Battlefield Reckoning

“Chilian Xianzi.”

Wang Hao looked at her, a hint of amusement in his smile.

“I remember very clearly. Just now, in the Sixteen Heavenly Net Formation, you were the first one to say we should search my soul. Now you’re changing your tune, claiming I set a trap? Forty of you were ganging up on me alone. What’s wrong with me laying a trap? Or do you think it would only be fair if I let you rip out my soul and spirit?”

Chilian Xianzi trembled with rage but couldn’t utter a single word.

Every word Wang Hao said left her with no retort.

Forty Martial Gods joining forces to besiege a junior who had just broken through to Martial God—that in itself was bullying through numbers. If word got out that their target had turned the tables with a trap, it would make the Sixteen Holy Lands the laughingstock of the continent.

Li Cangming took a deep breath, forcing down the fury churning in his chest. As an old monster who had cultivated for thousands of years, he knew better than anyone that anger couldn’t solve anything—it only clouded judgment.

“Wang Hao,” Li Cangming said, his voice regaining its composure but tinged with an unprecedented weariness. “I admit it. We’ve lost this round.”

“You killed twenty-nine of our Martial Gods and eight hundred Voidwalkers. The Holy Lands won’t forget that debt. But today, we’ll stop here. The Holy Lands will withdraw from the Central Plains. We won’t interfere with the Dark City or the Eastern Wastelands. How about it?”

“A truce?”

Wang Hao tilted his head, his smile turning sarcastic.

“Elder Li, is your memory failing you? Three hours ago, I said the exact same thing—told you to scram back to the Central Plains and steer clear of the Great Xia’s Black Dragon Flag from now on. What was your answer back then?”

“You said, ‘The strong prey on the weak—that’s always been the rule. Because you’re weak, you deserve to die. Do you need a reason?’ Now that I’m the strong one, you suddenly want a truce?”

“Then what do you want?”

“Sign an agreement.” Wang Hao pulled a prepared scroll from his sleeve and flicked his wrist. It unfurled in midair, the densely packed terms glittering under the reflected martial aura.

“The Peace Agreement Between the Sixteen Holy Lands of the Central Plains and the Eastern Wasteland Empire. There are three core terms. First, each of the Sixteen Holy Lands shall compensate the Eastern Wastelands with one hundred billion spirit stones—a total of one point six trillion—to be repaid over one hundred years at an annual interest rate of twenty percent. Second, each Holy Land shall cede one large-scale spirit stone mine to the Eastern Wastelands. Third, Li Cangming shall personally write a letter of apology, admitting that the Sixteen Holy Lands invaded Great Xia without just cause. I will have this letter carved onto a stone stele and erected at the city gates of the Eastern Wasteland capital.”

With each term he read aloud, the faces of the eleven Martial Gods across from him grew darker by a shade.

One point six trillion spirit stones—that number alone would shrink the Sixteen Holy Lands’ reserves by twenty percent.

Sixteen large-scale spirit stone mines—nearly thirty percent of the Holy Lands’ spirit stone output.

As for forcing Li Cangming to write an apology letter and engraving it on a stele, that was no longer a matter of financial loss. That was grinding the Holy Lands’ face into the dirt.

“You’re dreaming!” Jian Wuchen roared, pointing his broken sword at Wang Hao. The sword-light flickered uncertainly. “One point six trillion spirit stones? Sixteen mines? And you want Old Li to write an apology letter? Wang Hao, do you really think you’ve already won? Sure, we’re injured, but if we go all out, dragging you down with us is more than enough!”

“Old Jian.”

The voice of the Heavenly Sword came from Wang Hao’s hand, dripping with contempt.

“You’ve already lost an arm, and you’re talking about mutual destruction? What are you going to use? That broken arm of yours, or that scrap metal you call a sword? Do you want me to remind you—even in your prime, you couldn’t beat me. Now that you’re this banged up, I could beat you with one hand tied behind my back.”

Jian Wuchen’s face turned ashen, but he had no comeback.

That bastard, the Heavenly Sword—no, that sword bastard—his words might be harsh, but every single one was true.

With one arm gone, Jian Wuchen’s sword intent had fallen by thirty percent. At this point, even Xue Wuhen could pin him down.

“Wang Hao.”

Li Cangming closed his eyes. It was a long while before he opened them again, the flame-like red pupils seething with suppressed humiliation.

“I can agree to the one point six trillion spirit stones and the sixteen mines on my authority. But the apology letter—I’ll write it, but it cannot be made public. That is my bottom line.”

He was making concessions, but far too little.

Wang Hao raised a finger and wagged it.

