Oppressive Pressure

As was widely known, back when the Southern Continent, Northern Continent, Mid-Continent, and Thousand Islands were yet undivided and the world was an unbroken whole, all mundane existence lay within the grasp of the Eternal Empire. After the primordial age of chaos came to an end, the everlasting Empire united everything, controlled all, and its reign stretched over thousands of years... From this alone, one could glimpse the sheer terror of its might, the depth of its foundation, and the vastness of its accumulated wealth. And under such a premise, as members of the resistance organization "Mo," what was required—aside from resolve and perseverance—was, above all, the ability to run like hell! Facing the Empire's constant crackdowns, sweeping offensives that rooted them out in their dens, and scorched-earth blockades, all the Mohists of antiquity could do was flee from place to place, hiding in dark corners. Living hand to mouth, never knowing where the next meal would come from—that was the norm. What did you say? A workshop? What dream world are you living in, my friend? Let alone a workshop, even if you just built a brick-and-tile house, the Empire would tear it down and grind it into dust before you could even set up the rafters! They'd rip up the wheat you just planted in the fields, slaughter the sow giving birth in the pen, and slice every earthworm in the soil right in half! Because of this, craftsmen had to minimize their dependence on workshops and equipment to the greatest extent possible, never lingering in one place unless absolutely necessary. Any trace left behind by an unregistered workshop was a death warrant for a craftsman. Yet a craftsman without a workshop was like a civil servant without tenure, a flat bottle of cola, a safety inspector not allowed at the banquet table, or an author without recommendations or monthly votes... The kind of orphaned state where you couldn't say they were dead, but living seemed a distant prospect; nor could you say they were alive, when they were basically one breath away from the grave. This kind of thing: you couldn't do without it, yet having it could cost you your life. Faced with such an awkward, strangling dilemma, generations of members—Celestial-Humans and Celestial Chosen—spent countless clandestine attempts and explorations before finally finding the optimal solution. This was the origin of "Non-Offensive." To rid craftsmen of their reliance on workshops and tools—or even abandon workshops and tools entirely—to process materials directly with bare hands, and perform alchemical operations on matter using their own spiritus! Therefore, no furnace was needed: wherever hands reached, Non-Offensive could manipulate material properties at will. No tools were needed: wherever spiritus extended, Non-Offensive could construct circuits and runes at pleasure. As long as a craftsman's hands remained, the struggle of Mo would never cease. As long as a craftsman's soul endured, the realm of innovation would never end! No limitations, no shackles. All creation relied on these hands to be forged; everything in heaven and earth came to be through ten fingers! This was the "Creation of Non-Offensive"! And the result it brought was absolute control over spiritus! Whether guiding, catalyzing, diffusing, converging, extracting, or purifying... just as Ji Jue had once dreamed, it allowed the arbitrary extraction and manipulation of all spiritus within materials. Just like everything Ji Jue had seen the moment he fused with Non-Offensive—the world forged from formless hands, and the source of all Creation of Non-Offensive was none other than the hands of a craftsman. As long as it fell within the reach of Ji Jue's hands and fingers, no shift in spiritus could bypass his control. Unless its qualitative change and volume exceeded Ji Jue's control threshold by more than tenfold, it inevitably fell within his sphere of interference. Unfortunately, no matter how hard Lou Feng struggled, it was useless. From the very day Non-Offensive was born, it had been the bane of all spiritus manipulation abilities. Every art founded on the application of spiritus was destined to be stripped bare the instant it met Non-Offensive! That's just how our champion is—there's an aesthetic beauty to being utterly broken. Who told you not to ban him? Oh, right, it wasn't your turn to ban anyway? Never mind then. Hurry up and die already! Ji Jue pulled the trigger once more, emptying the last row of slugs from his belt. *Snap!