Chapter 628: Cold Steel

Chapter 628: Chapter 628: Cold Steel

Before the hand-to-hand combat even truly began, Cheng Jinhou had already given strict orders, which to many sounded almost inhumane. Yet the most brutal fact was the soldiers had no choice at all.

But how many soldiers left in the camp could still fight? It looked like barely three thousand, and even among them, many were already wounded. Even if you included another thousand who, just as they rotated off patrol to rest, had returned only to run right into this, there were less than five thousand in total...

And on the other side? The Barbarian Race—conservatively estimated at twenty thousand, possibly thirty thousand.

Such a lopsided difference in numbers, even holding firm behind the camp walls, made for a grim scenario. If even one man broke down with fear and thought of fleeing, that panic would infect the others, and soon the entire line would collapse from mass terror. That’s why Cheng Jinhou had to "speak the ugly truth in advance", issuing harsh military orders to forcibly stamp out the panic in the soldiers’ hearts.

"Dong, dong, dong..."

The war drums thundered. Every soldier on the ramparts felt their chest heaving, eyes brimming with killing intent, their sweaty hands clenched tightly around spears and large shields.

They’re coming!

The first to leap up was a small-statured Ratkin, a short blade clenched in its teeth. The moment it scaled the wall, it flung itself up with a forceful push, hurling over a fist-sized plant pod...

"Stab!" The decurion barked the order. The lancers at the front thrust forward, skewering the airborne Ratkin like a sieve...

The pod thrown by the Ratkin burst midair, likely from the force of impact, releasing a cloud of dark green liquid...

"Squeak, squeak, squeak..." The Ratkin tumbled off the wall, dead without question.

But the liquid sprayed from that pod corroded the leather armor of any soldier it touched, and when it hit skin, it festered instantly, eliciting searing screams.

It was poison. Any rotted flesh had to be cut away at once, or it would spread and become untreatable. Even thick iron shields were not immune to this liquid—it pitted the metal, leaving horrifying blistered bubbles.

Where there was one, there would be more. Once the first Ratkin climbed up, it was like a tide breaking against stone—wave after relentless wave.

The large shields were effective. Not every Ratkin managed to leap up and cleanly throw a pod; most pods the shields intercepted. As for damaged equipment, at least that loss was sustainable. Once a shield was too corroded to use, the supply battalion would immediately bring a fresh one to replace it.

The back-row lancers had to keep a close watch on their defensive sector—don’t rush to stab as soon as a head pops up, wait until half the body is exposed, or else the foe might dodge or grab the spear. That would be lethal.

...

Wu Kai no longer felt lucky at all. Only after reaching Jianchuan did he realize why the veterans who fought that great war four decades earlier always seemed haunted when recounting it—and why so few of them ever wished to fight again.

Killing numbs you. You go mad, you turn coward, or you run.

Wu Kai didn’t know how he’d one day look back on all this. All he could think of right now was killing the enemy and staying alive himself.

Originally, after coming off patrol, Wu Kai had planned to get some real sleep. But after barely two hours, he’d been jarred awake, and this time, it wasn’t just a false alarm—it was a massive Barbarian Race assault. He had to drag himself and his weary men right back into armor and weaponry for battle.

The only good news was, Wu Kai’s unit hadn’t been assigned to a fixed defensive sector; they waited in the central army training ground, ready to reinforce wherever needed. At least they had time to get accustomed to the chaos.

But casualties mounted faster than Wu Kai had expected. This time, the Barbarians had unleashed scores of Ratkin armed with pods of graysnake grass toxin. The soldiers being carried off for treatment all howled in agony—a testament to the unlucky ones whose faces had been splashed by those vile pods. Almost none could be saved. Wu Kai’s own men had suffered it; typically, they’d scream for half an hour before dying.

When the order came, Wu Kai frowned. Reinforcements weren’t being sent out as whole teams—they were picked apart piecemeal. Two squads pulled from him here, another two there... Soon enough, he’d be left with just a handful of personal guards, practically stripped bare.

By the time all Wu Kai’s soldiers had been dispatched elsewhere, daylight was full. Even standing in the training ground, he could smell the stench wafting over in waves.

It was the corpses of the Barbarian Race. Not the same as human blood; their blood had a peculiar stench. Fresh or not, it reeked of rot, and in large amounts would burn your eyes. Wu Kai was long accustomed to it—but even he could sit still no more. Such a sustained assault was unlike the Barbarians’ usual style. Who would exhaust themselves to death like this? Were they truly so willing to die?

Willing? Willing or not didn’t matter. If they didn’t die now, they’d all die later. The Barbarians saw that clearly enough. Two Hours of nonstop battle—this was their answer.

On the towering watchtower, sweat glistened on Shen Hao’s forehead at a moment he couldn’t even pin down. The folded fan he used to flick by habit had utterly slipped his mind.

Because, by morning, enormous new waves of Barbarians appeared at the rim of the camp—far more than those who attacked before dawn. Shen Hao overheard Cheng Jinhou say, "Over fifty thousand."

Now, even Shen Hao, ignorant about military matters as he was, understood: today’s true battle had just begun. The Barbarian Race wasn’t giving up until the Upper Military Camp was razed to the ground.

But even as Shen Hao felt the mounting danger, Cheng Jinhou—up on the tower beside him—remained composed, only a faint furrow between his brows betraying any concern.

Suddenly, the two Profound Sea Realm cultivators abruptly turned to look at the eastern wall. There, somehow, a towering figure now stood between the Barbarian lines and the camp—massive and solitary, yet radiating an aura like an entire army. Even across this distance, just a glance made Shen Hao shiver involuntarily inside.

That man...

"An old acquaintance. Last time, we fought to a draw. Today, we battle again."

It was Second Elder Yuan Qingyun of the Valley of Love Flowers who spoke.

Cheng Jinhou nodded, clasping his hands together. "Then I’ll rely on Elder Yuan."

Yuan Qingyun returned the salute. Her figure drifted forward—leaping straight from the watchtower, stepping across the empty air. One after another, bright red "love flowers" bloomed from nothing, carrying her several zhang through the sky. Then the flowers swelled into clouds, real or illusory, as she stood atop them, hands behind her back, her aura surging rapidly skyward ...

Down below, the mundane battle of men raged—a crucial struggle, but not the final word. That’s why a single camp would have not one but two Profound Sea Realm cultivators stationed here.

Shen Hao’s heart pounded in his throat—Profound Sea Realm cultivators dueling?! That was not something one saw every day.

But things didn’t unfold as Shen Hao expected. The cultivators—Yuan Qingyun and the Barbarian’s own—didn’t choose the battlefield as their arena, but shot off into the distance. Moments later, a muffled thunder rolled from somewhere far beyond sight, followed by a tidal wave of True Qi crashing out like waves upon the shore...