Human Weapon

Behind the vast horde of dajian, a solitary figure drew his blade. The first sound—the unsheathing—was the scrape of the combat blade against the dead iron catch, deep, solid, and fierce. It originated from the man's back, yet the actual point of detonation seemed to shatter open somewhere high in midair. Then came the sharp reverberation of its dying ring, thin and lethal as the keenest blade of air. Source energy swept over the surrounding expanse of ice, pressing down on the low altitude until the soundwaves nearly solidified into physical ripples. Continuous and relentless like rolling waves across the sea, layer upon layer pushed forward, rolling over the heads of the dajian horde and surging all the way to the front. Just like that, following the forward surge of the acoustic wave, the entire black mass of the dajian swarm—that monstrous, terrifying horde of aliens—turned in unison, layer by layer, looking back toward the solitary man and the blade in his hand. Refusal's reconnaissance imagery could only capture the overall theater or broad regional movements without discerning ground details, so they could not see Han Qingyu at all. The picture on their screens merely showed that the dajian horde pursuing Stream Blades from behind had abruptly ground to a halt, followed shortly by Stream Blades' formations slowing to a stop as well. "Are they... going to fight the decisive battle right here?" "It makes sense. Rather than continuing forward, slamming straight into the interception line, and getting pincer-attacked from front and back, they might as well fight here first." "But they can't afford to get bogged down in positional warfare!" Once dragged into positional warfare, Stream Blades would never reach the tractor field. And then, all hope for the entire Antarctic battlefield—which had only just caught sight of the dawn—would vanish with them. In an instant, frantic waves of worry, despair, suggestions, inquiries, and arguments flooded the lines. Within twenty seconds, Azure's communications network behind the front line breached its maximum load. Less than two seconds later, Speaker Kemore decisively ordered the direct lines from every front army across the globe cut off. *To hell with all of you and your nonstop questions.* "Excuse me... beep." Communications were restored, and Refusal urgently tried to hail Wen Jifei, but he severed the frequency the very next instant. Was he angry? Or had he given up in despair? Fortunately, Refusal still maintained a direct link with war correspondents Ashleia and Ian. "What is the situation over there right now?" the operator asked frantically. "I don't know." Staring from afar at the halted dajian horde, Ashleia's eyes were dull, yet a tiny spark of light began to kindle within them. Lost in thought, she said, "But I think..." *I think it might be him? Regardless of whether he has recovered or not.* Ashleia knew that man far too well. However, because military secrets were at stake, she refrained from speaking further for the moment. *** In truth, within all of Stream Blades, only Wen Jifei truly saw Han Qingyu at that moment. Though Captain Milla also carried a sniper rifle and scope, she was positioned low, rapidly searching for a firing nest. That was the discipline of a sniper: rather than asking what was happening on the battlefield, one first secured their tactical position. Next, Wu Xu sensed who had arrived, because he too was a peak super-elite and knew that man intimately. Rusty Sister, He Tangtang, the Little Prince, and the others likely had their own guesses as well. "Fuck!" The moment he caught sight of Qingzi, Wen Jifei's nerves, which had been stretched to their absolute breaking point, suddenly snapped loose like a plucked string, relaxing all at once. It felt as though a colossal boulder had been lifted from atop his head—or perhaps as if he had abandoned all pointless struggling, content to simply let it crush him. Since the man was already here anyway... He had originally thought that Han Qingyu, after losing his memories, was rather obedient, or at least lacked opinions of his own... What a miscalculation. But now that things were as they were, what else was there to ponder? Let's just do this. Immediately after, Wen Jifei's emotions descended into chaotic turmoil. He was simply exhausted from carrying the burden alone. In that single breath, he felt like crying, laughing, cursing up a storm, shouting a greeting, asking questions... With his rifle propped against his shoulder in his left hand, Wen Jifei raised his right hand and swiftly switched into a personal channel. As the holder of Stream Blades' highest command clearance, he did not need Qingzi to manually accept the call. *** *You finally fucking look at me.* Seeing the dajian horde stop and turn, Han Qingyu thought to himself as he raised his head, fixing his gaze on the massive alien formation finally facing him. If the distance had been any closer, he would have had to crane his neck. Fortunately, there was still some space between them. *Why haven't they charged yet?! Are they waiting for Daie's orders? They couldn't possibly be afraid of me, could they? These things don't seem to know fear.* Because he could only see the swarm of dajian and not Stream Blades yet, Han Qingyu was actually growing somewhat impatient. In that very instant—*boom!