"Your Majesty!"
Seeing the emperor limping out of the bedchamber, the eunuchs and palace maids outside cried out in alarm, scrambling over one another to support him.
While breathing a sigh of relief inside, Zhang Yuanqing did not forget to maintain his persona, shouting at the top of his lungs, "There are assassins! Hurry, alert the Imperial City Division!"
The maids and eunuchs had also noticed the fierce sounds of fighting coming from inside the bedchamber. Terrified, they fled in all directions, spreading cries of "Assassins!" and "Come quickly, save His Majesty!"
The alarm spread from ten to a hundred, until shouts for help echoed everywhere outside the bedchamber.
His calf injured, Zhang Yuanqing fled toward the square outside the bedchamber, supported by two eunuchs. In the lull before the Imperial Guard reinforcements arrived, he grabbed the sleeve of the eunuch on his left and whispered several instructions into his ear.
The eunuch blinked in surprise, then nodded. "By your command!"
Abandoning the emperor, he sprinted into the darkness.
Before long, a vast sea of torchlight drifted over from the distance. Accompanied by the clank of armor, a squad of Imperial Guards bearing torches arrived first, led by the Imperial Guard Commander he had met earlier that day, Zheng Longtu.
"Your Majesty!" Zheng Longtu dashed forward, blade at his hip, looking thoroughly alarmed. "This subject is late to the rescue and deserves ten thousand deaths!"
By the light of the torches, he looked Zhang Yuanqing up and down. Seeing no mortal peril, his grim face relaxed slightly.
Zhang Yuanqing hurriedly said, "Quickly, capture the three female assassins. Leave them alive!"
Zheng Longtu nodded, waving his large hand.
"Quickly, seize the assassins!"
The Imperial Guards behind him roared in acknowledgment, tossed aside their torches, and charged into the bedchamber in sweeping strides.
Suddenly, a drone of buzzing arose—the rapid, loud vibration of insect wings.
In the flickering torchlight, Zhang Yuanqing saw an insect land on a eunuch's cheek. It was two inches long, pitch-black from head to tail, with a pair of delicate wings, its species indistinguishable.
The insect bared a hideous pair of mouthparts and bit viciously into the eunuch's face.
"Ah—!"
The eunuch shrieked piteously, thrashing on the ground in agony.
The Imperial Guards suffered the same fate.
Several Fire Specialists among the guards raised their torches and blew hard. Tongues of fire several meters long curled into the sky, illuminating the entire square and the insect swarm above.
*Sizzle, hiss...*
The flying insects licked by the flames plummeted like rain, giving off a burnt stench.
"Gu insects! There is a Witch Doctor lurking in the palace!" Zheng Longtu's expression shifted, and he barked, "Hold the bedchamber! Kill the swarm and cover His Majesty!"
He seized Zhang Yuanqing by the shoulder and said urgently, "Your Majesty, follow me to the side hall to take refuge!"
Without allowing any room for argument, he dragged Zhang Yuanqing along.
Frail and unable to manage on his own, Zhang Yuanqing could only let himself be hauled forward.
*Bang!*
Zheng Longtu kicked open the door to the side hall, ushered Zhang Yuanqing inside, turned around to shut the door, and slid the bolt home.
Fortunately, the sprint had been smooth. Those gu insects had not given chase, nor had they attempted to attack either of them.
Once the door was sealed, Zheng Longtu, who had appeared frantic and grave, suddenly looked entirely relaxed. He strolled over to the table, poured himself a cup of water, and took an unhurried sip.
Zhang Yuanqing remained by the door, peering through the crack to observe the situation outside. By now, more and more Imperial Guards were rushing in, and an ever-larger swarm of insects was swooping down.
The swarm and the guards were locked in a stalemate, while a blazing fire had erupted inside the bedchamber. Neither the three female assassins nor Attendant Li had emerged.
*The Witch Doctor pulling the strings didn't direct the swarm to attack me... The purpose of attacking the guards was to pin them down and buy time for the three female assassins to escape?*
*If that's the case, the identity of the Witch Doctor controlling the swarm is as clear as day.*
*It's Xiao Yuan!*
*Only Xiao Yuan would try to save them. But how did she know who they were? What role did she take? First, I can rule out the Empress. She didn't attack me, so her mission isn't to assassinate the tyrant? But she didn't save me either, which means she doesn't know the tyrant is Yuanshi, or she's still observing...* Zhang Yuanqing's thoughts raced through a rapid analysis.
Just then, Zheng Longtu's voice drifted into his ear: "Your Majesty, it is safe inside the side hall. You may set your mind at ease."
"Commander Zheng, why didn't you post guards outside the side hall? What if villains break in?" Zhang Yuanqing tore his gaze from the door and turned to face Zheng Longtu inside the room.