“Elder Li, you misunderstand something. I’m not negotiating with you—I’m giving you terms. Today, you lost the fight. When you lose, you act like it.”

“The apology letter must be made public, carved onto a stele, and placed at the city gates of the Dark City. I want everyone entering and leaving that city to see—the Grand Elder of the Sixteen Holy Lands of the Central Plains personally wrote an apology letter to the Emperor of the Eastern Wasteland’s Great Xia.”

“You—” Li Cangming’s temples throbbed. In seven thousand years of life, he had never been driven to such a corner.

Seven thousand years ago, Luo Wuji had knelt and begged him to spare the people of the Heavenly Emperor Dynasty. Today, Wang Hao was demanding he kneel and write an apology letter.

“Your Majesty,” the Demon Lord suddenly leaned in close to Wang Hao’s ear. “Are you sure you want to push this hard? Li Cangming is half a step into Transcendence. A cornered dog will jump the wall—if he decides to self-destruct his Dao foundation, he could drag us down with him.”

“Relax. He won’t.”

Wang Hao lowered his voice, his smile unchanged.

“He’s lived for seven thousand years. No one fears death more than him. And he’s not alone—there are still ten Martial Gods behind him. If he blows up his Dao foundation, all ten of them go down with him.”

“Li Cangming might not care about his own life, but he can’t afford to let the Sixteen Holy Lands lose ten more Martial Gods.”

The Demon Lord paused, then gave Wang Hao a long, hard look before stepping back.

This man’s calculations were too deep—he had even figured out Li Cangming’s psychological breaking point.

Sure enough, after a long silence, Li Cangming finally spoke.

“One point six trillion spirit stones, repaid over two hundred years at an annual interest rate of ten percent. Sixteen mines, yours, but the Eastern Wastelands must not expand further into the Central Plains. The apology letter—I’ll write it, but the stele can only be placed inside the Great Xia Imperial Palace, not at the Dark City’s gates. That is my final bottom line.”

“Deal.”

Wang Hao nodded without hesitation.

“Two hundred years, ten percent annual interest. Mines shall be handed over immediately. Apology letter stele erected in the imperial garden’s palace—I can see it during my daily strolls. As for the Eastern Wastelands not expanding into the Central Plains—”

He smiled. That smile carried a chill that could make one’s spine crawl.

“I’m a man of my word. If I say no expansion, there’s no expansion. But if the Dark City voluntarily joins the Eastern Wastelands, that has nothing to do with me. If they want to join, I can’very well stop them, can I?”

Li Cangming’s eyelids twitched violently, but in the end, he swallowed his rage.

Of course he saw through Wang Hao’s sophistry—the Dark City “voluntarily” joining the Eastern Wastelands was a load of nonsense. But he had no energy left to argue.

“Sign it.” Li Cangming forced the word out through clenched teeth.

The agreement was signed quickly.

Though Li Cangming’s combat power was only thirty percent, his cultivation base remained intact.

When signing the agreement, all that was needed was to imprint a strand of soul mark onto the scroll, and the pact would take effect. At his level, a soul mark carried far more binding force than any signature—breaking it would cause soul backlash, directly damaging one’s cultivation foundation.

The ten War Gods each imprinted their soul marks as well, their faces etched with humiliation and reluctance.

Wang Hao took the scroll, carefully rolled it up, and placed it into his sleeve. His movements were as reverent as if he were collecting a priceless treasure.

“Wei Zhongxian,” he called out behind him.

The old eunuch flew out from the Dark City, his face calm, a ledger still in his hands. This old eunuch had been hiding the entire time, keeping watch over the Demon Lord and the others.

The Demon Lord and his group were taken aback when they saw the eunuch flying out of the Dark City. Hadn’t this old dog gone with the main army? So he’d been lurking in the shadows, spying on them all along. If they had betrayed earlier, they would’ve surely faced dire consequences—after all, this damn emperor had eight hundred tricks up his sleeve.

“Copy the terms listed here ten times and send them to the Sixteen Holy Lands,” Wang Hao said, handing the scroll to Wei Zhongxian.

“Tell the sect leaders of each Holy Land: the agreement is signed. Spirit stones must arrive on time, and the mineral veins must be handed over on schedule. If they delay one day, interest doubles. If they delay one month, I will personally pay them a visit.”

“This servant obeys the decree.” Wei Zhongxian took the scroll and turned to carry out the order.

Li Cangming cast one last glance at Wang Hao. His blood-red flame-like eyes churned with emotions hard to define—anger, humiliation, wariness, and a trace of fear he wouldn’t even admit to himself.

He said nothing, turned, and left.

The ten War Gods followed behind him, their figures disappearing into the night sky.

