Fierce Battle

The distant echoes of Peking opera still lingered in Li Mo's ears. A biting wind whipped against his face, stirring the dark sea of enemy formations like ripples across a lake—each ripple a grotesque, flickering manifestation of savage totemic spirits.

How did the next verse go?

His memory blurred. There was no time to dwell on it now.

Crash—

He charged headlong into the enemy ranks, the might of sixty armored battalions surging through him like divine power. His starlit staff swept forth a gale of force, instantly shredding dozens of warriors bolstered by totemic blessings into a crimson mist, until the assault was halted by the shield of a monstrous turtle totem.

The spray of blood still carried fading warmth.

Like the tip of a spear, he plunged deep into the carnage of flesh and steel, carving a path toward his target.

The cacophony of shattering armor, dissolving flesh, and the roars of totemic spirits melded into chaos.

"Avenge the young chieftain!"

A towering figure clad in heavy armor burst through a wall of rattan shields, his exposed skin hardened into a shell, the same monstrous turtle totem flickering behind him.

He was akin to an inner-realm martial master—though he had no inner realm of his own. Everything he was had been devoted to the totem spirit; the spirit was his inner realm.

With a roar, he swung a long-handled golden mace, the force of the blow accompanied by the bellowing of the turtle totem.

Clang—

A deafening metallic crash shook the earth.

The mace exploded into fragments under Li Mo's strike, the shards piercing dozens of rattan-armored warriors. Its wielder met the same fate as Helian Wu—even the turtle totem flickered violently, its form destabilized.

The war colossi moved slowly.

Yet now, four of them stood in his path, each distinct—a towering human-faced serpent, a fiery Zhu Yan, a calamity hound, and the blackwater turtle from before. They bolstered their clans' warriors while lumbering forward like mechanical titans, their massive forms descending like collapsing mountains.

Their targets weren't just Li Mo, but also the Ironwood Cavalry following him into the fray.

If the cavalry fell, the battle formation empowering him would weaken. Then, even if he were at the Outer Scenery realm, he’d be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

"Anchor the Mountains!"

Li Mo’s cloud-steed kicked up mist, slowing the already sluggish turtle colossus further. The steed galloped up the titan’s pillar-like leg.

One strike.

The force of the battle formation channeled through his weapon, and spiderweb cracks erupted across the ancient bronze. A shockwave burst forth, and the millennia-old colossus groaned before toppling like a felled peak.

The shattered remnants of its gathered faith—countless blackened souls—erupted in a wailing tide.

"The Turtle Sovereign’s totem… shattered?!"

Before the command tent, the Beast Hall Master stood frozen, arms crossed, pupils trembling.

Even an Outer Scenery expert shouldn’t have been able to destroy a war colossus so easily.

Had this brat truly harnessed the full might of thousands of cavalry in formation?

"Not just that."

Han Zhen’s blood-marked arm greedily drank in the battlefield’s carnage.

The Ironwood Cavalry’s formation alone, amplified by the Song of Slaughter, shouldn’t have been enough.

There was something else in that boy—a secret rivaling even the ancestral spirits.

"What is he trying to do?"

The Great Wind Clan’s totem spirit’s gaze flickered uneasily.

As long as their colossi stood, sustained by the faith of their people, they were immortal. But if their idols were shattered, and no one remained to worship them…

The Blackwater Turtle had been on the verge of revival. Now, unless the Imperial Preceptor reforged its idol, it would fade forever.

And if their colossi took a hit from that staff…

"It’s me."

Han Zhen’s face darkened before he suddenly threw his head back in laughter, blood surging with each breath.

"Him? A mere Observing Divinity realm warrior… charging through an army of thousands—"

"—to kill me?!"

The faces of the disaster-beast avatars twisted.

If Han Zhen died—

Who would gather the Great Shang’s fortune? Who would repair the Bronze Divine Tree?

Many of them had been awakened by Han Zhen himself.

Their eyes locked onto the figure in the distance—a lone beacon of unyielding battle-will, cutting through the black tide, unstoppable.

"Bring me that boy’s head!" Han Zhen snarled. "I’ll drink to it!"

The monstrous figures vanished into the temple’s shadows.

"Turtle God!"

The warriors of the Helian clan howled in rage, throwing themselves forward with even greater frenzy.

And the remaining three colossi still loomed—

Scorching heat seared Li Mo’s armor red-hot. Tendrils of blackened souls, remnants of shattered faith, coiled around him, only to be burned away by his battle-will and formation power, their shrieks piercing the air.

But the clinging weight of the souls slowed him—a tactic unlike any martial technique he’d faced.

He couldn’t order the Ironwood Cavalry to retreat now.

A charging rider only stops when dead or victorious.

On the city walls—

"Rongyuan ballistae! Clear a path for the Commander and Young Master Li!"

Wu Lang roared, his bloodied hands gripping the bowstring of the last remaining ballista, muscles straining as he drew it back.

"Loose!"

A storm of projectiles shrieked through the air, slamming into the totemic colossi with bursts of sparks.

The attack didn’t destroy any of them, but it bought time—precious seconds.

And in that sliver of opportunity—

Qu Sheng arrived.

The Ironwood Commander wore no armor, only a white robe, yet he led the charge at the head of his cavalry, his spear carving through foes like a scythe.

His forces had suffered heavy losses, warriors falling every moment.

But his gaze was locked onto the nearest colossus.

With a kick, his snow-white steed, Treading Snow Dragon, shot forward like a fleeting shadow.

Hum—

A spear-light flashed across the battlefield, striking the Zhu Yan colossus’s ankle—its weak point.

Groan—!

The bronze titan wailed as its leg buckled, its massive frame collapsing like a felled tree.

The battlefield trembled.

Then—

Zheng—

The sound of a zither rang out.

The Ironwood Cavalry shifted instantly, their formation transforming into overlapping scales—a coiling dragon of steel.

Li Mo had only recently given Ying Bing the Black Scale Formation.

Yet she hadn’t just mastered it—she’d improved it.

The dragon clashed against the human-faced serpent colossus, sparks flying as scales ground against bronze, the screech of metal on metal setting teeth on edge.

"If you dare break our lines, then stay!"

The calamity hound colossus—the most intelligent of the four—spoke, its voice grating like rusted gears.

It had paused earlier, gathering something—

Now its maw yawned open.

Flames spiraled from the inscriptions across its bronze body, converging into its throat.

Whoosh—

The air itself desiccated in an instant before a swirling dragon of fire erupted toward Li Mo.