Chapter 126: The Battle for the Imperial City Guards

It had been nearly half an hour since Ji Junhong entered the imperial palace. Inside, silence reigned and the grand gates remained tightly shut.

“Strange, I can’t see anything inside. I wonder what happened to the eldest master?”

A burly man crouched at the deep vermilion gates, sticking out his rear, his walnut-sized eyes peering through the crack as he twisted his body restlessly.

Beneath him were two or three others in similar postures, some pressing their ears against the door to listen.

“Not only can’t we see, but we can’t even hear a sound. It’s completely silent.”

Amidst a furious battle nearby, someone shouted, “Stop staring! Hurry over and help! More of those undead are coming!”

“Got it!”

“Where’s my blade?”

Since Ji Junhong had entered the palace, the undead attacks had never ceased, as if fueled by some relentless bloodlust.

If their numbers were few, it wouldn’t be so bad. These undead were all commoners from the capital, not demonic soldiers—just prone to scratching and biting with small fists.

Ordinary fighters could take on several at once, but they were overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

If three couldn’t bring down a single fighter, then thirty, three hundred, or even three thousand would swarm him.

The undead army now strictly followed this tactic; their individual lethality was negligible, but by sheer numbers alone, they wore down the fighters.

Fortunately, since the Flame of Hope was raised, waves of wandering heroes from all corners of the capital had been rushing here.

These wandering heroes needed no explanation—an instinctual impulse deep in their blood drove them to protect the Flame of Hope, so cherished and surrounded by so many.

Thanks to these reinforcements, those guarding the place managed to barely hold their ground against the seemingly endless undead horde.

They fought wave after wave, the bodies piling up around them growing over a person’s height, yet the undead showed no sign of end.

One wandering fighter, wielding a large cleaver and fond of chopping heads, eventually collapsed from exhaustion. When rescued, his eyes were vacant, frothing at the mouth as he muttered incessantly, “I’ll never chop heads again.”

Later, as the corpses piled too high for effective defense, Mr. Wen had to intervene.

Squatting on the ground, he drew a series of mystic runes with the undead’s blood. With a graceful flick of his sleeve, a fierce wind rose, blowing from the humans’ side like a level eighteen typhoon, easily sweeping away the bodies and many undead, granting the defenders a precious respite.

Li Zhi glanced over and suddenly asked, “Mr. Wen, is summoning the wind all you can do?”

Mr. Wen flicked his sleeve with pride written all over his face. “Ridiculous! I am the foremost sorcerer in the Central Plains. How could I only summon the wind?”

There had never been many sorcerers of his caliber. After the National Teacher of Liang was slain by Ji Huo, and the National Teacher of Zhou performed a grand ritual, Mr. Wen suddenly realized he inexplicably had become one of the very few top sorcerers.

Looking across the Central Plains, calling himself the number one sorcerer wasn’t entirely without merit.

Such an honor left Mr. Wen with mixed feelings. Should he be happy? Of course—at his level, becoming the top ranked is no small delight.

Yet, it felt strange. He only rose to this position because those stronger than him had mysteriously perished.

Li Zhi eyed Mr. Wen’s smug demeanor, hesitating to speak.

Mr. Wen snapped, “If you have something to say, say it! Don’t dawdle like this.”

Li Zhi then said softly, “I think if you summoned a flood to rush through here, it might be more effective than the wind—especially since it’s still raining now…”

Mr. Wen’s mouth opened slightly, then he burst into hearty laughter. “Indeed! That’s true! An oversight on my part.”

Li Zhi was taken aback. “You’re not angry?”

Mr. Wen smiled openly. “Why should I be angry? Right is right, wrong is wrong. Always chasing after grand illusions, how can one grasp the truth?”

Li Zhi bowed in respect. “Your sincerity is enlightening. I am grateful.”

Others eavesdropping silently began to look at Mr. Wen differently. Among wandering heroes, pride was paramount. If they were in his place, they might fake laughter in front, then strike the junior down behind his back.

“Stop talking! More undead are charging!”

Iron Eagle hurried over from the front row, saluted Mr. Wen, and said urgently, “Please disperse the corpses in other directions as well. We’re struggling to hold the line.”

Mr. Wen returned the salute. “Consider it done.”

Standing before them, he inscribed completely different mystical runes. With a flick of his sleeve, raindrops gathered and intensified, quickly transforming into a relentless flood that swept away the corpses and undead alike.

Curiously, Mr. Wen frowned slightly. Somehow, his magic felt much stronger than before.

Had he inadvertently become the number one sorcerer in the Central Plains, blessed with fortune and spiritual energy, his mindset now manifesting in his spells, endowing them with such power?

Or perhaps…

Mr. Wen looked up at the bronze bell surrounded by the crowd, its radiant brilliance soft as a spring breeze, gentle and soothing.

By heavens, what on earth have I summoned? he thought, deciding that once this ordeal was over, he’d toss it to Ji Huo and let him figure it out.

As time passed, more undead surged forward, and the outermost defensive circle steadily shrank. The defenders were utterly exhausted.

Though thousands of wandering heroes had gathered, including several top-tier masters, the undead seemed endless.

The masters could unleash continuous sword qi to kill, but only moments after clearing the area, they were surrounded again by an unbreakable tide of undead. Even with their defensive formations, fatigue was overwhelming.

Only several in the Earth Fiend group practiced the “Killing Intent Sword Technique,” able to sustain their sword qi through reciprocal energy. Their swords had begun to curl from overuse, but they pressed on.

Others who fought alongside them had already rotated out twice.

“Second Brother, I’ve killed three hundred already, yet you look as if nothing’s wrong. What’s your secret?”

One member of the Earth Fiend group, eyes bloodshot, asked softly, struggling to control his killing intent.

Having slain so many in quick succession, he feared the killing intent might consume him and lead to demonic corruption, as had happened to others over the years.

But Kun Er remained the same as ever, sword after sword sweeping the undead on the streets, moving with no wasted motions from start to finish.

Even the officials from the Court of Justice and the Six Doors watched him with trembling eyes, as did Mr. Wen and the others, recognizing his terrifying skill.

From the beginning of the battle, Kun Er had not erred once. Every movement was finely controlled, conserving energy while maximizing damage.

If not for Kun Er holding the front line, they would have been overrun long ago.

Kun Er glanced at the member, still mechanically swinging his blood-red sword qi, slicing several undead in half from a distance.

His tone was calm: “Don’t ask me. I’m just a merciless mowing machine.”

The member’s eyes widened, then suddenly understood. Remembering their leader’s words, he screamed, “You’re self-hypnotizing yourself, aren’t you?!”

He looked at Kun Er and saw his gaze was indeed empty, robotic.

“Second Brother is terrifying—he even deceives himself.”

The member whispered, nodding, “Got it, got it…”