He froze instantly, his back pinned against the latticed door, not daring to twitch a muscle.
A sword was pressed against his chest.
"You..." Zhang Yuanqing's pupils shrank. He stared in disbelief at this commander of the Imperial City Division. Biologically speaking, Zheng Longtu was Zhao Shun's maternal cousin, supposed to be the most trusted of his inner circle.
The flickering candlelight in the side hall danced across Zheng Longtu's face, making his expression seem just as wavering and unpredictable.
Zheng Longtu said impassively, "If the Imperial Guards were stationed outside, how could I assassinate Your Majesty? You truly have remarkable luck. Even the exotic poison refined by that person failed to kill you, leaving me with no choice but to take the risk and strike myself tonight. Who gave you the brilliant scheme to fight poison with poison? None of the imperial physicians in the palace possess such skill."
***
Linxia City.
The night was desolate and still; all sounds were hushed.
Torchlight on the ramparts flickered in the night wind, stretching along the battlements like a writhing fire dragon.
As a Night Walker, Zhao Chenghuang naturally took on the duty of night watch.
He stood atop the city wall, gazing out over the pitch-black wilderness beyond. The tents of the Northern Dynasty's vast army were pitched along the riverbank; even with his vision, he could make out only faint silhouettes.
The first night after entering the dungeon had been exceptionally peaceful—so peaceful that the sentries yawned repeatedly.
Following the daytime probing attacks with gu insects and gu poison, the Northern Dynasty army had found no openings and settled down for the moment. The two forces held each other at bay from a distance, neither launching an assault.
Yet Zhao Chenghuang knew that this was merely the calm before the storm. From the standpoint of a dungeon, Spirit Realm walkers needed time to acclimate to their environment and gather intelligence.
In practical terms, a siege was an endurance battle; a standoff lasting ten days or half a month was entirely possible.
Even so, war would inevitably arrive.
Zhao Chenghuang had never experienced a large-scale engagement of this magnitude. He felt a measure of unease and a touch of nervousness, but no fear. After all, for a Night Walker, a battlefield was their home turf.
Because dead bodies and spirits of the deceased would be everywhere.
As his thoughts drifted, Zhao Chenghuang noticed that a thick fog had begun to spread across the plains at some unknown point. Dense and suffocating, it blotted out the sky and earth, casting an even deeper gloom over the desolate night.
At the same time, the wraiths he had stationed to patrol the wilderness picked up the sound of hurried footsteps racing through the mist.
In the next instant, he lost contact with every wraith enveloped by the fog.
Zhao Chenghuang's heart dropped, and he bellowed, "Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
Shouting at the top of his lungs, he rushed over to the war drum, seized the drumsticks, and struck with all his might.
*Boom! Boom! Boom!*
The heavy drumming rolled out into the night, echoing through every quarter of the city.
The silent barracks came to life in an instant. The garrison, sleeping in their armor, poured out like marching ants. Some sprinted to the drill grounds to assemble, while others rushed into armories to haul siege-defense equipment and tools.
Atop the wall, soldiers resting in the gate towers surged out, systematically rolling out arrows, pitching oil, and rolling logs, while others manned the heavy ballistas mounted on the ramparts.
Fu Qingyang, Heavenly King Demonic Eye, and Xiahou Aotian were the first to leap onto the battlements. Looking out, they saw billowing, grayish-white fog rolling toward them as swift as a galloping steed, already less than thirty paces from the walls.
Fu Qingyang said in a low voice, "Mist Lords can teleport within the mist. Disperse it at once."
These words were naturally directed at Xiahou Aotian.
The sole Artifact Refiner in the party calmly accessed his inventory, drew out a massive white feather fan two meters long, and swung it with all his might.
*Whoosh—*
A violent gale erupted, violently battering back the rolling fog.
Xiahou Aotian threw his full strength into it, fanning incessantly with the feather fan that stood taller than he did. The airflow formed an invisible barrier above the battlements, repelling every wave of incoming mist.
As he kept swinging, the air within a hundred meters grew increasingly turbulent, spinning into dozens of swirling tempests tens of meters high. Some shattered against the ramparts, while others tore out across the flat plains.
The raging wind seized the dense fog, scattering it in all directions or hurling it high into the sky.
In the blink of an eye, the smoke-thick mist vanished, revealing the enemies concealed within it to the defenders.
Mounted archers charged at the vanguard, infantry bearing scaling ladders took up the center, and packhorse-drawn trebuchets brought up the rear.
At the sight, two veteran centurions raised their signal flags, issuing commands through semaphore.
In ancient large-scale warfare, signal flags were used to convey orders. Human voices could hardly reach the three armies amidst the chaos of battle—not even a mighty warrior like Zhang Fei, who had severed Changban Bridge with a roar, could achieve that.