* The dajian horde stirred in unison, shifting their stances to charge him. *** Wen Jifei ultimately did not have time to say a single word to Han Qingyu. Leaving the comms open, he whipped his head around and roared, "Help him!" It was only the sound of a blade being drawn. Wen Jifei could not be certain of Qingzi's current state or condition. As for standing alone behind an entire dajian swarm, Han Qingyu would probably pull off such a stunt even without his strength restored. Even if he had fully recovered, facing the charge of such a massive horde all by himself remained perilous! After all, even at the peak of human combat capability, individual defensive limits still applied. And so, Wen Jifei grew frantic. To hell with whether they could afford positional warfare; forget about the tractor field for now. He shouted with reckless abandon. With his command, a chorus of *whir-whir-whir-whir-whir* rang out. All three formations of Stream Blades swiftly completed their turn. Bodies swiveled. Blades pointed back. Someone was behind the dajian horde—a single person who could force the entire swarm to a halt, a person who could make Wen Jifei shout for a countercharge to aid him under these exact circumstances on today's battlefield. Who else could it be? Anyone in Stream Blades could figure it out with their eyes closed. Only, had he recovered? Everyone wondered, excitement surging from their hearts only to be forcibly suppressed. Because this journey had been too bitter, and after enduring so much agony, one grew terrified of hope itself, dreading the crushing disappointment that might follow. The only thing free of hesitation was their action. Source energy erupted, and the formations surged forward. Now, it was the dajian horde that found itself caught in a pincer attack. Of course, Stream Blades was still a considerable distance away, whereas Han Qingyu was very close. The dense cluster of dajian fell into brief disarray. Most felt they ought to turn around and counter the charge, yet none could comfortably turn their backs on the lone man. He posed an immense threat. They knew it, and Daie had just told them who he was. On the frozen battlefield along the road to the Pole's tractor field, a bizarre scene unfolded: Tall, savage black armor holding column swords with both hands spun in circles, turning back and forth like panicked little animals chasing their own tails... Eventually, they assumed a barely coherent stance, splitting into left and right flanks facing outward. A portion angled backward to face Stream Blades' charge, while the other portion turned toward Han Qingyu, forming a four-way deployment with their backs pressed together. With that, Han Qingyu could finally see Stream Blades charging toward him from the other side. And the warriors of Stream Blades caught sight of that lone figure holding his blade... In that fleeting second, there was no time for sentiment or tears. Only their increasingly frantic charging strides conveyed how desperately they longed to fight by his side once more. "It is... Major Qing," Ashleia whispered into the communicator, her voice hollow. "..." The other end froze for half a second. "Has he recovered?!" "I don't know." Ashleia snapped back to reality and exchanged a swift, knowing glance with Ian. At the same time, Han Qingyu's voice came through Wen Jifei's communicator, calm, firm, and brooking no argument: "Don't come over. Keep your distance, and carefully set up defenses against your rear." Han Qingyu had heard that shout of "Help him" just now, so he knew he was speaking with Plague Chicken. He had also been monitoring battlefield intelligence, knowing there was another massive horde of dajian ahead that would likely swarm back if Stream Blades became entangled in a melee here. He also knew Stream Blades needed to keep moving forward. What they needed was a breakthrough, not total annihilation; they could not afford to waste time. Moreover, along the way, he had seen the aftermath of desperate battles—far too many fallen brothers scattered across the snow... "Wait for me to come over," Han Qingyu said. *Wait, is this bastard commanding us?* "Alright," Wen Jifei blurted out instinctively. The sensation of having someone else shoulder the decisions simply felt too wonderful. The order was relayed. Though hesitant, Stream Blades obeyed without question, halting in their tracks to form a defensive line. At this point, they remained a fair distance from the dajian horde. This sudden development caused another ripple of confusion within the swarm. After a brief pause, leaving a small detachment on watch toward Stream Blades, the horde redirected the vast majority of its focus onto the man to their side. "What happened, Plague Chicken?!" Rusty Sister had naturally spotted Qingzi as well. Failing to understand why Wen Jifei had abruptly ordered the entire regiment to halt rather than aid him, she grew anxious, her tone sharp. "He said he's coming over." Wen Jifei broadcast the words over the entire regimental channel. And so, laden with anticipation and immense worry, every gaze pierced through the massive alien array, looking toward that distant figure. It was an extraordinarily dense horde, stretching long even after splitting its formation. It had gathered the surviving dajian from multiple defensive lines along the way. While there were few Red Shoulders among them, their numbers were horrifying—a suffocating expanse of black. "...Here he comes." "Prepare to charge at any moment." "Understood." Han Qingyu moved. Still carrying three weapons on his back without drawing them, he held his dead iron combat blade in one hand and strode forward, his pace steadily quickening. One hundred and fifty meters, one hundred meters, fifty meters, twenty meters... *Roar!