Where Immortals Once Walked

The rush was intoxicating, but it was also somewhat awkward. When a man’s abilities spiked all at once, his own body could feel out of sync.

An enemy soldier vaulted the wagon, war axe raised. He Lingchuan swept the weapon aside with one hand, spun, and slashed in return.

With the force he had put in, the blow should have ripped open the man’s chest and belly, sending him to the ground clutching his wounds and coughing blood. But the moment his blade bit, he felt that his strike was far faster and far heavier than he had meant it to be.

The enemy was cut clean in two mid-leap, even the spine severed.

The wind was blowing his way, and the hot spray drenched his face so completely he could hardly open his eyes.

While he was rubbing them clear, another Baling soldier lunged in to stab. Officer Xiao booted the man aside and barked, “Pace yourself! Save enough strength to lift your arm later!”

Battles were not just speed, precision, and ferocity, but endurance as well. No one knew how long the fight would last, and only those still standing at the end could claim victory.

He Lingchuan spat twice, spitting out flecks of the enemy’s blood.

The iron tang in his mouth turned his stomach.

The last time he had killed was in the Panlong Wasteland, and he had done it with a throwing knife. This was his first time splitting a man in two in close quarters, guts spilling across the ground.

But there was no time to gag. Fresh waves of enemies were coming their way.

Before the fight began, the Baling troops had seen the wagons blocking the road. Their shock cavalry could not break through, so they had sent in their fiercest foot soldiers first, vaulting the barricade to tangle with the Gale Army and buy time for the rest to haul the wagons clear.

They had even tried slipping through the river, since it ran right beside them. That only made them perfect targets for the archers on the bank, allowing them to kill with every shot.

Moreover, swimming in armor was no easy feat. Few in inland Baling had much skill in the water; of the twenty-odd who went in, only two or three made it past the wagons, and the Gale Army skewered those like meat on a spit.

Some had switched to climbing the riverbank, aiming to cut down the archers and rain arrows from above.

Once Officer Xiao and his frontliners broke the first wave, they switched to spears and halberds, thrusting at the enemy soldiers hauling on the wagons, doing everything they could to keep them from budging.

Everyone knew that they were not here to win. Their main goal was only to stall until reinforcements arrived.

From the first clash, the fighting had been fierce. He Lingchuan had no chance to dwell on his churning stomach. After shoving back another attacker, he yanked the one-handed crossbow from his back and fired upward.

Thwip!

A soldier scrambling up the bank pitched backward with an arrow in his skull. Though truth be told, He Lingchuan had been aiming for the man’s head and hit the back of it instead. His marksmanship needed serious work.

Then, a massive shadow crashed down beside him, shattering into splinters.

A wagon, still loaded with two large crates until a heartbeat ago, had been hurled from somewhere. The crates bounced free, thudding into the mud.

A Gale Army man shouted, “Look out!”

He Lingchuan turned just as something as large as a hill blotted out the light. Something slammed into him from below with crushing force.

In that split-second, all he could do was throw his arms up to shield his face.

Bang!

The impact launched him a full three meters into the air and hurled him six meters back.

In that instant, his left forearm snapped, but the sharp crack was lost beneath the roar of the impact.

He Lingchuan was already screaming in pain before he hit the ground, rolling several times before coming to a stop. The agony of a shattered arm stabbed straight into his heart. He had never experienced anything like it.

And that had been the result even with quick reflexes—a snap lean-back and his arm raised to block. If not for that reaction, that bone-crushing blow would have smashed his jaw to pulp and left his brain concussed or dead on the spot. This kind of hit was known as a “sky-piercing rocket”: victims lucky enough to survive it were still left unable to stand.

An enemy soldier saw him down and rushed in to claim the kill. Bloodied axe overhead, the man swung down for a beheading. But then, He Lingchuan, still lucid enough to react, managed to roll desperately aside.

The axe blade slammed into the mud barely a few centimeters from his nose, quivering in place.

Even in the Panlong Illusion Realm, death had never been this close.

Is this still a dream? Isn’t there supposed to be no pain in dreams?

Eyes wide, heart pounding like a drum from the adrenaline shock, he lashed out with a boot before the enemy could wrench his weapon free. His kick drove into the man’s gut, staggering him and knocking his grip loose.

A Gale Army soldier behind them saw the opening and chopped the man’s head clean off.

He who kills will be killed in turn.

The severed head rolled across the mud until it stopped facing He Lingchuan, its eyes bulging, expression frozen in something that defied description.

The soldier reached down to help him to his feet. “You alright?”

He Lingchuan’s face was bloodless, his teeth chattering, sweat pouring down his brow. He lied, “I’m fine.”

However, he knew the truth. Thanks to the mandate token, every soldier’s pain was dulled for the duration of the fight, a necessity in battle. When that effect wore off, the break would hurt far worse.

A dream doesn’t need to feel this real.

Silently, he cursed the broken saber.

“You’ve broken your arm.” The soldier turned to bellow, “A’Luo!”

A man dodging through the rain of arrows and spears hurried over, hooked an arm under He Lingchuan, and guided him down to the riverbed to sit.

Every Gale Army squad had a part-time medic. A’Luo shoved a pill between his teeth. “Swallow it!”

It was faintly sweet, melting instantly into a warm liquid that slid down into his belly.

Within ten breaths, the pain in his arm had lessened dramatically. With the mandate token’s boost, medicine worked even faster.

A’Luo was already unrolling splints. He set the bone, smeared on salve, and strapped the arm tight against He Lingchuan’s ribs. This was all with the practiced hands of a man who had done this a hundred times.

“This’ll do for now. If you make it out alive, you’ll need two months’ rest.”

He Lingchuan grabbed up his single-handed crossbow. “Load it for me.”

With only one good arm, he could not draw a bolt.

A’Luo blinked, then quickly slotted two bolts in place.

Drawing two steady breaths to center himself, He Lingchuan lifted the weapon and leveled it at the one who had maimed him.

“You were hurt by Meng Shan?” A’Luo said at once, recognizing the target. “Not bad, you actually managed to live through it!” He clapped He Lingchuan’s shoulder before turning to tend another man. The fiercer the battle grew, the more work he had.

Meng Shan was a bear of a man, taller than even He Lingchuan’s own rangy height, and twice as broad. His plate armor was custom-made, two sizes larger than the norm, and when he stood still, he was a wall; when he charged, he was an unstoppable train.

Earlier, the ones vaulting the barricade had all been small, quick types. He Lingchuan had never imagined a walking fortress like this could get through. In truth, Meng Shan, who was wearing heavy armor, was indeed not supposed to be able to make it through. After all, Officer Xiao and the others had previously played a wagon-stacking game, putting a lot of effort into stacking the largest wagon on top of several other wagons, pinning them in place with two heavy crates.