"By mandate of Heaven, may the Emperor live long and prosper!"
"Long live His Majesty! Ten thousand years, ten thousand years, ten thousand times ten thousand years!"
Inside the capital and atop the ramparts, the Southern Dynasty soldiers had yet to sense the howling streak of sword light hurtling through the sky. They were still deeply immersed in the miracle of their sovereign returning from the dead twice over.
They waved their weapons in wild excitement, chanting "Long live His Majesty," utterly convinced that he was the true Son of Heaven, the mortal emperor ordained by destiny.
As for the breathtaking woman in the resplendent gown, radiating maternal grace, the soldiers regarded her as a goddess descending from the heavens to aid the sovereign.
All past grievances, resentment, and fury toward the emperor vanished into thin air at that moment.
Rushing toward the gate, the Imperial City Division and the inner city guards caught the thunderous, tsunami-like chants of "Long live His Majesty" echoing from the ramparts. They silently rejoiced that they had reined in at the brink of the precipice and turned back in time.
By following a sovereign who possessed divine favor to resist foreign invaders, a sliver of hope remained. Had they surrendered, their fate would have been grim beyond redemption.
Watching the streak of sword light on the horizon, Zhang Yuanqing nearly wept tears of joy. *You bastard, you're finally here! Any later and the brother you so heavily rely on would've been beaten into the dirt!*
Naturally, before the countless defending soldiers, he still had to maintain his imperial majesty. He called out in a resonant voice, "Our Grand Marshal has arrived to relieve the capital!"
Only then did the crowd take note of the meteor-like glare of sword light at the horizon.
At first glance, it seemed far away. Yet within a few blinks, it descended upon the battlements, trailing wind and thunder. Only afterward did the thunderous sonic boom reach everyone's ears, arriving fashionably late.
When they focused their gaze, the newcomer had handsome features, wore bloodstained armor, and was draped in an exquisite black cloak embroidered with gold thread. He exuded an air of majesty mixed with dashing elegance, and dashing elegance tempered by battle-hardened resolve.
It was none other than Yang Ce, defender of Linxia City.
Fu Qingyang's eyes, cold as an icy pool, swept over the scene and settled upon Zhang Yuanqing.
The latter immediately dropped onto the battlements to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Fu Qingyang, turning to face their airborne enemy together.
"The enemies inside the capital have all been dealt with, but Xiao Yuan, the Palace Mistress, and the Azure Dragon Gang Master were afflicted by a corpse curse. Yin energy has invaded their bodies, rendering them unfit for further combat. At most, they can play support and offer some heals," Zhang Yuanqing whispered, relaying the situation as concisely as possible.
"I left Demonic Eye and Xiahou Aotian in Linxia to pin down the Northern Dynasty's main force. I brought only eight hundred elites with me," Fu Qingyang replied even more concisely.
Zhang Yuanqing cast his gaze outward. A unit of cavalry was galloping toward the gate under the starlight.
He pulled back his gaze and added, "My item sets are on cooldown, and the Yata no Kagami is also on cooldown. For now, all I have left to fight by your side is this seven-foot frame of mine."
Fu Qingyang turned, scrutinized him for a few moments, and remarked flatly, "Somewhat useful, yet essentially useless."
*Boss, that really hurts my pride!* Zhang Yuanqing grumbled internally.
On the other side, Tuoba Guanghe waited for a moment. Seeing that no other Dominator-stage powerhouses were coming, he finally turned his gaze toward Yang Ce and Zhao Shun on the battlements—the two central figures of the Southern Dynasty. His voice boomed like thunder:
"Yang Ce, without Wanyan Rentu and that annoying artificer to aid you, your death is at hand. Do you dare fight this marshal?"
Given his status, it was not difficult for him to see that the red-robed woman holding the bronze pot was clogged with yin energy and unable to circulate her spiritual energy smoothly. Although she possessed the status of a Grandmaster, she was little more than an ornament.
As for the yin creature dressed in bizarre attire, it was a mere specter that could be obliterated with a single punch, unworthy of concern.
He had already thoroughly gauged Zhao Shun's strength; he could slay him within three strikes.
None of the three Grandmasters posed any threat.
Yang Ce was no match for him either. Breaching the capital was an absolute certainty.
Fu Qingyang and Zhang Yuanqing exchanged a look. The former's expression was chilly, while the latter's gaze was resolute.
With his cloak snapping in the night wind, Fu Qingyang raised his head and looked coldly at Tuoba Guanghe. "Tuoba, you have traversed the martial worlds of both the North and the South, defeating every martial artist under heaven. Seeking defeat, you joined the imperial court as a general. You have campaigned across the realm for over a decade without suffering a single loss.
"I, too, wish to know whether it is the Puppeteer who reigns supreme on this battlefield, or the Ancient God of War who triumphs."
Amidst the echoing, clear, and proud voice, he raised both hands. Countless invisible threads surged from his fingertips, cast into the air to latch onto the heads of the soldiers stationed along the ramparts.
All two thousand soldiers on the battlements dropped their heads in unison.
