Charge Forward Under the Rising Sun

As dawn arrived, the dried bloodstains on the city walls grew even more vivid under the morning light.

Qu Sheng, gripping his spear and clad in white robes, ascended the battlements, savoring the warmth of the rising sun—for by tomorrow’s sunrise, many might never see it again.

And among them... perhaps even himself.

But before the thought could fully form, he spotted two figures standing atop the walls, their silhouettes stretching long and imposing against the morning wind and sunlight.

"Young Hero Li, Fairy Ying... weren’t you...?"

Qu Sheng’s eyes widened briefly in surprise before settling into calm admiration.

"Commander Qu, Han Zhen has now turned to the Demon-Summoning Scripture and employed blood sacrifice rituals. If we don’t eliminate him, victory will remain beyond our grasp," Li Mo said softly, his gaze fixed on the enemy forces assembling below.

"But holding the city is already a near-impossible task," Qu Sheng shook his head.

Han Zhen was not only cunning but also a seasoned fox.

Yesterday, despite Li Mo’s provocations, Han Zhen had endured them all.

How could such a man, entrenched within layers of defenses, be slain?

The War Golems of the Witch Spirits, the countless enemy soldiers, and the ferocious calamity beasts were no mere puppets.

"Then I’ll charge into their formation, cut down their commander, and seize their banner," Li Mo replied with a light chuckle, as if discussing nothing more than having an extra bowl of porridge for breakfast.

"You..."

Qu Sheng wanted to argue that tales of single-handedly slaying generals and turning the tide of battle were just that—tales.

In reality, such feats were far from simple.

But when he met Li Mo’s gaze, he saw not reckless bravado but the depth of careful consideration. The young man’s bright eyes held an inexplicable profundity.

Yes, Li Mo had already witnessed the brutality of war.

He was no naive youth chasing glory.

"If Han Zhen dies, the enemy forces will collapse, and Qingmu City will be free from further threats. But... how do you plan to do it?"

Li Mo answered, "I now have the confidence to harness the power of a hundred armors."

"?!"

Qu Sheng’s eyes widened.

That would make him... a warrior capable of facing ten thousand?

Even the legendary ancient conquerors were said to possess such might.

And those conquerors were born with divine gifts, beginning their training far earlier—at Li Mo’s age, their cultivation would have surpassed his.

"Ying Bing will support me with her music," Li Mo continued.

"Once I harness the power of the hundred armors, I’ll strike with a single decisive blow."

He clenched his fist, watching as the enemy forces below formed orderly ranks at the city’s gates.

Qu Sheng fell silent for a long moment. Finally, the iron-willed commander of Qingmu softened his gaze.

"Someone, fetch my battle armor and present it to Young Hero Li."

"Brother Li, didn’t you say you can’t ride a horse? We can use our combo technique!" Huang Donglai interjected through gritted teeth.

Li Mo had gifted him the Cloud-Treading Boots—but if Li Mo couldn’t ride, how would he charge alongside the army?

They’d have to resort to their infamous "Double-Faced Turtle" combo!

"No need, Brother Donglai. Focus on refining your poisons instead," Li Mo replied with an amused smile.

With a thought, wisps of white clouds gathered before him, coalescing into a steed of mist—its hooves wreathed in smoke, an ethereal sight.

After comprehending the divine form of the Great Sage’s Heavenly Uproar, even his previously mastered abilities had taken on new meaning.

The Somersault Cloud—why must it be just a cloud?

Boom—

Boom—

Boom—

The battle cries of the Witch Spirit War Golems shook the heavens.

Their eyes blazed with ghostly green flames, their auras growing even more ancient and formidable after yesterday’s battle.

Meanwhile, the warriors of the southern tribes had eyes tinged red, their bodies displaying bestial mutations—a sign of their fused ancestral totems.

This was the power of "Ancestral Spirit Possession."

The martial arts of the Demon-Summoning Sect’s Beast Hall were derived from this very technique, modified by Han Zhen himself.