Guided by the shifting flags, one portion of the defenders drew their bows and aimed into the distance, while another loaded the ballistas and calibrated their angles.
The moment the Northern Dynasty cavalry rode within two hundred paces of the walls, both centurions brought their signal flags down hard.
Instantly, ten thousand arrows took flight from the ramparts, raining down like a torrential storm.
The Northern Dynasty's heavy cavalry charged through the hail of arrows, not drawing their bows to return fire until they closed to within a hundred paces. Two sheets of arrows crossed and tore into each other from above and below.
Shielded by their mounted archers, the siege infantry reached the base of the wall with shields raised. They planted their scaling ladders, clamped blades between their teeth, and scaled the rungs with astonishing speed.
By then, reinforcements from the barracks had reached the ramparts with defense equipment. Grabbing rolling logs and boulders, they hurled them downward. The climbing enemy soldiers tumbled like raindrops.
Yet more and more infantry reached the foot of the wall, clinging to the ladders like ants and clambering upward.
The defenders hauled over barrels of oil and tipped the viscous, flammable liquid over the edge. Fire Specialists in the ranks flicked sparks of flame, igniting the oil.
Flames mercilessly engulfed the climbing forces. A roaring conflagration flared at the base of the walls, sending up billowing columns of smoke. The blistering heat and choking fumes proved an excruciating ordeal even for those lucky enough to escape being doused in oil.
Fu Qingyang looked on coldly.
As a high-ranking Scout, he had long grown accustomed to such scenes. But Lingjun, Tianxia Guihuo, Zhao Chenghuang, and Xiahou Aotian had never witnessed life being treated so much like grass, and the sight shook them to their core.
Their classes had ensured they would never encounter a large-scale war dungeon.
*Swoosh!*
A shrill whistle cut through the air as an arrow pierced the battlefield at unfathomable speed, heading straight for Fu Qingyang.
Fu Qingyang stood motionless as a mountain, raising a hand to snatch the incoming arrow out of the air.
Amidst the enemy ranks, a burly figure rocketed into the sky like a cannonball, roaring with laughter:
"Yang Ce! Who would have thought a pampered noble like you actually had some grit? We didn't finish things today—let's go at it again!"
The man wore blood-red armor, his hair woven into dreadlocks, his face broad with a flat nose and single eyelids—a textbook Northern Dynasty warrior.
It was none other than the Right Commander of the Great Sword Army, Wanyan Batian.
While still airborne, two blood-red runes surfaced in Wanyan Batian's eyes. Defenders around Fu Qingyang clutched their heads and screamed in agony, veins bulging across their temples as they lost all reason and began butchering one another.
Right then, a beam of golden-red light shot out from the other side of the ramparts, striking Wanyan Batian dead-on.
The burly general, built of dense muscle beneath a thick layer of fat, froze. The spiritual energy inside him fell into chaotic disarray, leaving him suspended in midair.
Fu Qingyang flicked his wrist, hurling the arrow in his grasp. It struck Wanyan Batian squarely in the forehead with a sharp *clang*, spraying sparks. Yet the arrow, imbued with sword qi, merely tore the skin and flesh without piercing the bone.
"Leave this guy to me!" Heavenly King Demonic Eye, who had been itching for a fight, launched himself upward with a resounding *boom*, slamming into Wanyan Batian from the flank.
The collision between the two Ancient Gods of War sounded like the deep chime of an ancient temple bell, reverberating far and wide. Wanyan Batian crashed into the cavalry formation below, crushing men and horses alike, leaving a swath of dead and wounded.
The two Ancient Gods of War began trading blows amidst the tens of thousands of troops. At times they fought atop the ramparts; at times they plunged into the Northern Dynasty ranks. Wherever they passed, flesh and bone were pulverized.
Heavenly King Demonic Eye was of a lower level than Wanyan Batian, yet his Eye of Bewitchment gave him a distinct edge, allowing him to suppress and batter the level-eight general.
Unfortunately, an Ancient God of War boasted skin of bronze and bones of iron, invulnerable to blades and spears. Leaving aside his astonishing vitality, he was surrounded by living blood reservoirs; whenever his strength waned or his injuries worsened, he could casually seize a soldier, drain his vital blood, and fully recover.
As the two armies were locked in their deadlock, a resounding drumbeat echoed from the Northern Dynasty's deep rear.
A savage host clad in blood-red armor finally entered the fray.
The Great Sword Army!
At the same moment, the crushing pressure of a transcendent being descended. Soldiers, middle-ranking commanders, and high-ranking generals across the battlefield began trembling uncontrollably in their hands and feet.
Even Fu Qingyang, the supreme commander, involuntarily clenched every muscle in his body, on high alert as if facing the greatest adversary of his life.
His expression turned unprecedentedly grave.
*Tuoba Guanghe is level nine?!*
Chapter 845