Wherever You Lead

"My dragon! My fucking dragon... My Great Majestic Heavenly Dragon!" It had been a long time since the Little Prince had entertained thoughts of stewing Han Qingyu and gnawing his bones clean, but at this moment, his bitterness and regret surged once more. He had no idea that Qingzi’s control over dead iron might well have had nothing to do with Yanxiu. He simply believed that this history-shaking spectacle had only come to pass because of the molten magma dragon’s emergence. His line of reasoning could not be called entirely wrong. Indeed, it was precisely the appearance of Yanxiu, combined with an explosive release of power, that allowed Han Qingyu at this very instant to stand once more at the absolute pinnacle of his combat prowess. This was a height he had touched for the first time, surpassing even the level of that slash at the Zenith. Judging by this, at least for this single instant, Han Qingyu stood at the Above-Vault level by more than half a step. *Where is Daie? What a pity.* A fleeting thought of regret crossed his mind. Han Qingyu focused his spirit, sensing the arrival of the myriad dead iron blades behind him. The dragon was fading. In truth, even when that entity had coalesced into solid form, one still could not definitively call it a dragon. It lacked refinement and nobility; thorns jutted from its spine, and its entire form radiated a primordial roughness—feral, savage, and violent, resembling more an abominable beast of utter malice. Yet the Little Prince stubbornly insisted on thinking of it as such. Seeing the dragon’s body grow faint, an involuntary reluctance welled within him, followed immediately by a sudden jolt of worry. "Qingzi's condition... doesn't seem all that easy." Very few people noticed this subtle shift as the Little Prince had. That was because right now, almost everyone—both on the field and watching from the rear—had their gazes transfixed by the colossal array of flowing light behind him. No one could fathom just how many dead iron weapons were gathered within it. They came in vastly different sizes and shapes, ranging from massive column swords to dead iron fragments no larger than a finger, gleaming with diverse sheens as they shot through the air. At the same time, whether through deliberate design or unintentional alignment, the immense array advanced in wave after wave, possessing both immense depth and breadth. Ten thousand layers of blades. Braving the howling gale, they skimmed across the vast, bleak ice plains beneath the mantle of the aurora. *Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh...* The weapons flew under their own momentum, resembling countless warriors bursting into a full sprint. The ice sheet on the ground was ripped upward. Ice shards and snow swirled into the air, caught in the slipstream and swept forward as one. This was, perhaps, a strike upon which rested the fate of all humanity. Nearer. Just inches away. The horde of dajian finally turned their heads, but it was already too late to make any move. *** Kundera had no nationality. Born in the City of Sin, he was thirty-five years old this year. Ever since his youth, he had followed Boss Black Tooth, surviving through endless battles and blood feuds by sheer luck. He had married two wives and fathered three children... until today. *Stream Blades, Second Array, Black Tooth Regiment, ordinary combatant, Archer Kundera. Killed in action during the Antarctic Eastern Front Salvation Offensive, at the Fourth Interception Line.* After his death, his blade came south of the Transantarctic Mountains. Twenty-two-year-old Collinse had not yet taken a wife and was currently without a girlfriend. However, having accompanied his uncle to that chaotic cesspool of the City of Sin at the age of fourteen, he had tasted the pleasure of a woman early in life. Collinse still remembered that the first time had been bought with a dead iron shard two fingers wide—his share of the spoils from his first hunt taking down a dajian. Back then, the moment the battle ended and the loot was divided, he had rushed off while still wrapped in bandages. She had not been a professional prostitute—at least, that was what she claimed when they met. Collinse never saw her on the streets again, and he could no longer recall her face. *Stream Blades, First Array, Gu Zhazha Regiment, B-grade combat power, John Collinse. Killed in action during the Antarctic Eastern Front Salvation Offensive, at the Sixth Interception Line. In the final moment before his life ebbed away, he tried to picture that woman as extraordinarily beautiful.* After his death, his European-style double-edged greatsword came south of the Transantarctic Mountains. He Guang, a Huaxian, was forty-four years old, yet had neither wife nor child—or so everyone in the City of Sin and at the Stream Blades Nepal base believed. In truth, he had both: a wife and a son, residing at the Azure Headquarters logistics base. His son was seventeen years old, had tested and enlisted the previous year with an impressive A+ degree of fusion, and was currently on the Antarctic Peninsula, his life or death unknown. He Guang's true identity was a spy—or rather, an undercover operative. At first, he had been an undercover agent placed by Azure Headquarters in the City of Sin. Later, after being kidnapped, he became an Earth Core undercover agent embedded within both Azure and the City of Sin. Later still, through some muddle-headed twist of fate, he wound up serving as a double agent for both organizations inside Stream Blades... *Stream Blades, Third Array, He Guang Regiment, Regiment Commander He Guang, top combat power. Killed in action during the Antarctic Eastern Front Salvation Offensive, at the Seventh Interception Line.* *I’m a fucking undercover agent! Why the hell did I charge so fiercely?!* In the final moment before his life departed, Regiment Commander He Guang had thought with wry helplessness. *Forgive me. Once you all find out the truth... well, I never actually did anything bad anyway. Rather than being commended by Azure one day, I’d much prefer to be remembered by you lot every once in a while.* After his death, his blade came south of the Transantarctic Mountains. Stream Blades had driven all the way here in a lightning march, losing over fifteen hundred fallen officers and soldiers along the route. Most of them had died beyond the Third Interception Line. Thus, in this moment, the majority of their weapons had arrived. Those blades and swords howled furiously through the streaming light and swirling snow, as if their voices still echoed across the expanse: "Wherever you lead, Major Qing!" *** *Boom!