As Fu Qingyang pressed his hands downward, the two thousand soldiers leaped into the air simultaneously, jumping down from the twenty-meter-high city wall.
Tuoba Guanghe descended from the sky to confront the surging enemy troops, his face flush with exhilaration. He and Fu Qingyang had clashed for ten days at Linxia, and his opponent had always played it safe, holding firmly to the walls without ever pitting his troop-controlling arts against him on the open field.
He waved his massive hand and laughed wildly. "Juque Army, engage!"
Four hundred heavy cavalrymen surged forth to form battle ranks. The heavy thud of hooves caused the earth to tremble faintly. The Juque Army's mounts were the strongest and tallest breed from the grasslands.
The steppe nomads disliked this breed because they were neither swift nor agile enough. Though possessing explosive power, they lacked stamina. While fine steeds for breaching lines, they were unsuited for long raids and could not wage prolonged campaigns.
Yet in the hands of the Northern Dynasty, where metallurgical craft was advanced, they became meat grinders on the battlefield—heavy armored cavalry that charged rampantly through enemy ranks.
Facing this charging torrent of steel, the two thousand soldiers showed no fear. The hundred soldiers in the vanguard bent low in unison, sweeping their sabers toward the horses' legs.
Horses shrieked and crashed to the ground, sending the Juque warriors tumbling from their backs.
The heavy cavalry behind them swarmed forward, lightly swinging their sabers to sever the heads of those who had hamstrung the horses.
A thrown Juque warrior rolled several times, and just as he bounced to his feet, a charging Southern Dynasty soldier impaled him through the heart.
The Juque warrior gave a sinister grin and thrust his hand back through the soldier's chest. The splashing blood did not hit the ground; instead, it transformed into a crimson mist of spiritual energy, surging into the Juque warrior's nostrils to become an elixir that nourished his body and mended his wounds.
*Slash!*
From the flank, a soldier lunged out like a ghost, severing the Juque warrior's head with a single blade strike.
Yet no sooner had he slain his foe than the heavy cavalry behind cut him in two.
The armored heavy cavalry acted like a sharp blade piercing into the belly of the two thousand defenders, violently slicing their formation in half.
Tuoba Guanghe governed his troops strictly and trained them ruthlessly. The Juque Army in particular was composed entirely of elites handpicked from the military and trained personally by him for ten years before attaining their current caliber.
Among the five hundred of the Juque Army, the baseline for an ordinary warrior was a first-rate master (Level 3). A squad leader was an early minor Grandmaster, while a centurion was a minor Grandmaster at peak cultivation.
The Left and Right Commanders were Grandmasters.
Such a force led personally by him could gouge through a ten-thousand-man infantry phalanx or conquer a nation.
The Southern Dynasty's two thousand infantry fell in swathes.
At that moment, Fu Qingyang yanked his right hand hard from afar. A storm of fiery rain shot forth, landing squarely within the Juque cavalry formation.
In an instant, thunderous explosions erupted all around. Armored horses were flipped through the air by shockwaves or blown to smithereens, and several Juque warriors were killed on the spot.
The sound of hooves surged like a tide as eight hundred elites joined the fray, cutting into the Juque Army's left flank.
The vanguard cavalry carried meter-high shields, pushing forward like bulldozers. Every shield-bearer was a strapping brute with broad, thick shoulders and arms thicker than a woman's waist.
The second rank was made up of formidable cavalrymen wielding long-handled horse-chopping sabers, capable of cleaving both rider and steed in a single blow.
The third rank comprised cavalrymen with restless, fiery brows, armed with standard sabers.
The fourth rank consisted of sword-bearing archers. Standing up in their stirrups, they drew their bows and fired in seamless unison, every arrow miraculously finding horse necks or the throats of the heavy cavalrymen.
When the shield cavalry crashed into the enemy ranks, they actually knocked the Juque heavy cavalry sprawling. Immediately after, the unit of horse-chopping sabers endowed with monstrous strength surged forward, cutting down rider and horse alike in single strokes.
Throughout the clash, the archers in the rear drew their bows without pause to support their comrades.
Once the horse-chopping saber unit exhausted the momentum of their initial blow, the Fire Mages in the third rank seized the opening, invading like raging fire to deliver finishing strikes against the disrupted Juque warriors.
A grueling slaughter rapidly unfolded.
With a cold face, Fu Qingyang overlooked the battlefield. His ten fingers flicked rapidly and dragged in turn. Under his manipulation, the two thousand foot soldiers and eight hundred cavalry coordinated seamlessly—now splitting to flank, now massing at the right moment to strike at enemy weak points.
At times, they feigned an attack to draw attention, providing cover for allies striking the flanks and steadily whittling down the numbers of the Juque Army.
A Puppeteer's puppetry was divided into deep control and shallow control.
So-called deep control meant transforming "soldier puppets" into soulless pawns stripped of emotion and pain, then channeling one's own power through the "threads" into them.
One person could become an army of thousands, just like the two thousand Southern Dynasty soldiers.
Shallow control, on the other hand, meant merely relaying commands through the threads while leaving the bodies under the puppets' own control. This technique was typically reserved for instances where the "soldier puppets" were Spirit Realm walkers.
