood before Jiang Su to block him. So even with the city at his back, Li Guanyi’s forces must fight—they must nail Jiang Su here.

He hoped Xue Shen and the others could exhaust Jiang Wanxiang’s final, desperate spirit, drain the last of Jiang Wanxiang’s legendary might and valor. For Jiang Su, his goal was the same: to drag the Qin King down here.

Exchange.

Two greatest men of the realm exchanging lives.

Li Guanyi clenched his fist and said: “Marshal Yue.”

Yue Pengwu looked at him. Li Guanyi drew a deep breath: “Go!”

The young Qin King turned and descended. His will, steady and calm, echoed his voice from years past: “Even if no reinforcements come from behind, you and I—this one battle—must claim the title of the greatest martial force in three hundred… no, eight hundred years.”

“Stop him here!”

“Even if it costs my flesh and blood.”

Yue Pengwu said: “Let me lead the vanguard.”

Li Guanyi said: “Only I can stand before him. Only I possess a body matching the ancient lords’ strength, and the Immortal Body of Everlasting Life. In this war, peace hinges on this moment.”

Yue Pengwu looked at the young man—only twenty-two.

His opponent was the ancient dynasty, the Ying Emperor who had ruled the realm for sixty years, the strongest Divine General of three centuries. Yue Pengwu whispered: “But your lifespan…”

The Qin King smiled lightly: “I’ve taken the Elixir of Immortality.”

But Yue Pengwu knew—the Qin King always led from the front, fought long and hard. In the western campaign, the Daoist sect had confirmed: the elixir’s power had long been spent. Now, it was a matter of dying.

As Li Guanyi passed him, his dark temple hairs lifted and fell.

His eyes remained fixed ahead, unwavering.

Time seemed to freeze, then reverse—as if that boy, who had rushed to him in his deepest despair, stood before him again: their youthful, naive eyes then, and now, eyes hardened by countless battles.

When those temple hairs fell, the boy of ten years past and the king of today seemed to appear beside him, overlapping.

“Marshal Yue’s life…”

“The peace of the realm.”

“Li Guanyi bore it.”

A complex expression crossed Yue Pengwu’s face.

The boy’s image faded like a dream; out stepped the twenty-two-year-old Qin King—the one who had conquered the west, subdued the southwest, shattered Chen Guo, and battled the Turks. The Qin King strode forward, as he always had.

He told the Qilin Army: “I shall be the spearhead.”

He walked on, always ahead.

They say those who carry firewood for others must not freeze in the snow.

But you are the one who carries the firewood.

The world praises those who save the emperor—but what of the emperor who fights to the death?

You hold half the realm. You’ve carved unmatched glory in history. You may be proud. You may indulge in pleasure. You may command generals from behind, promising rewards.

Why do you always walk first?

Did Chen Dingye and Jiang Wanxiang earn fame merely by leading from the front? But you—every time—you fight to the death. When all generals are lost, they look up—and see the crimson Qilin battle robe, ever flaring.

The roar of the Qilin echoes across the battlefield.

Without that, how could these proud, defiant lords of the realm ever willingly die, spill their brains and livers?

The young emperor clenched his fist and told the Qilin generals and hardened soldiers: “Charge together!” Then he personally formed the line—leaving behind those with aging parents, no brothers, newly married men—to hold the city’s defenses.

Yue Pengwu finally lowered his gaze, whispering: “Pengwu… will serve as flank guard.”

The Qin King turned his head, offering a puzzled smile.

Then strode away.

This young age, this Qilin Army—all these individuals, varied in nature yet embodying the flame of the new generation—had gathered not for any other reason, but to weave a dream so intoxicating, and step by step turn it into reality.

In all of history, nothing is worth dying for more than this.

The Qin King rode out himself.

The Qilin Guard followed, relying on Zhenbeixiongcheng’s rear support, striving to pin Jiang Su here, preventing his advance—the Qilin’s spirit entwined with the golden dragon, the golden-armored divine figure.

The two armies faced off—ten years of glory, decades of solitary toil, three centuries of chaos, eight centuries of great age, three emperors, two battlefields.

The Lord of Jiuli, the Divine Spear Jimie, raised and pointed far ahead.

A brutal fight.

