Qinlong were formidable opponents. Though not particularly swift, their innate divine powers covered vast areas and could stack upon one another. Furthermore, they possessed colossal strength and surging dharmic power beneath hides so thick and tough that even a Power Shaman like Tianyu, armed with a desolate steel bow and arrows, could hardly pierce them. They were, in effect, mobile aerial fortresses.
Confronted by the advancing firestorms, the Desolate Shamans of the fortress struck first. Five massive weapons hurtled through the air, spinning toward the flock. Among them, a ten-zhang double-bladed cleaver was the most terrifying. Moving with blistering speed and trailing a blackish-red radiance, it swept into the flock of qinlong, carved a massive arc, and flew back. In an instant, a rain of blood blossomed in midair as over a dozen qinlong plummeted from the sky.
The spinning weapons hurled by the other Desolate Shamans were far less devastating by comparison, each felling only a few beasts.
Suffering heavy casualties, a qinlong at the rear—several times larger than its kin—let out a piercing shriek. Over the fortress, vast sheets of fire rain suddenly materialized, pouring down across entire sections. Weaker Power Shamans who failed to dodge in time were instantly set ablaze, writhing and wailing on the ground.
The incoming qinlong each clutched two massive spheres in their talons. From over a thousand zhang away, they hurled them toward the fortress. Mid-flight, the spheres broke apart, revealing countless small desolate beasts clinging tightly to one another. In the blink of an eye, the fortress was swarming with them, numbering in the tens of thousands.
Accustomed to such tactics, the Power Shamans held their ground, fiercely guarding entryways and major thoroughfares. Apart from a few crisscrossing main avenues, the streets inside the fortress were exceedingly narrow and flanked by high walls. Lowering two stone slabs was enough to seal off an entire alleyway.
By this time, desolate worms, war beasts, and flame demons had reached the base of the walls and begun their assault. Although flame demons were capable of leaping a hundred zhang in a single bound, they obediently scaled the walls to lay siege.
Roaring, the Power Shamans swung immensely heavy weapons, smashing down and slaying waves of surging desolate fiends. Yet every now and then, an unwary Power Shaman would be dragged over the parapet by a flame demon. Whenever that happened, Ronglong would leap beyond the walls, tearing through the sea of worms and mountain of demons to bring the fallen shaman back.
The battle raged without pause for four shichen before the flame demons finally retreated, most of their forces slaughtered.
For the full four shichen of battle, Wei Yuan watched in silence. Not far from him, four Power Shamans stood guard, ensuring not a single war beast came near him.
To the Power Shamans, Wei Yuan appeared to be staring blankly, as if terrified out of his wits. But in his mindscape, another bookshelf had appeared, complete with slots for over a hundred volumes. More than a hundred copies of Wei Yuan were already dissecting the battle's data.
From this single battle alone, Wei Yuan had gathered immense insight. The reserves had rotated four times, and the intervals between front-line rotations were not fixed; rather, they shifted according to the flow of battle. It was plain to see that Ronglong's military acumen was truly miraculous, his battlefield command nothing short of extraordinary.
Beyond that, over seventy percent of the Power Shamans had been wounded. Over a hundred had been dragged outside the walls by flame demons, yet Ronglong had forcibly rescued ninety percent of them. The other four Desolate Shamans had joined forces to retrieve the remaining ten percent; in the end, only a single Power Shaman had actually perished.
Ronglong's strength was unfathomable, while the differences among the other four Desolate Shamans were stark. Yanhu clearly possessed surplus lethality but lacked defense; his dharmic body was a notch weaker than that of the other Desolate Shamans, though his offensive might was a tier higher. Yet on the battlefields of the Desolate Realm, the resilience of one's dharmic body came first. Only by enduring blows could one deal damage and secure victory.
The sheer malleability of the flame demons' bodies exceeded Wei Yuan's previous estimates. Many had half their bodies flattened, yet still crawled back to their feet to fight, as if that crushed half did not even belong to them.
Having analyzed the battle's data, Wei Yuan pondered: how could he obtain the karmic luck of these Power Shamans?
Closing his eyes slightly, Wei Yuan froze his memory at a single instant of the battle. He identified every Power Shaman in that snapshot, cataloging their armor, weapons, and unique divine powers and combat techniques.
Once that frame was processed, Wei Yuan shifted to another instant and repeated the process. Within moments, he had tagged and recorded every single Power Shaman and Desolate Shaman.
Just then, a nearby Power Shaman spoke: "The battle's over; you're free to move around now. But desolate beasts and flame demons cling to life. Plenty of beasts can still bite a shaman with nothing left but a mouth. Best stay away until we've finished clearing the field."