* With a "casual" wave of his hand, the furious beast formed of spiritus shaping froze instantly, dissolving the moment it appeared, like an illusion shattered at the barest touch. Just like that, while savoring Lou Feng's expression that looked as if he had seen a ghost, Ji Jue slipped his right hand behind his back—where the skin had split, nails had peeled back, and the fingers twitched with numbness so severe he could barely control them. He clenched his five fingers. Embers lineage: Spiritus Enhancement—Material Property Manipulation. A faint shimmer flickered across the intricate black totems for a brief second. Under the manipulation of Non-Offensive, the transmutation began. The subject: damaged hands; the objective: restoration to their original state. This was the most basic operation in alchemy—repair. Right now, bolstered by both Fluid Alchemy and modern alchemy, the two paths advanced in tandem, inner and outer matching in harmony. In an instant, peeled wounds closed up, bruises faded, forcibly suppressed, and lifted nails returned to place, restoring them to how they looked before. Flawless, as if nothing had ever happened. As for the hairline fractures and fissures in the inner bones, the ruptured capillaries, and the torn muscle... unless Young Master Lou came equipped with built-in X-ray vision, the devil himself couldn't have spotted them. This was the most wondrous thing about magic: as long as you couldn't see through the trick behind that thin curtain, everything unfolding before your eyes seemed entirely natural, utterly miraculous. Lou Feng didn't need to know that Ji Jue's current rank was still too low, and that merely reverse-dissolving his opponent's shaped spiritus now and then took everything he had and pushed him to his absolute limit. He only needed to know that all his offensives, and the heritage of the Lou clan he had taken pride in his whole life, looked like an utter joke before his adversary—and that was enough. What followed was a suffocating sense of oppression. Compared to the shock of having his spiritus shaping dismantled, the instinctive panic and the sheer horror battering his reason were the true final straw that broke the camel's back! Right now, under the protection of the Dragonscale Armor, Lou Feng had completely lost his composure! The counter-strategies drilled into him since childhood, the vast wealth of experience accumulated over centuries and millennia by the Lou clan, surged and vanished through his mind like running water, unable to leave behind the slightest trace. He simply couldn't comprehend what trick Ji Jue was pulling! What was going on? What happened? What the hell was this?! He didn't even dare rashly activate the other avatar from his uncle hidden within the Pearl of Chrono-Sand on his wrist—that was his ultimate lifesaver. And the instant he saw Ji Jue load a blood-red slug into the rifle, an instinctive chill gripped him once more. Beneath the crack-riddled Dragonscale Armor, his figure abruptly blurred. When he reappeared, he was already dozens of meters away, pulling distance at all costs as he threw up a repulsion defense. Gone was his earlier elegance and poise. Hair disheveled, face ashen. He only glared fixedly at Ji Jue—and at his hands. Was this Non-Offensive? Could the matrix handed down from a Sage truly be so vastly different from his own?! But could such an absurd matrix bonus even exist in this world?! Even if the very essence and common sense of alchemy told him it was impossible, that such a bizarre thing could never happen, he could no longer tell from that calm, faintly mocking smile on Ji Jue's face. The instant he caught Ji Jue pulling the trigger, he waved his hand on pure reflex! A chill burst forth as howling winds and white snow whirled. A wall of frozen iron rose from the ground, blocking the line of fire... yet what flew from the barrel was nothing more than an ordinary slug. It couldn't even pierce the outer defense of the frozen iron wall. Dammit, played again! Ji Jue raised a brow and couldn't help letting out a whistle. This round of bluffing had been wonderfully effective, baiting out almost all of his opponent's Flash and active items with simple basic attacks. Unfortunately, his own strength was still lacking. If he could just advance another rank, or delve a little deeper into Fluid Alchemy and modern alchemy, stacking this kind of pressure would make the other guy too terrified to even teamfight him. In the future, Lou Feng would probably take the long way around just to avoid him. "Calm down, Boss!" Slan's voice came through the comms. "Don't let that kid fool you! I can't figure out what trick he's playing, but it definitely isn't as effortless as it looks. This isn't a duel—you don't have to fight him one-on-one!" *Bang!