Chapter 152: Fierce Battle
Amidst the relentless downpour of arrows, strange black oval objects fell, exploding the instant they touched the ground. Eerie flames splattered outward, igniting fierce infernos. There was no petroleum, no accelerants, yet the fire spread with an uncanny, almost magical speed.
At the forefront of Kexian’s forces stood civilians driven out from the city—mostly untrained in military tactics and forced into this chaos with knives at their backs, pressed tightly together in panic. They could barely offer any real resistance; their primary role was to serve as expendable fodder, exhausting the enemy’s strength.
But Kexian’s calculations were clearly flawed. In the face of modern weaponry calibrated for precision strikes, sheer numbers were meaningless. Tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands—mere digits to these weapons, easily wiped out by a single volley of fire.
One by one, incendiary gel bombs fell, bursting with a loud bang and instantly engulfing tens of thousands in flames. Such dense formations were perfect targets for these bombs; no need for strategy—just throw them where the crowd was thickest, and hundreds, even thousands, would ignite in an instant.
Those aflame would writhe and roll, some fleeing backward in frantic agony. This triggered a chain reaction: the flames spread rearward, formations collapsed, and the entire army descended into chaos. At this point, advancing was impossible; survival without disintegration was a blessing.
This was the predicament Weber faced now. Through the gaps, the fiery demons charged wildly toward them, emitting sharp, piercing howls mixed with acrid, strange odors and the scent of burning flesh, crashing heavily against their shields.
Strange flames flickered through the gaps, landing on Weber’s hand.
Whoosh!
The fire blazed across his armor—a sight he had never witnessed before. How could flames ignite metal armor?
"Ah!!!"
Another agonized scream pierced his ears.
Weber’s heart sank, cursing inwardly: Which poor soul was it this time?
Turning his gaze, his pupils contracted sharply, his expression instantly consumed by fear.
It wasn’t just one unlucky victim but a whole group of them. Elsewhere, similar fire-wracked figures slammed into the shields, strange flames splashing inside. Unlike Weber, whose armor merely caught fire, these flames slipped through helmet vents, igniting the interior.
Their eyes were blinded in an instant; wisps of white smoke escaped from their helmets.
They clutched their faces, emitting hoarse, soul-wrenching screams, their shields dropped, riddled with gashes.
“Those behind, fill the gaps immediately!” shouted the knights’ captains.
The knights behind quickly pulled their injured comrades back, kicked away panicked civilians attempting to slip through, grabbed fallen shields, and reformed the lines.
“What shall we do, Captain? These flames are creeping in!”
“The civilians are smashing the formation!”
The incendiary bombs only set fire to those on the very front line. At least fifty thousand civilians remained behind. The front-line cannon fodder had utterly broken—nearly everyone was fleeing backward.
For them, death awaited front and back, but running offered a moment of relief.
“Kill everyone charging the lines! Raise your guns! Fire!”
“What about the barbarians?! Have the archers shoot—clear everyone in front!”
“They’re retreating too!”
The knights watched the retreating army behind them, baffled. The civilians running was understandable, but why was the regular army breaking ranks? Was Kexian’s force really no fiercer than rumors suggested? Just a bunch of drunken fools?
“Bastards!” the knight captain cursed, a glint flashing in his eyes as all the knights’ auras linked instantly.
A dazzling barrier spread from the formation, forcibly pushing back the surrounding people.
This only further disrupted the army’s formation.
In a massive battle involving hundreds of thousands, tight formations like these rarely employed battle arrays except in the final stages.
Battle arrays required long-term training and coordination—not everyone could form a unified pattern. Recklessly using such arrays in a large force only brought harm and confusion.
Spreading out was an option, but Kexian clearly viewed them as cannon fodder.
As the knights prepared to curse further, a sudden chill swept through. They finally understood why the barbarians were retreating.
The colossal giant, towering like a mountain, raised his right hand. A torrent of flowing sand spilled from his palm, forming a wave that swept forward.
Boom!
Yellow sand billowed, blanketing the world in a hazy yellow mist that blinded the eyes.
The blazing inferno vanished instantly, leaving behind a vast dune.
The knights at the front were buried as well, but fortunately, standing on the edge, they barely managed to crawl free.
The Dawn Kingdom’s army, with its knights at the forefront, watched as a group of burly men erupted into cheers.
Clutching their incendiary gel bombs, their eyes burned with fervor, as if beholding a breathtaking beauty unveiled.
These bombs were far better than swords—throwing one was like casting a high-level fireball spell.
Clang!
The sharp ring of swords echoed across the sky, like morning birdsong or the fierce sun overhead.
A sacred, solemn aura descended from above, weighing heavily on all hearts and forcing them to bow their heads.
Yet, feeling this aura brought no fear—only a sense of reassurance.
Suddenly, a streak of golden light cut across the sky, bathing the world in warm, gentle morning sunlight.
Boom!
The earth trembled violently as a massive blade of light severed Kexian’s army, leaving a colossal chasm stretching thousands of meters.
Silence fell. All stared dumbfounded at the gash, cold sweat streaming down their faces.
Though this strike caused few deaths—less than a tenth of those from the gel bombs—the impact far exceeded the latter.
Kexian’s army morale shattered utterly; most began disobeying orders and fleeing outward.
This ragtag force, mostly civilians from the Dawn Kingdom, could not withstand the chaos.
Even the knights began to retreat. If not now, then when?
Darxitumon, standing atop the giant, wore a grim expression. His eyes, hidden beneath a grand golden headdress, were filled with gloom.
“Old man, you’ve crossed the line.”
Several kilometers above, the Dawn King clad in golden light chuckled, “You struck first.”