* Finally, at this critical juncture for all of humanity, watched by countless pairs of eyes, that colossal array of flowing dead iron slammed into the dajian horde behind Major Qing. Major Qing himself did not even turn around. *Shhk!* Blades streaked through the air. Kundera's battleblade sliced clean through a dajian's iron armor. *Must be the kidney. I cut open its kidney—that’s He Tangtang's favorite spot to strike.* *We used to sit together all the time, smoking cigarettes while listening to him brag about his kills and strength. He always loved to boast, and we were genuinely envious.* *Now, haha, I finally pulled off the exact same thing! Did you see that?!* Kundera had never felt so powerful and full of might. As his blade cut head-on into the body of a third dajian, he thought he was about to come to a stop. Yet he did not. The battleblade carried that black-armored dajian, which had only just finished turning around, hurtling straight into the sky. And up in the sky, it punched clean through. *Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, swoosh...* The tempestuous array of dead iron weapons blanketed the entire dajian swarm. Thanks to the radiance of the flowing light, the Rejectors' satellite feed captured every detail. The weapons plunged into the alien ranks, the ringing clashes of dead iron ringing out. The iron armor was as flimsy as paper, or at best, synthetic plywood. The dajian began collapsing in vast swathes. The agonizing shrieks of the extraterrestrial creatures sounded like enchanting music amidst this world of ice and snow. Their colossal bodies were blasted clean off the ground, hurled great distances in an instant as if struck by ten thousand trains. They were flung into the air, their heavy frames twisting and flying violently... Only to crash heavily back down. Severed limbs and shattered fragments flew alongside them, spraying across the sky like crushed ice. Then, their weapons and armor shards were swept up and carried away by the colossal formation. It was over. In merely a brief moment, after the dead iron array swept through, the scene behind Han Qingyu looked as if a gale made of blades had ripped through a dense patch of shrubs. The ground was strewn with the wreckage of total devastation. Amidst the desolation and ruin, only a few heavily scarred dajian remained standing in dazed confusion, frozen in place as they awaited the arrival of death. No, it was not over... Because those dead iron weapons did not stop. Having torn through one battlefield, trailing shifting streams of light, they carved an upward arc and surged relentlessly into the sky. *** Up to this moment, even after hearing everything that unfolded behind them, the warriors of Stream Blades still did not look back, nor had they received the order to charge. Within their resolute, death-defying gazes, the silhouettes of dajian swelled continuously. Ahead, that truly lethal dajian horde had drawn terrifyingly close—perhaps a thousand meters, perhaps eight hundred, and by the time the thought passed, barely six hundred meters remained. An arrowhead formation of Red Shoulders occupied the very center of that massive battle line, perhaps sixteen or seventeen of them in total. In this world, no one could simultaneously withstand a charge from seventeen Red Shoulders; no one could meet them head-on. This was the universal consensus and understanding of human society. High above, the molten magma dragon continued to fade... The Little Prince’s uneasy gaze finally dropped to Han Qingyu, watching as he at last made a move. The battleblade in his right hand remained still. His left hand rose, drawing the oversized column sword from behind his shoulder and flinging it aloft, before drawing a second battleblade into his grip. *Rumble...* The concussive roar generated by the thunderous charge of a gargantuan dajian horde was enough to nearly knock a person off their feet from the sheer soundwaves alone. Braving all of this, the three arrays of Stream Blades held their ground, continuing to wait. They did not even know what they were waiting for—perhaps Wen Jifei’s order to charge, or perhaps their own deaths. At this rate, death appeared entirely inevitable. But... Wen Jifei knew that if any command were to echo across this battlefield right now, it could come only from The King, and never from him. *Boom!* They were too close. The snow and ice whipped up by the dajian horde surged forward like a tempest. Everyone, including Wen Jifei and Wu Xu, stood firm in the teeth of this blinding blizzard, knuckles white around their weapons, their eyes locked dead ahead. And then, *Thwack.* A sound, remarkably faint, as a ray of blue light plummeted from the sky. In the soldiers' forward line of sight, an oversized blue-glowing column sword suddenly descended. It fell without the slightest hint of aggression, ultimately embedding itself diagonally into the snow, piercing the ice sheet to stand upright. It stood planted not far in front of the charging dajian formation. Right on the center line. Directly facing that terrifying phalanx of Red Shoulders. Standing there, utterly solitary. The dajian horde surged onward. They would overrun the column sword in mere moments—two hundred meters, one hundred meters, fifty meters, twenty meters... *Whoosh—Boom!* Two deafening sounds collided in rapid succession! A black figure, without the slightest warning, suddenly slammed into the dajian horde—or more precisely, crashed straight into the ranks of the Red Shoulders. A head-on, brutal impact. Amidst that blur of black, the warriors caught sight of a flutter of red—a red moth throwing itself into the flames—and two dead iron battleblades blazing with radiant light. And in the very next instant... *Roar!* The molten magma dragon in the sky howled madly as it plunged in a blistering dive. It swept right over the dajian horde, roaring as if bearing down directly upon them all. It grew fainter, its phantom silhouette expanding continuously until, accompanied by that roar, it shattered right above the heads of the dajian horde. ...The molten red and yellow disintegrated in the air, dispersing like glowing stardust. *Boom!* The dead iron weapons blanketing the heavens came crashing down.