The Peerless Swordman

“Old Wei, send word to the Duke of Ying. Have him bring two elite cavalry divisions up from the land route to reinforce the Southern Frontier.”

“This servant obeys the decree.”

“And send word to the Demon Lord—have his Dark Legion march directly to the Southern Frontier.”

“As commanded.”

Wang Hao gazed at the dense black tide on the southern sea, then suddenly said something that left even Wei Zhongxian stunned.

“Old Wei, what do you think would happen if I lured that half-step tenth-tier abomination to the Central Plains—what expression do you think Li Cangming would have?”

Wei Zhongxian was silent for three breaths, then answered with complete seriousness, “This old servant believes Li Cangming’s face would turn green.”

“Green? I think it’d be purple. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet—all seven colors cycling through in turn.” Wang Hao’s smile was as bright as an old hunter laying his traps, “Once my wounds heal, once Sword-bitch has eaten his fill, once the Southern Sea defense line is secured—I’ll show that ghastly thing who the real hunter is.”

He turned and walked down the city tower, his figure vanishing into the shadows of the wall.

Behind him, the black sword-light on the sea continued to tear through the abyssal tide, and the laughter of the Heavenly Sword drifted across the waves, echoing in the night wind above Zhennan Pass.

“Who else—who else!”

The voice was arrogant, infuriating, utterly shameless.

But everyone who heard it felt a strange sense of safety rise in their hearts.

Because that was the Grand Xia’s Heavenly Sword. And the Grand Xia’s Heavenly Sword never lost.

The Heavenly Sword went berserk on the open sea.

From noon till dusk, he single-handedly slew seven eighth-tier abyssals, forty-three seventh-tier abyssals, over a hundred sixth-tier abyssals, and countless lower-tier ones.

Wherever his sword intent passed, the floating carcasses of abyssals formed a black road stretching from outside Zhennan Pass to as far as the eye could see.

But the abyssal tide did not recede.

When one batch of eighth-tier abyssals was slaughtered, another surged up from the deep South Sea.

Without the suppression of the half-step tenth-tier pressure, the deep-sea abyssals swarmed upward like mad, as if the entire seabed of the South Sea were nothing but an abyssal nest.

“Is there no end to this?!” The Heavenly Sword split a seventh-tier abyssal jellyfish in two with a single stroke, flicked black ichor from his blade, and cursed, “This Lord has already devoured seven eighth-tier cores—my belly’s about to burst—and you still come?”

He glanced down at his abdomen.

It wasn’t swollen—he was a sword spirit, and the cores he ate were directly converted into spiritual power within the blade. The idea of “bursting” didn’t apply to him.

But he truly needed time to digest. Having devoured too many abyssal cores, the spiritual energy in his blade had begun to churn in chaos. One more meal might cause problems.

“Fall back! Retreat to Zhennan Pass!” Han Shanyue’s voice boomed from the flagship, his iron legs clanging heavily on the deck, “Everyone back to the harbor! Fire the cannons for cover! Move!”

The naval warships began their orderly retreat.

Rune cannons hammered the rear of the abyssal tide without pause, buying time for the withdrawal. One warship after another sailed into the harbor, their gun barrels hot enough to fry eggs, gunners wrapping their hands in wet cloth just to touch the breeches.

The Heavenly Sword was the last to fall back.

When he landed on the city wall, his steps were heavier than usual.

The black sword-patterned robe was stained a murky green by abyssal ichor, his long hair was plastered with fragments of abyssal remains, and even his golden sword-glow had dimmed somewhat.

“Stuffed yourself?” Wang Hao leaned against a pillar of the tower, a bowl of porridge in his hand, eyeing him sidelong.

“Who’s stuffed?” The Heavenly Sword immediately straightened his back, “This Lord merely—ate too much and needs a little digestion. When I’m done, I’ll go back out. Eighth-tier abyssals are nothing! This Lord wants to eat a ninth-tier one!”

“There are no ninth-tier ones for now. But there is that half-step tenth-tier fellow—dare you eat him?”

The Heavenly Sword fell silent for half a breath, then said with great decisiveness, “Ask me again once this Lord cracks the top fifty in the rankings.”

Wang Hao snorted with laughter and handed him the bowl of porridge, “Drink.”

“This Lord is a sword spirit. I don’t drink porridge.”