* From among the Knights of Homecoming, Slan, at the very front, whipped his arm and hurled a javelin straight at Ji Jue. Yet mid-flight, the spear was severed by an iron shard flicked by Xiao An, detonating into a burst of crimson light. The knights shifted into formation, shielding Lou Feng once again, even giving up their containment and siege of An Ran to do so. The Knights of Homecoming followed orders strictly, and Slan's head remained clear through and through. Compared to victory, the boss's safety was top priority. What good was winning? Who among them went to war for anything other than money? Even if they killed these two punks here, if Lou Feng died, who was going to pay the final balance? In less than a few short minutes, Xiao An had burned through most of his spiritus. Surging sword qi ebbed and flared, turning all the more fierce and ferocious. Fighting outnumbered, relying on the mobility granted by Sword Resonance, even with the Knights of Homecoming's numerical advantage, they couldn't bring him down, inflicting only a few shallow wounds. By contrast, nearly every one of his adversaries was injured, some even heavily! Unfortunately, injuries failed to impair their combat strength. The Swarm Celestial Chosen enfeoffed by the Red King all possessed identical boons: Blood-Drinking, Sunder, Hard-Fought Battle... their endurance was maxed out. And a Grand Knight Commander like Slan, who had attained the fifth rank, held boons sufficient to trigger a chain effect—"Wild Hunt"! No weak points, no fatigue, no fear of hardship—as long as their health bar had anything left, they maintained peak combat capability, growing even stronger the lower their health fell. As long as one mind endured, they fought without cease! In the decisive battle over ninety years ago, seventy-one knights of the Red States charged the lines, shattering the White Nation's Iron Guard in a frontal clash, and thus forged the banner of the Knights of Homecoming. Born to fight, returning home only in death. To this day, the headless undead knights remained a terrifying nightmare passed down across the battlefields of the Mid-Continent. Now, regrouping once more, the knights made no rush to charge. Instead, as one, they unhooked pendant-shaped vials from their chests, bit off the tops, spat them aside, and threw back their heads to down the potions in a single gulp. At once, tangible crimson flames rose from their bodies. The fire, like a living thing, linked from one knight to the next, as though about to become a conflagration sweeping across the entire world. Blood-Burning Sacrifice: offering the Swarm Celestial Chosen's own blood as a sacrifice to the mycorrhizae to receive boons from the Fungus Lord. Trading life for power and endurance, all knights would share a single soul and bloodline. Only Swarm Celestial Chosen sharing the same matrix could unite so seamlessly into one. The Knights of Homecoming were staking their lives! Sheltered within the wing formation, the dust-streaked Lou Feng finally broke into a smile, staring coldly at the two remaining enemies. Now, they had nowhere left to run. They didn't even have that beat-up vehicle anymore... Wait— For some reason, Lou Feng suddenly froze. A chill came over him from out of nowhere, followed by a creeping shock and suspicion. He couldn't make sense of it: *Where's the trike?* *Where the hell did that damn vehicle go?!* At that moment, what he heard was a faint, crisp click. Coming from behind all the Knights of Homecoming... *Clack!* The ammo belt chambered... Amid the chaotic battle, the little three-wheeled motorcycle—which had maintained zero presence—finally shook off the dust tarp covering its bed, revealing the mountain of salvage stacked within. And nested inside the mountain of bags and bundles was a mount Ji Jue had welded together back at the camp not long ago. On the mount sat a bizarrely shaped iron-and-steel contraption. Thick, long, black, and hard... Along with six barrels that, at some point, had begun to rotate slowly, aimed from afar right at the backs of the Knights of Homecoming... making Lou Feng's eyes nearly tear at the corners! A generous sponsorship from retired veterans—a prime piece of hardware dug out from beneath the Veterans Mutual Aid Association's warehouse by Brother Feng trading on his face, then refurbished and quenched by Brother Furnace. And the twenty-one hundred rounds specially requisitioned and approved by Sister Wen accounted for more than seventy percent of Little Niuma's payload capacity... —It was a six-barreled heavy machine gun! In that very instant, Little Niuma's rear end finished angling into position. And so, on Ji Jue's signal, it unleashed a hearty, exhilarating roar: "*BEEP!!!!!*"