The war drums rolled. This time, the Qin King rode the Qilin into battle; the fire Qilin’s fur bristled slightly. As a auspicious beast distinct from the Red Dragon, it sensed Jiang Su’s difference today and said: “Guanyi—what if we can’t win?”

Li Guan said: “If you can’t win, run.”

The Fire Kirin froze: “???”

Li Guan said: “I never told you—I carry a ding inside me. That ding represents my essence, qi, and spirit. If I fall, take the ding and run...”

“Just like your auspicious beast.”

“Look at that ding. Don’t fear. One day, I’ll return—just as your auspicious beast reincarnates.”

The Fire Kirin hesitated. Li Guan smiled, then gripped the Divine Weapon’s Master. The battle erupted in an instant. The fortification array atop Zhenbeixiongcheng activated, massively amplifying the Kirin Army’s combat effectiveness.

Then he suppressed the General of Armies, Jiang Su.

Countless mechanical arts erupted: colossal revolving crossbows fired bolts capable of piercing warhorses; ignited boulders the size of houses, studded with jagged iron protrusions, crashed into Jiang Su’s formation.

They exploded—hundreds of bolts shot outward from internal mechanisms.

Wang Shunchen gripped his battle bow.

His beard and hair bristled as he fired arrow after arrow. His fingers split from overexertion, blood streaming to his elbows. Yue Pengwu charged the flank with heavy cavalry, driving straight into Jiang Su’s ranks.

But Jiang Su ignored it all.

He led his army forward in a full charge.

At any cost, at any price, with the most straightforward, yet most brutal, method—he would claim victory. Jiang Su’s intact eye fixed on the young monarch, and in the monarch’s eyes, he saw his own reflection.

Blood boiled.

A towering golden-armored god struck violently. The colossal golden dragon coiled around him roared, shattering the clouds overhead. The Kirin bellowed, shaking the heavens, charging the golden-armored god. Two war-soul manifestations clashed high above, leveling the clouds.

Clouds shattered under thunder and fire, spraying light like whirlpools. A colossal storm and swirling cloud vortex, inverted like a chisel, slammed into the earth. Thunder roared through the clouds, unleashing torrents of rain.

The Kirin’s battle-soul flame burned within the clouds.

A golden auspicious-tier divine eagle tore through the clouds.

Dodging the glowing arrows of Ying’s famed generals, it stirred up storms to disrupt enemy accuracy. The eagle’s piercing cry cut across the battlefield.

The Kirin Army’s heavy armor—dark ink-colored, blending the styles of ancient hegemon armies, Tie Futu, and Central Plains design—eschewed luxury and intricacy, yet excelled in defense. It clashed with Ying’s armor—crafted over three centuries of dynastic change, elegant yet flexible, refined yet resilient—like two tidal waves colliding.

“Kill!!!”

Blades clashed, spears thrust in unison.

Li Guan and Jiang Su fought, the Kirin’s roar spewing flame.

This time, no grand momentum, no external force to rely upon.

Strategically, only Li Guan could use his own vitality and physique to forcibly delay time, to block the General of Armies. The Tiger Roar Halberd and Cloud-Shattering Bow had been entrusted to Yue Qianfeng to deliver to Xue Shen.

Li Guan gripped the Jiuli Divine Weapon, striking it against the Divine Weapon, Jiemie.

Their clash shook the world. Even on the battlefield, a near-li-wide void formed around them. They fought desperately; when the storm-rain stirred by their clash neared within a li, it shattered into mist.

Blood trickled from Li Guan’s lips. His chest and abdomen bore wounds, yet his weapon never wavered. As long as the Kirin’s battle robe still fought ahead, his comrades knew he still stood.

The Kirin’s roar echoed across the battlefield.

The Kirin’s morale remained.

Jiemie’s spear pierced armor, pierced Li Guan’s shoulder—but the Jiuli Divine Weapon’s metal quivered without hesitation, shattering Jiang Su’s protective qi, striking him hard. Jiang Su was forced to retreat.

He looked at Li Guan: “Less than two years, and you’ve grown this far.”

“Good.”

Li Guan’s blood dripped. He raised his weapon: “You’re not bad either.”

Still defiant, Jiang Su said nothing more. He unleashed every strike—no hesitation, no restraint. Li Guan gave everything to hold his ground, the spear slashing or thrusting.