Wei Yuan nodded and returned to his courtyard, instructing Hunter Thirty-One and Zhengang to bring out the tools. As expected, several Power Shaman warriors soon came knocking, carrying damaged dharma artifacts and hoping Wei Yuan could repair them.
The first Power Shaman set down a massive desolate steel cleaver. The blade was extraordinarily heavy, its edge marred by numerous notches big and small—many of them chipped on top of existing chips. It was obvious it hadn't received proper maintenance in a very long time.
Wei Yuan ran a hand over the blade and instantly sensed immense karmic luck, accompanied by an equally dense karmic debt. Karmic luck and karmic debt were intertwined, suppressed deep within the blade, already showing faint signs of awakening a spirit. If a spirit were born from this blade, it would likely be a rare and ferocious one.
After sensing it carefully for a moment, Wei Yuan opened his eyes, only to find five eyes of varying sizes staring intently at him, brimming with suspicion.
"Can this blade still be fixed?" the five-eyed Power Shaman asked.
Wei Yuan did not answer immediately, instead asking, "Why wasn't it repaired before? Leaving it until now makes fixing it very difficult."
The Power Shaman glared with his three large eyes and snapped angrily, "What do you mean, 'leaving it until now'?! Do you just not know how to fix it?" His voice boomed like thunder, yet his two smaller eyes were surreptitiously scrutinizing Wei Yuan.
Wei Yuan had already pulled up the shaman's profile from his memory. His code name was Mad Bull, a stalwart front-line warrior. According to his combat data, his true eyes were actually the two inconspicuous smaller ones on the outside; the three large eyes served distinct purposes, none of which were meant for looking at people.
Wei Yuan didn't call him out. Pointing to two notches, he said, "These two are fresh damage from today's battle. One came from hacking into a qinlong's iron talons, and the other from cleaving a flame demon."
Mad Bull was instantly shocked. "How did you know?!"
Wei Yuan still didn't answer, remarking calmly, "Had you brought it for repair sooner, one of these notches wouldn't exist, and the other would be far smaller."
Mad Bull cast aside all contempt. "You truly are a master artificer! So can my blade still be saved?"
"Why wasn't it repaired before?" Wei Yuan asked again.
This time, Mad Bull was far more honest. "The previous artificer was terrible. He claimed it was beyond repair and told me to get a new one. But I have feelings for this blade; I just couldn't bear to throw it away. Once, I almost tossed it out, but then I heard... it weeping."
"Where is that previous artificer now?"
"A fraud. He ruined quite a few pieces of gear and was nearly beaten to death by the brothers. Lord Ronglong stepped in to protect him and sent him back."
Standing silently nearby, Tianyu broke into a cold sweat. Before being exiled, some of his old fair-weather friends had secretly approached him, advising him to pose as an artificer so he wouldn't have to go to the front lines. Only now did Tianyu realize that if Wei Yuan hadn't come along and he had followed his 'friend's' secret method, he would have been beaten to death without a doubt.
Wei Yuan cast what seemed to be a casual glance at Tianyu before turning back to Mad Bull. "This blade truly is a treasure. Following you is almost a shame. Do you want to save it?"
Mad Bull froze, then beamed with ecstasy. "As long as you can fix it! I'd even give you my life!"
"I don't need your life, but I will need plenty of blood. Bleed onto the blade. Don't stop until I say so."
Gritting his teeth, Mad Bull drew a short blade and slashed viciously across his own arm! Searing blood gushed out like a torrent, dousing the blade. Wei Yuan sat motionless, his eyes locked on the weapon.
As the hot blood struck the blade, it instantly vaporized into steam and dispersed. Spurred by Mad Bull's dharmic power, over a hundred jin of blood poured over it in the blink of an eye. Even with the resilient physique of a Power Shaman, his face turned deathly pale, and ghostly phantoms began blurring his vision.
Still bleeding himself through clenched teeth, Mad Bull rubbed his eyes hard. "Strange... why is my sight getting blurry?"
Seeing Mad Bull still spewing blood and fast approaching mortal peril, the surrounding Power Shamans grew frantic. Some could barely hold back their curses before being restrained by comrades. Yet those companions could hardly conceal their thoughts either, their expressions practically shouting: *If this doesn't work, we'll tear you to pieces!*
Wei Yuan waited patiently until Mad Bull's consciousness began to fade, finally sensing a tenuous connection form with the karmic luck and karmic debt hidden within the blade. Acting decisively, Wei Yuan let out a Desolate Roar, hoisted his forging hammer high, and brought it crashing down, imbued with a thousand strands of human fortune and a hundred strands of sacrificial power!
A ringing clang echoed like a bell tolling in an empty mountain, reverberating continuously for a hundred li around.
Chapter 893