Only after the last trace of their presence had completely faded did the Demon Lord and the other six let out a collective sigh of relief.

They exchanged glances, then turned to Wang Hao simultaneously, dropping to one knee and clasping their fists in salute: “Your subjects pay homage to Your Majesty!”

“Rise,” Wang Hao said, waving his hand. “I told you—if I won, you would continue to honor the agreement. Now that I’ve won, the terms remain.”

“Your Majesty,” the Demon Lord said, raising his head with a hoarse voice, “Your subjects had considered turning against you earlier——”

“I know,” Wang Hao interrupted. “If you had sided with me outright, that would’ve struck me as strange. The Eight League Alliances fought the Eastern Wastelands for centuries. You expect me to believe you’d switch loyalties overnight? Dream on.”

“I don’t blame you. I only blame you for being foolish—picking the wrong moment to betray me, right when I was being ganged up on. If you were going to flip, you should’ve waited until I was beaten down. That’s when turning coat would’ve actually mattered.”

Xue Wuhen’s mouth twitched. “Your Majesty, are you teaching us how to betray you?”

“I’m teaching you how to be smart,” Wang Hao said, brushing the dust off his clothes. “But since you did finally step forward, I’ll give you a second chance. The agreement continues—the Dark City merges into the Eastern Wastelands. Each of you eight sect leaders will command a legion, each legion temporarily set at three divisions, thirty-six thousand men.”

“The Demon Lord takes command of the Dark Legion, Yue Ji the Night Shadow Legion, Feng Wanli the Black Wind Legion, Ghost Granny the Ghost Hand Legion, Yin Jiuyou the Soul-Reaping Legion, and Xue Wuhen the Blood Fiend Legion. Shadow serves as the commander of the Shadow Guard, reporting directly to me.”

All six were stunned.

“Your Majesty, you—you still want us to lead troops?” Xue Wuhen’s voice was stammering slightly. “We just tried to betray you.”

“I’ve told you before—what I value isn’t based on nobility or baseness, only on usefulness,” Wang Hao said, walking over to Xue Wuhen and patting his shoulder. “You insulted Li Cangming today in front of forty War Gods. Do you think the Sixteen Holy Lands of the Central Plains will still accept you? Other than my Eastern Wastelands, where else in the world can you go?”

“Run your Blood Fiend Legion well. Within a year, I want to see an elite force that can win tough battles. Do it well, and I’ll reward you. Fail me—and I’ll settle that palm-strike debt with you.”

Xue Wuhen grinned broadly. “Your Majesty, about that palm-strike debt—I, this subject—I accept it, fair and square.”

Wang Hao then walked up to the Demon Lord. “Demon Lord, you’ve burned through all your lifespan. I know your time is short. But I can show you a path—the Ten Thousand Demons Blood-Burning Art is irreversible, yet there is a way to slow your life’s drain. Break through to the peak of the War God realm and step into the Half-Transcendence stage.”

A bitter smile flickered in the Demon Lord’s pitch-black, vortex-like eyes. “Breaking into Half-Transcendence? I’ve been in seclusion for three hundred years and couldn’t break through. Now, with less than a year of life left, how could I possibly——”

“I have a secret realm that holds what you need,” Wang Hao said, lowering his voice so only the two could hear. “Once things settle here, I’ll take you there. Within a year, I guarantee you’ll break through.”

This secret realm had come from the System’s intelligence update, located in the Central Continent.

The Demon Lord’s body trembled violently.

He stared into Wang Hao’s eyes, searching for any trace of deceit. But all he saw was sincerity—that rare kind of honesty that came from someone who planned everything down to the last detail yet genuinely wished you well once everything was accounted for.

“Your subject thanks Your Majesty.”

Ghost Granny, Yin Jiuyou, and Feng Wanli each received their orders as well. Their faces showed none of their earlier hesitation; they crisply clasped their fists and accepted.

Yue Ji, her deathly gray eyes flickering with a complex light, finally lowered her head as well. “Your subject thanks Your Majesty for the mercy of sparing my life.”

Last was Shadow.

His lifebound ghost artifact had been taken by Wang Hao, his combat power dropping to the edge of the War God realm. He stood behind the six sect leaders, not daring to lift his head.

Wang Hao walked up to him, took the Darkblade from his sleeve, and handed it back.

“I have no use for your lifebound ghost artifact. But remember this from now on—the Shadow Guard belongs to the Eastern Wastelands, not to you. If I catch you acting on your own again, the consequences won’t be as simple as confiscating your artifact.”

Shadow took the Darkblade, his hands trembling, his voice choked with sobs barely forming words: “Your subject, I—I understand.”