This place lay beyond the influence of the Nine Ding.

No need for the Nine Ding.

Li Guan poured all his being into the battle. He knew the Nine Ding could not grant him passage to become a martial legend. His path was the 【Unification of the Nine Provinces】—only when all nine dings were fully forged would his transformation occur.

Quantity was insufficient.

If this were enough, then the Sword Madman, who spent over a decade in meditation, abandoned his sword, picked it up again, and cared nothing for the sword—would be a joke.

Jiemie spun and thrust. Li Guan’s shoulder armor shattered.

The Kirin and Li Guan were pushed backward. The Kirin’s claws sank into the earth, useless. Li Guan twisted his palm, planting the Jiuli weapon’s haft on the ground, spinning up, and kicked out—his leg wrapped in a crimson dragon.

The dragon’s roar was ferocious, the strike absolute.

He kicked Jiang Su squarely in the chest. Jiang Su grunted, blocking with his spear—but was still driven back, blood appearing at the corner of his mouth, shock in his eyes.

Excellent physique!

If Chen Guo’s fate-energy could now enter his body to break through, then the Regent Chen Chengbi’s arrogant, death-defying breakthrough into martial legend would be a joke.

The Qin King roared, gripping the halberd, sweeping it horizontally.

The blade roared with the tiger’s fury.

It slashed diagonally against Jiang Su’s raised Jiemie spear.

Jiang Su raised his hand, grasping the halberd’s blade. His beard and hair bristled as he strained with all his might.

He lifted Li Guan, the Kirin, and their weapons together.

He slammed them violently into the ground. The Kirin spat blood, gasping, struggling to rise—but the eighth-tier Kirin was momentarily drained. Li Guan’s halberd braced the earth, yet Jiang Su’s dragon-tiger steed let out a cry and collapsed onto the battlefield. Chixiao Sword sang as it flashed past.

Jiang Su looked at Li Guan.

Li Guan rose, leaning on his weapon, wiping blood from his lips, eyes blazing.

He stepped forward, charging. Jiang Su stared at his still-bloodied steed, then looked up at the charging Qin King. The General of Armies raised his weapon. The golden-armored war-soul raised its blade and slashed downward.

Had Zhang Ziyong not been so stubborn, he would not have become obsessed like a demon.

Had Dao Zong not been too Zhi , how could it have been bound by the Dao, estranged from it?

Li Guan glared, eyes wide, watching Jiang Su unleash his full strength. Their auras tore at each other, ripping open the battlefield. Behind the Qin King, the tiger, crimson dragon, Kirin, black tortoise, and blue phoenix swirled. Jiang Su gripped his weapon—three centuries of vast battlefields.

The General of Armies clung to victory—only by retreating a step could he see what he sought. The Sword Madman, undefeated for two centuries, only achieved clarity when he no longer cared for the sword. Chen Chengbi sought a grand desire, yet ended with no desire but battle. Jiang Wanxiang, the Emperor, could burn his life as flame to step forward.

The only thing I cling to is myself.

The only thing that stands in my way is me.

Cut me down.

The Nine Ding rang out, its final power gathering. The Wolf King’s trust, his own grand vow, the legendary spirit forged on the Turkic battlefield, the grief from Ji Zichang’s death—all shattered open.

【SEE ME】!

Are you a servant of the Nine Ding—or its sovereign?

Without treasures, you are still you—with that fierce courage, you can break through. Otherwise, even with all nine dings united, you are merely a shadow bound by the 【Legend】.

My name—

Li Guan.

Flames tore skyward. Ten years of battle, the heroic courage and determination to conquer the world burned completely, coalescing into the name Qin. The roaring flame of a martial legend erupted.

At twenty-two, he took this single step.

After that step—

He surpassed Dao Zong, Longevity, and Array Master.

He stood equal to the General of Armies.

Jiang Su’s resolve exploded instantly. Li Guan understood: every decision he made defined who he was. Familiar voices echoed in his ears.

Qian Zheng’s resentment, the Ghost Market’s wails, Ye Buyi, Zhou Liuying, Ji Zichang’s smiling face, the Ancestor Elder, the Master—all pressed their hands upon his shoulders, pushing him forward.

Li Guan’s heart grew clearer. The martial legend’s perception became divine.