“Then go hungry. I’ll drink it myself.”

“…” The Heavenly Sword stared at the bowl for two breaths, then snatched it and tipped it back in one long gulp.

The porridge was cold and bland, but after drinking it he wiped his mouth, handed the bowl back to Wang Hao, and said something that nearly made Wang Hao choke.

“Not bad. Next time, add a bit more salt.”

You’re a sword spirit, damn it!

Haifang Harbor.

Ao Guang’s dragon body had been riddled with holes by abyssal venom.

Large patches of golden dragon scale had blackened and fallen away, exposing skin corroded to raw, bleeding flesh underneath.

His left wing had been snapped off halfway by a second eighth-tier abyssal eel, leaving only a few bone spurs holding it together—each beat of his flight was a wobbling struggle. Yet he kept fighting.

Not because he feared death—it was because behind him lay Haifang Harbor, and within it, three hundred thousand people.

“Ao Zhen!” Ao Guang roared, “What’s the situation in Linhai County?”

Ao Zhen’s transmission jade exploded with a blood-red light above Haifang Harbor: “Great King, the second eighth-tier abyssal starfish at Linhai County has been slain by this general—but the first one still lives! My right arm was snapped by its tentacles—I need support!”

Ao Guang gritted his teeth.

He had two eighth-tier abyssal eels here. One was already gravely wounded, but the other was still darting about.

At Linhai County, one was gravely wounded and one lightly—He Lanyue had brought twenty thousand border troops and was holding the line to the death.

At Zhennan Pass, the Heavenly Sword alone had killed several eighth-tier abyssals, but the number of the abyssal tide hadn’t decreased—if anything, it had grown.

“Pass the order—contract the defense line!” Ao Guang’s voice was so hoarse it was barely audible, “All dragon-kin warriors, pull back to the harbor’s defensive perimeter! Do not linger—hold the harbor!”

He wasn’t conceding defeat. He was conserving strength.

Dragon-kin casualties had already exceeded three-tenths of their force.

If they kept fighting, even if they won this wave of the abyssal tide, they would lose the ability to fight the next. And the abyssal tide would not rise just once—this was only the beginning.

The three-front battle against the abyssal tide raged on until late into the night before gradually subsiding.

Once the eighth-tier abyssals were driven off, the lower-tier ones, deprived of their leaders, began drifting aimlessly across the sea.

They didn’t dare approach the shore—the armor-piercing crossbows and rune cannons on the walls were lethal to them—but without the driving force of an eighth-tier abyssal, they also wouldn’t retreat on their own.

That was the nature of abyssals: high-tier ones drove the low-tier ones, and the low-tier ones instinctively hunted living aura.

Without the push of a high-tier abyssal, the low-tier ones were like sheep without a shepherd, simply milling in place.

At Haifang Harbor, Linhai County, and Zhennan Pass, the defenders rotated shifts under cover of night.

The wounded were carried down from the walls, the lightly injured bandaged on the spot, and reserve troops pushed up to the front lines. Every ten paces along the wall, an oil lamp burned, its flame swaying in the night wind, casting the faces of the defenders in shifting light and shadow.

Wang Hao personally made a trip to Haifang Harbor.

When he walked into the infirmary, Ao Guang was lying on a stretcher receiving treatment from the dragon-kin healers.

He had already reverted to human form, his body wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, his left arm bent at an unnatural angle—the break left by the abyssal eel’s bite.

“Your Majesty.” Ao Guang struggled to sit up, but Wang Hao pressed him back down.

“Lie down.” Wang Hao sat down beside him, glanced at the injuries on his body, then took a pill from his sleeve and pushed it into his mouth. “A bone-knitting pill. This is the last one I have. Eat it, and your left arm will be able to move again in three days.”

Ao Guang bit down on the pill, a storm of complicated emotions churning in his golden slit pupils. “Your Majesty, your subject is useless—”

“Useless?” Wang Hao cut him off. “You alone killed one grade-eight demon eel, crippled another, and held the coastal harbor with thirty thousand dragon-kin soldiers. If that counts as useless, then what are my imperial guards?”

Ao Guang opened his mouth but ultimately said nothing.

Wang Hao patted his shoulder and rose to his feet. “Heal well. There’s still a battle to fight tomorrow.”