Only in this way could the puppets unleash their full combat potential.
Such was the case for the eight hundred cavalrymen.
"Grand Marshal Yang, your puppetry is nothing special! Brothers, show him what we're made of!" A Mist Lord of the Juque Army inhaled deeply and exhaled violently, spewing out billows of thick white mist that spread rapidly.
The other Mist Lords among the Juque Army followed suit, exhaling clouds and mist. In no time, a dense fog shrouded the wilderness outside the city, completely concealing the soldiers of both sides.
Fu Qingyang's Insight technique could no longer function.
From the fog came the sound of hooves, clashing metal, and sharp blades cleaving flesh.
The garrison soldiers on the walls leaned over the battlements, straining their eyes to discern the battle. Yet the fog was so dense that they could only hear the sounds without seeing anything.
Fu Qingyang sensed the threads snapping one by one at his fingertips, losing connection with one "soldier puppet" after another.
In a brief quarter of an hour, fully six hundred threads snapped, signifying that six hundred soldiers had perished—and the toll was still mounting.
Puppets were not a Night Walker's yin corpses, after all; they could not share vision. The dense fog blocked his sight and countered a Scout's Insight technique, effectively blinding Fu Qingyang.
If this continued, defeat was inevitable.
Beyond the dense fog, the corners of Tuoba Guanghe's mouth curled upward as his voice rang out sonorously:
"Yang Ce, this marshal hasn't even stepped in yet. Do you now know who reigns supreme on the battlefield?"
*Thump!*
Suddenly, a drumbeat like muffled thunder rang out, shaking the four quarters.
Even the churning fog paused in its tracks.
Tuoba Guanghe's expression shifted. Thunder roared in his ears and his heart leaped into his throat. Having rampaged across battlefields for years and slaughtered tens of thousands of souls, an involuntary tremor of dread welled up within him at that moment.
His gaze pierced through the mist toward the sound. There on the wall stood Zhao Shun before a massive drum wrapped in deep-green beast hide, gripping a stark-white leg bone and striking with all his might.
*Thump, thump-thump, thump-thump-thump...*
The drumbeats grew denser and more hurried.
To Tuoba Guanghe, each beat felt like a heavy hammer striking his heart again and again, churning his blood and clogging his spiritual energy.
A figure bolted out of the dense fog—a Juque cavalryman.
Then came a second, a third, a fourth... More and more Juque warriors broke from the mist and fled in all directions, their faces contorted with terror.
"None but you can wear the three feet of pure snow; who else beneath heaven is worthy of the white robe!" Zhang Yuanqing roared with laughter. "Marshal Yang, We shall beat the drum for you in person! Go forth with your flying sword to take their heads and slay every enemy chieftain!"
This was Zhang Yuanqing's trump card. The Kui Cow Drum was an item seized during the battle to hunt down the Southern Sect's Third Elder—a peak-grade item of the Dominator stage.
Supposedly, there were eighty Kui Cow Drums in total, crafted by Jiutian Xuannü for the Yellow Emperor. A single strike resonated for five hundred li, and continuous strikes reached three thousand six hundred li, stripping the enemy of all fighting will and crushing them into a landslide defeat.
This was what Xiahou Aotian had told him, based on information from the ring's old grandpa.
The grandpa had also told Xiahou Aotian that Jiutian Xuannü was a demigod of the Scholar profession, as well as the primeval ancestor of these alchemists.
This drum possessed boundless power, but its cost was equally severe. The drummer had to focus entirely, unable to use any skills or items, and their astral body had to be powerful enough to withstand the drum's backlash.
That was why the one who used the Kui Cow Drum back then had been the Southern Sect's Third Elder. An Illusionist's astral body was exceptionally strong, ranking among the top three of all professions.
Against the Imperial Preceptor, this item had held little utility. For one, the Preceptor was nearly immortal, so the drum's suppression could not kill him. For another, they lacked sufficient core fighters on their side; if Zhang Yuanqing had been bound to the Kui Cow Drum, Xiao Yuan and the others could never have defeated the Preceptor, nor could any of them use the drum themselves.
A smile finally broke across Fu Qingyang's eternally frozen expression.
The surviving three hundred cavalrymen charged out of the fog, chasing down the scattering Juque warriors. After a bout of effortless slaughter, Tuoba Guanghe's decade of painstaking effort went up in smoke.
Over a thousand foot soldiers and three hundred cavalry quickly rallied, raising their blades high to charge at Tuoba Guanghe.
Tuoba Guanghe's eyes darkened. His chest and belly suddenly swelled as air surged into his gut in a single breath—
One thousand two hundred Southern Dynasty soldiers were reduced to ash and dust.
Fu Qingyang and Tuoba Guanghe moved simultaneously. One leapt from the city wall, transforming into the sharpest sword light in the world. The other shot into the sky, resembling an arrogant and domineering demon blade.
Atop the ramparts, the emperor beat the drum.
Below the walls, Commandery Princess Yinyao produced the Little Red Riding Hood, cheerfully gathering the corpses of the Juque Army.
Chapter 882