Until a faint, illusory laugh.

“Guan Yi.”

A hoarse, aged voice.

Li Guan stepped into empty air.

Great-grandfather?!

In an instant, the Jiuli Divine Weapon and Jiemie spear fell. The Qin King’s temple hair drifted down. Jiemie pierced his shoulder. Jiang Su’s pupils contracted. Jiuli pierced his abdomen. How absurd.

The battlefield surged yet fell silent. The General of Armies and the Qin King’s spirits aligned in a single moment.

What talk of conquering empires? What talk of the General of Armies’ three centuries of cold detachment? Two hearts, in that instant, stirred with unstoppable waves and ripples.

In the south, there was a swordsman.

An old man.

He called himself a swordsman, yet no one could quite explain it. Many in the south had seen him—fishing, playing the qin beautifully, reading books, sometimes visiting local village schools, teaching children to practice sword forms.

Just sword forms. Nothing remarkable.

The forms were the basic ones taught throughout the Kirin Army.

But he had a gentle nature. Many children loved watching the old man practice. One day, he wielded a branch, undisturbed by the great war. After practicing, he placed the newly compiled basic sword manual on the table.

Then he set down a written recipe, and placed a small seal.

Dressed in a simple blue robe.

Wearing sturdy, well-fitting cloth shoes, he picked up his sword and stepped out.

Closed the door.

The lock clinked softly.

In front of ten thousand soldiers, this old man—who practiced sword forms, fished, played the qin, and wrote recipes—held a green bamboo staff, yet radiated bold spirit. Yuwen Lie and He Ruo seized tigers stood on guard, wary.

He gripped his sword and charged straight into the ten thousand!

The great river surged down from snowy mountains, spanning vast lands before entering the sea. Freshwater and seawater differed greatly—where they met, the water split into two colors: one clear, one turbid.

This is what is called the clear distinction between Jing and Wei.

Now, looking down from above, one saw the rivers and lakes blocking the halls of power and battlefields, yet they flowed like a great river entering the sea.

Sword light shimmered like silver frost and brilliant snow.

Five hundred thousand troops were split open by the sword; Yuwen Lie, He Ruo Qinhu, and Qin Yulong were all forced back by a single blade—only that long spear, its banner pointing beneath the blazing ink-blue dragon pattern of the heavens, stood the Emperor Ying, clad in heavy armor and a great cloak, leaning on his sword.

The swordsmen of the rivers and lakes tore through the great army.

Sword qi stretched thirty thousand li; one blade’s glow chilled nineteen provinces.

He paid no heed to what lay behind him, free and unrestrained; the Emperor of Ying, leaning on his sword, remained as majestic and awe-inspiring as ever, his voice booming like a bronze bell:

“Murong Long Tu, why have you come here to seek death?”

The swordsworn in blue robes laughed freely:

“The halls of power, the battlefields, the rivers and lakes—all of them.”

“The world looks down on the rivers and lakes, yet I say: the freedom of the rivers and lakes is nothing like the petty scheming of those who sit upon the throne.”

Clearing the turbid, raising the pure.

Heaven and earth churned; some sought to crush the young flame beneath the weight of eight hundred years of chaos and the past. Yes, one solution was for the young to fight, to bleed, to carry the world on their flesh into peace—but there was another way.

The past of this world was not only the halls of power.

The old bastards are not dead yet!

This swordsman, as if having drained eight hundred years of river-and-lake romance, raised his green bamboo staff, his brow lifted, still radiating the same unrestrained vengeance and righteousness that once toppled the world of rivers and lakes, and cried aloud:

“The world is in chaos; the man of the rivers and lakes, Murong Long Tu, has this one sword.”

Sword qi filled the air.

A swift wind swept across a thousand li of southern rivers.

“Let this eight-hundred-year world come to its death!!!”

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?? Synopsis:

?? In the vast river of five thousand years of history, cultivators left behind countless legends like stars—and he was the brightest of them all.

?? He was the celestial immortal honored by kings and generals, the cloud lord depicted in poetry and song, the deity sung of in folk nursery rhymes.

?? Now he reenters the mortal world, walking among the masses as an ordinary man.

?? Until one day, hidden history turned a page, and legends from the cracks were proven true.

?? Only then did people realize: the immortal is right beside me!