No sooner were the words spoken than a swarm of golden sand shot toward him. The sand moved swiftly, carrying a strange corrosive power.
Without hesitation, the king swung his sword again, drawing a blade of light thousands of meters long, cleaving the sandstorm apart.
The earth shook once more as the armies below faced another catastrophic blow.
In this world of the strong, ordinary people seemed as insignificant as ants.
“You really are useless—can’t even control your power. Mindlessly swinging the royal weapon, grand in appearance but weak in substance.”
A sharp voice came from behind. The king spun around, swinging his sword. Clang! The blade struck the sand.
Darxitumon had appeared silently behind the king, his right hand wrapped in golden sand, gripping the Dawn Sword.
Instead of anger, the king accepted the taunts with a smile.
“Indeed, I am useless, lacking talent, relying on abundant resources to reach this level. But you, this mongrel born of close kin, are no better than me!”
The king strained his strength, breaking free from the sand’s grip and slashing another sword light that hurled Darxitumon aside.
The sword light vanished, and Darxitumon, surrounded by sand, fell freely under gravity.
Sand surged upward from below, lifting the falling Darxitumon.
“Old bastard! I’ll rip your head off to make a skull cup for those worthless slaves to drink from!”
The voice was as sharp and grating as nails on a chalkboard.
The ancient, rough gourd snapped open, releasing fine golden sands that drifted like stars in the air.
“Dear Darxitumon, my friend, might I ask—are your grandmother and mother the same person?” the king taunted anew.
“Die! Die! Die!”
The golden sand transformed into a giant whale, charging at the king through the sky.
The colossal beast soared like something out of myth.
The king twisted and leapt, attempting to evade, but his combat experience was sorely lacking; he had never faced an opponent of this caliber.
Boom!
The whale struck him squarely, slamming him to the ground like a mere insect.
The earth shuddered, the ground caved in, and spiderweb-like cracks spread outwards.
A strange sweetness lingered in the king’s mouth, tinged with a choking sensation as he spat out blood.
“Hahaha! Keep denying it! You’re a useless coward!”
A sharp, arrogant laugh echoed from above.
Golden sand fell like raindrops, each grain piercing like a bullet.
The Dawn Sword glowed faintly red as golden light spread, with thousands of intertwined beams blocking the incoming assault.
A spark of realization flashed in the king’s eyes as he spat blood, “Thank you.”
He rose again, agony coursing through his body, yet he no longer cared for this pain that once consumed him.
His gaze was clear as the sky, his blood-streaked lips brimming with madness.
“Come!”
He soared like a cannonball, swinging his sword in a blinding arc of golden light.
The whale, spanning the sky, was cleaved in two. Darxitumon reappeared amidst endless golden sands, like a desert deity.
The Dawn King’s aura grew more restrained, his golden glow fading.
“Pure brute force! A royal weapon-dependent fool!” Darxitumon circled his hands through the air, sand swirling with his palms, the whale transforming into a river.
The golden sword light sliced through the river, the sand instantly morphing into myriad shapes—swords, knives, spears, snakes, birds, tigers, bulls.
Facing these lethal attacks that could kill him with ease, the king showed no retreat. Streams of light surrounded him as he charged repeatedly.
His body suffered grievous wounds, the pain nearly knocking him unconscious.
Each moment, death brushed past him. He felt as if running on the edge of a cliff, one misstep away from the abyss.
He was too weak. The gap between him and Darxitumon—third-tier versus fourth-tier—was not mere strength but mastery over power itself.
The Dawn Sword granted him strength to rival his foe, yet he wielded it blindly, unable to unify his force.
How laughable! Only scheming, compromising, and fleeing!
Once more, he was slammed to the ground, blood and entrails spewing from his mouth.
Again, he rose, weaving through the air, light and sand flashing like an apocalypse.
Below, mortals did not flee but collided in a furious mass, roaring thunderously, their blood crimson, their blades stained.
Boom!
Mushroom clouds slowly rose behind the enemy. The terrifying heat instantly vaporized thousands, the shockwave toppling tens of thousands more.
The explosions and flames were mere facades. The true killers were the shockwaves, the overpressure, the oxygen burned away.
Like hellish screams, in the face of these cloud bombs, people were mere numbers—quickly diminished digits.
Some were vaporized, some burned alive, some had their innards shattered, others collapsed writhing in agony, many choking on air.
Even the Dawn Kingdom’s forces suffered, though not to the point of suffocation. The air was rapidly replenishing and would normalize within minutes.
But those minutes were enough to kill all at the center. Even those with extraordinary constitutions who survived the initial blast faced certain death from internal injuries and damaged airways.
After relentless bombardment, all individual grenades were expended; Kexian’s forces utterly collapsed.
His elite desert troops, wizard corps, and dagger-wielding covert operatives—all with overwhelming advantages—never had a chance to deploy their power before being inexplicably bombed to death. Those not killed outright succumbed to toxic gases from the gel bombs’ combustion.
The asymmetry of information left Kexian utterly unprepared for Xuanlu’s arsenal. Their dense formations only amplified the destructive effect of even unguided fireworks.
“We have won!!!”
The Dawn Kingdom knights raised their hands, erupting in cheers.
What was expected to be a one-way war ended in unexpectedly easy victory.
“Thank God! I survived, I survived!”
“I can go home now!”
Whoosh!
A golden river descended from the sky, sweeping through and swallowing half of the Dawn Kingdom’s army like an eraser—tens of thousands vanished in an instant.
Darxitumon stared at the battlefield below, eyes bloodshot with rage. So many troops lost in just minutes!
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