The King's Battle

Tonight, right here. The night was pitch-black, and the surrounding grasslands stretched open and unobstructed in every direction. Yet no one would be leaving. From the moment they hid in the shadows, repeatedly luring Great Spikes toward ordinary Azure squads and using innocent civilians as chains and bait to pin down and slaughter Azure soldiers, the concept of mere slaughter had ceased to exist for Wen Jifei and Han Qingyu. All they were going to do was cast these depraved, soulless fiends back beneath the millstones of purgatory. In the darkness, the wind swept gently across the vast, unbroken wilderness. Sparse blades of grass on the low earthen mound swayed in the glare of vehicle headlights. The off-road jeep parked not far away had both of its headlamps ablaze. Their harsh yellow beams scattered outward, bathing all thirty-odd members of Pure Purgatory beneath the slope in illumination and picking out one hesitant, uneasy face after another. The man standing atop the vehicle rested his rifle across his arm. The long, thick barrel extended between light and shadow. The black bore, flanked by the circular beam of the mounted tactical flashlight, shifted slowly, lingering over and passing across each panicked countenance. Only moments ago, they had mocked him without restraint—a man who used a gun in the world of source energy. Now, his head tilted slightly, half his face hidden behind the sniper scope... The corner of his mouth on the exposed half curved upward, contorting into an oddly sinister yet dazzling grin as his lips moved in a smooth, silent murmur. "What is he doing?!" "Maybe... counting heads." Not long before, they had hidden in the darkness, watching with amused detachment as an ordinary Azure squad fought a desperate, bloody battle against a blue-sheened Great Spike, watching Iqbal flee in terror and tears with that family of three. Now, standing here, they were the ones being tallied. Wen Jifei was indeed counting. "Thirty-one... thirty-five, thirty-six. Not counting the one who just died, there are still thirty-six in total." Wen Jifei chuckled and called out from afar, "You can begin, Qingzi." At his words—at a single syllable within them—the crowd beneath the slope stirred with fresh agitation. They turned their gazes back toward the figure standing nearby. Han Qingyu stood at the crest of the earthen mound, silhouetted against the headlights, which made his face and expression difficult to discern. In his naturally lowered left hand, he held a standard Azure battleblade; his right hand was empty. "Is he... that person, The Qing?!" "He's The King?!" A Huaxian. No mistake. Young. No mistake. "But I heard The King dual-wields blades. Where's his... his other blade? Just now..." The murmurs among the crowd abruptly died down. Then, as if coordinated, they turned their gazes in unison toward a certain direction in the darkness. Out there lay a comrade who had just tried to sneak off and flee on his own. Now, he was a corpse. Something had killed him in the dark with a single strike... If they could confirm that the fatal blow hadn't been that bullet, then perhaps... it was the signature thrown-blade kill attributed to The King in the rumors? The dead man had been a Huaxian—the only Huaxian in this Pure Purgatory squad. Just moments ago, he had shouted "Run." "Damn it, if he knew, he should have shouted that name!" Before the words had finished echoing... In the darkness, amidst the sound of the wind, the soft whistle of a whirling dead iron blade suddenly grew distinct. The speaker snapped his head up. In his line of sight, the figure standing on the slope was unhurriedly raising his empty right hand. *Whir, whir, whir, whir... Clap.* A spinning battleblade arced out of the dark, landing squarely into his right palm, where his fingers closed around it. "The King!" "It really is him!" Frantic, terrified cries erupted simultaneously. They had neither the time nor the composure left to doubt or ponder. "My English has always been terrible. If you really have to call me something like that... you might as well call me Major Qing." A trace of helplessness colored his tone. As someone who had failed the college entrance exam, Han Qingyu furrowed his brows. If pronouncing the three syllables of 'Han Qingyu' in succession was truly so difficult for them, wouldn't Major Qing be a little easier?! No one answered him. At that moment, at least half of the remaining thirty-six Pure Purgatory fighters turned and fled toward the surrounding darkness. Booms of erupting source energy, varying in intensity, detonated in scattered confusion. *Whoosh!* A sudden, colossal surge drowned out all other noise. *Bang!* The sniper rifle cracked. The tactical flashlight's straight beam tracked with the barrel, sweeping deep into the black wilderness. *Swish!* With a low hum, the blade in Han Qingyu's left hand flew from his grip, vanishing noiselessly into the night. *Boom!* Raising his right battleblade level, Major Qing surged with roiling source energy and crashed head-on into the enemy ranks amidst swirling dust and gravel, all in the blink of an eye before anyone could even look aside. Azure's retribution had begun. "Damn it, I've been hit by a bullet, I—" *Slash.* The man who had been shot and tumbled mid-stride had barely begun to scramble back up before he collapsed once more, motionless. "Go kill the one with the gun..." "We need to grab those three civilians!" "Kill the others if you must... the little girl is enough!" Suggestions and orders flew through the shouts, but everyone who tried died. The light circumscribed an open clearing. No one could cross it. "Then knock down that blade! Hack that flying blade out of the air, or none of us will survive tonight!" *Clang!* For once, a lucky strike managed to hit the battleblade whirling through the air, sending it flying sideways. "I hit it! I knocked it down! Run—" *Slash.* A sharp pang at the back of his neck bloomed into searing agony. Blood gushed, coursing down his back... The shouting man's body froze just as he was about to bolt. *What is this? Another blade? But why...?* Amidst agonized confusion and unanswered questions, he slowly collapsed. "He has no weapons left! Kill him!" Realizing there was nowhere left to run, part of the crowd seized the opportunity to wheel around and pounce on Han Qingyu. *Bang... Clang!* The airborne blade was struck by a bullet, abruptly reversing its trajectory. A figure swift as the wind lunged forward, hand extending in rapid motion to catch the battleblade cleanly, cutting an acute angle and pivoting to slash back around. *Boom!* An enemy of decent combat prowess desperately blocked the strike, suffered severe injuries, and went flying backward from the impact. *Bang!* A bullet caught him right between the eyebrows the very moment he was suspended in midair, his shattered source energy struggling to surge anew. This was The King's battle! Out of sheer agitation, Iqbal's entire back was trembling and shuddering. He and the family of three were currently standing within the illuminated circle, maintaining ample distance from the surrounding darkness. They were somewhat far from the battlefield. Most of the time, Iqbal could not clearly track the movement of that tempest within the interplay of light and shadow, but precisely because of this, he possessed a better vantage point than those trapped inside the fray. The shock delivered by this storm-like combat struck him with even greater intensity. Beside Iqbal... The herdsman father pulled his wife in with one arm. Lowering their heads, husband and wife held their daughter between them... whispering comfort and explanations in their native tongue: "He's hiding right now. Our little Zhuoma isn't the kind of child to peek, is she?" "That's the sound of falling stones. The flock of sheep is running; could he have hidden among the sheep? Little Zhuoma can try guessing first." "The car has moved to another spot." "There's thunder, but the sky isn't going to rain." "The wind is getting a bit strong, but with his jacket on, Zhuoma must be very warm."