* Finally, a blue-sheened dajian broke formation with a furious howl, charging outward. In truth, the order they had received from Daie was to wait—to observe, delay, and stall for time until the Red Shoulders rushed back and the forward horde finished assembling, after which they would crush the enemy in a pincer attack. However, the vast majority of the dajian here were low-tier beings. Pressed under suffocating psychological tension, they could not fully understand or obey such restraint. Accelerating with explosive force, the heavy frame of the blue-sheened dajian launched like an artillery shell, lifting slightly airborne as it raised its sword in a two-handed downward cleave toward Han Qingyu. An outcry rippled through the ranks of Stream Blades. Were it The King of old, they naturally would have had no cause for such worry, but right now, none of them knew Han Qingyu's true condition. They had watched that silly fool for far too long. *Whoosh!* Han Qingyu drew back his blade and swept his arm outward—striking not with the edge, but with the flat of the blade. *Bang!* The flat of the dead iron combat blade slammed squarely into the blue-sheened dajian's chest. In a split second, its iron armor caved in. The blue-sheened dajian died midair, flesh and blood bursting through the cracks in its armor like gore crushed by a demon. Its colossal, heavy body was hurled backward several times faster than it had charged, crashing violently into the midst of the horde. *Did he recover?* *At least partially.* So thought the warriors of Stream Blades. Had Pegmont been here, he would have crowed: *Hahaha, he's definitely recovered! At least that infuriating, ostentatious swagger of his is back in full force!* And then, Pegmont would have witnessed what might be the single most arrogant display in human history. *** Inside the dajian ranks. The instant the blue-sheened dajian was swatted away, two more dajian leaped into the air almost seamlessly, pouncing forward with overhead strikes. Simultaneously, the swarm on both flanks began compressing inward toward Han Qingyu... *Clack!* *Clack!* The two airborne dajian suddenly let their sword-wielding arms go limp. Then their heads drooped. Their bodies lost all control in midair, entering a freefall before slamming against the ice. Dead. Both dead. This time, Major Qing had not even swung his blade. "..." At this point, everyone was completely at a loss. They had longed for the King's recovery, hoping he would be as formidable as before. But what on earth was *this*?! No one had time to marvel or question it. Major Qing's strides through the formation never slowed. He stepped into the horde, stepping over the corpses of fallen dajian, continuing forward. The swarms on both flanks seemed to go mad at last, surging toward him like a swarm of hornets. *Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud...* In reality, there was no sound—or rather, no sound of combat. There was only the dull thud of heavy dajian bodies crashing to the ground. To the left and right of Major Qing's path, those frantically lunging dajian collapsed one after another. They fell in swathes. They fell in entire rows. Sometimes two or three at once, sometimes a dozen or twenty, toppling all along the way like a line of dominoes... They appeared to have suffered no direct attack whatsoever. Some went rigid mid-stride, their momentum carrying them headfirst into the ice. Others crashed onto both knees with a sharp crack, their heads instantly lolling forward, dying right there in a kneeling posture. "What is that?" As a species blessed with vivid imaginations, humanity's expectations and fantasies regarding source energy combat had always reached lofty heights. Yet no matter how outlandish those fantasies were, they remained bound to recognizable logic and rules: the violent clash of source energy, shaking heaven and earth... Not a sudden descent into witchcraft and sorcery. Looking slightly fatigued, Major Qing continued walking forward. Along his path, the dajian horde kept collapsing. No one could comprehend it anymore. Yet one thing was certain, destined to be recorded in the future history books of Azure. Previously, humanity had always been plagued by the inefficient kill-rate of their top combatants against ordinary dajian. Even super-elites possessed no area-of-effect lethality; across the entire globe, perhaps only General Bochen's chain flail and Legion Commander Chen Buer's Red-Slaying Saber were slightly more efficient. Now, the very first weapon of mass destruction in human source energy military history had appeared. Its name was Han Qingyu. He bore many monikers: The King, Major The Qing, that bastard... the Human Weapon. "Well? Did you see it clearly?" The Little Prince, who had already quietly swapped in the life source energy block he had claimed not to want moments before, stood beside Wen Jifei alongside Wu Xu and the rest of the core team, asking in a low voice. "Yeah. Do you remember how Qingzi used to be able to manipulate dead iron within a certain range?" Keeping Elegy of the Square steady, his eye glued to the scope, Wen Jifei nodded. His throat bobbed, and he said: "Behind the right shoulder of those dajian, cracks appear out of nowhere in their armor, bending a triangular shard of dead iron inward..." "I think it's that iron shard... piercing through the shoulder blade and stabbing right into that diamond-shaped red node."