A black tide of soldiers surged toward Qingmu City like an unstoppable flood, making the fortress seem fragile in comparison.

Han Zhen stood atop the temple-palace, hands clasped behind his back.

Faint, dark crimson patterns flickered across his exposed skin.

Today’s battle would be even bloodier than before.

Both sides held their breath.

Perhaps... this clash would decide the war.

Thud—

Thud-thud—

Thud-thud-thud—

The thunderous beats of war drums, crafted from the hides of legendary beasts, echoed like the heartbeat of Qingmu City itself, shaking the very ground.

The defensive runes along the walls flickered in response.

And then—

The city gates swung open.

A storm of hoofbeats erupted as Qingmu’s soldiers, mounted on exotic steeds, charged outward in a fearless assault.

"The Qingmu defenders dare to attack us head-on?"

"Hah! Abandoning their natural defenses to meet us in the open—they’re courting death!"

The besiegers roared in delight.

But Han Zhen narrowed his eyes.

Something felt... off.

"Could this be a diversion? Perhaps to let someone slip through?" mused the Beast Hall’s master.

The "someone" he referred to could only be Ying Bing and Li Mo.

Yet just as this thought crossed his mind, he spotted a figure charging at the forefront, mounted atop a white-cloud warhorse.

Li Mo?!

The Beast Hall leader's face twisted in shock.

"Has Li Mo lost his mind? And he’s dragging the Greenwood garrison into this madness with him?!"

Even Han Zhen couldn’t comprehend why Li Mo would abandon the city’s defense to join the cavalry charge—let alone lead it from the front.

And more than that.

His gaze burned like molten gold, piercing through the sea of soldiers.

He was looking straight at him.

Yet another baffling anomaly that defied explanation.

But the memory of yesterday’s bluff—the humiliating trick that had outmaneuvered him—tightened his fists.

"All forces, halt the siege!!"

Wait, if Li Mo was charging headlong into battle, then what about Ying Bing...

Zheng—

At that moment, the thunderous beats of the war drums atop the city walls grew sharper, more intricate.

The metallic clangor of a battlefield anthem roared across the plains, its soul-shaking resonance drowning out all other noise.

Ying Bing sat atop the battlements, her jade-like face cold and composed, fingers dancing across the strings of a zither.

She was accomplishing two feats at once.

First, she wielded the Thunderbeast-hide war drums, weaving them into the "Heavenly King’s Battle Anthem," merging the two in an unimaginable fusion that birthed an unparalleled war hymn—bolstering allies and striking terror into the enemy.

Second, she channeled the Phoenix Radiance Qi, directing the army’s formations.

Two cavalry units had surged forth.

One led by Li Mo, the other by Qu Sheng himself.

"Encircle and annihilate them!"

Han Zhen’s shrill voice sliced through the chaos.

Instantly, the towering, archaic war golems of the Witch Spirits, the endless tide of black-armored soldiers, and the grotesque high-tier calamity beasts all converged.

The war golems exuded a primal, savage lethality; the enemy soldiers hammered their vine-armor with blades; the calamity beasts snarled in monstrous, twisted forms.

Against this overwhelming force, the two cavalry units seemed insignificant—almost pitifully small.

There were only so many horses.

Out of eighty thousand troops, how many could realistically be cavalry?

Even with the infantry rushing behind them, it still felt woefully inadequate.

"Whoosh..."

The wind howled past.

As Li Mo listened to Ying Bing’s battlefield anthem, the "Heavenly Battle Secret Art" stirred within him unbidden.

His blood felt set aflame.

The warhammer in his grip burned white-hot.

A fragment of memory surfaced—his past life’s haze, an old retired soldier living upstairs who loved blaring opera at sunrise, robbing him of sleep.

Just like now, charging into battle beneath the morning sun.

What was that old man’s favorite tune again?

The thunderous roar of Peking opera seemed to echo in his ears:

‘Kin in peril, wrath unbound;

Through enemy lines, demons abound.’

...