Still, Maotao had clearly been able to read it, yet feigned bewilderment just like the rest of them. The lad was no fool.
"I don't recognize much Baling script, so it was hard to read. But Tao Bo begged whoever dug up the journal to send it to the Baling Kingdom, promising a handsome reward. He also seemed to say that based on this illusion, some deity truly has fallen."
He Lingchuan's heart stirred. "Mitian?"
It seemed Baling Kingdom knew even more insider secrets. But that was only natural—they had been one of the warring nations back then, after all.
"I couldn't read those characters," Maotao said with a wry smile. "Also, the Dafang Pot might not be movable."
He Lingchuan's expression changed. "Are you sure?"
They had braved immense hardships and risks to come here specifically to retrieve the Dafang Pot. If the pot couldn't be taken away, hadn't he come all this way for nothing?
Furthermore, what about the battle at Woling Pass?
The moment that question surfaced, He Lingchuan startled himself.
Since when had he cared so much about Yuan Kingdom's war situation?
"I just wasn't sure, which is why I hesitated to say anything," Maotao mumbled. "I only went to village school for three years. If I'd known, I wouldn't have slept in class." One truly regrets not studying enough when knowledge is needed.
"What else?" He Lingchuan stroked his chin. National Preceptor Sun must have seen these lines too, yet had kept his mouth shut. Did the old man have a sure way to move the Dafang Pot, or did he have other calculations in mind?
"Also, Tao Bo believed there is a powerful presence in this world." Maotao hung his head in embarrassment. "I couldn't understand much of the rest, so I didn't dare make wild guesses."
A powerful presence? "Does he mean the peeper lurking in some unknown corner?"
Maotao shrugged. How could he know the answer? "Brother Chuan, why didn't the National Preceptor mention it?"
"Perhaps he thought there was no need for us to know." He Lingchuan changed the subject. "How long have we been setting fires?"
"Uh, over a shichen?"
"Time to head back."
"The north side still—"
He Lingchuan cut him off. "The north might not matter."
Where did the young master get the idea that the north didn't matter? "The buildings in the north haven't been burned; I'm afraid the preceptor will hold it against us." In the outside world, Maotao would certainly have followed He Lingchuan's lead without question, but here...
"Young Master, you can't ruin me."
"We'll head back first. If the illusion still doesn't break, I'll definitely accompany you north," He Lingchuan said with a chuckle. "Are you afraid those two will eat you?"
That struck right at the heart of Maotao's worries, making him shudder involuntarily. Among the four, he was the weakest. If he didn't want to be the first one eaten, he at least had to win someone over to his side.
By then, the oil, charcoal, and firewood they had restocked along the way were completely exhausted. Maotao objected no further, so they abandoned the handcart and headed toward the South Gate.
"Young Master, shouldn't we go straight across?" Why make a detour and slip along right beside the eastern city wall?
"Follow me, and cut the chatter." He Lingchuan couldn't explain why, but the further south they went, the heavier and more uneasy his chest grew.
It felt as though impending doom was about to strike.
That was why he chose this route: the buildings on the east side were tall and the waterways dense, making it easy to conceal their movements.
Now, flames soared skyward in both the east and west of the city, carrying the distinct taste of an approaching apocalypse.
***
Outside the Thunder-Calling Formation, a dark, dense host of heroic spirits stretched as far as the eye could see, without end.
The ordinary resentful souls had long since been shoved goodness knows where; only the Gale Army surrounded the place completely. Their ranks were disciplined, standing silent and deep as an abyss, their rabid frenzy from when they had first emerged from the pond gone without a trace.
In life and in death, they were a formidable force.
Being stared at in dead silence by tens of thousands of deceased soldiers—how much pressure did that put on the living?
The soldiers of Blackwater City felt their scalps prickle, unable to tell whether it was from terror or the crackling electricity. Before so many military souls, could the formation still keep them safe? He Chunhua frequently called out to bolster his men's morale: "Have no fear, have no dread! The heavenly thunder is more than enough to protect us! Standing firmly here means fighting for our nation!"
Indeed, snakes of lightning slithered across the talisman formation on the ground, reminding friend and foe alike that its restrained power remained potent.
Earlier, the squad leader of the spirits had hurled a spear, only for it to be disintegrated by the heavenly thunder without harming the living inside, which had put everyone's minds at ease. Who would have guessed that it not only possessed the wits to evaluate the situation, but even knew to dispatch subordinates to fetch reinforcements?
The vast, surging host outside the formation now certainly did not look like spectators. Once their numbers gathered, they would likely launch an assault. That was precisely what everyone feared most.
The Thunder-Calling Formation was truly formidable, but it was ultimately triggered by human power, acting like a lever. If the heavenly thunder possessed ten parts of power, their side had to supply at least one, didn't they? Could the morale of these hundred-odd men, combined with the commandery governor's State Token, hold out until the National Preceptor emerged?
Even He Chunhua felt his heart pounding like a drum.
The army of heroic spirits had assembled to crush their opponent's spirit through overwhelming momentum. As the saying went, the supreme art of war was to subdue the enemy without fighting. Therefore, they were bound to have a follow-up move.
Furthermore, He Chunhua was exceptionally worried about his eldest son inside the pond.
Nian and Sun harbored ill intentions toward father and son He. Would his son suffer grievously in there all by himself? Though he had sent Zeng Feixiong and others inside, who knew how many lethal traps lay within—could He Lingchuan handle them?
He Chunhua silently reassured himself that his eldest son was a blessed commander who could always turn danger into safety, yet he could not suppress his anxiety. If misfortune befell He Lingchuan, then in the future...
"What is going on?"
"Are there captives even among the resentful souls?"
A stir among his subordinates interrupted He Chunhua's train of thought. He looked up, equally astonished.
The Gale Army parted down the middle to clear a path, pushing several hundred resentful souls forward from behind.
These were the earliest spirits to have emerged from the pond: some in human shape, some grotesque and bizarre, and more than half dressed in military uniform, clearly soldiers from other factions.
"The allied army—they're the military souls of the Xian-Ba allied army!"
Indeed. The war on the Panlong Wasteland had dragged on for thirty-two years; that meat grinder had reaped not only the lives of Xiluo citizens, but also massive numbers of allied soldiers.
They, too, slept forever in this blood-soaked soil, ultimately collected by the Dafang Pot, denied peace even in death.
Herded by the Gale Army, these souls—who had originally been moaning and wailing—now appeared anxious and panicked. The heavenly thunder slithering within the talisman formation ahead made them scent their natural nemesis.
He Chunhua's expression changed. "The Gale Army is going to drive them to crash into the formation!"
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a command from the Gale Army resounded across the wilderness. Sure enough, blades and spears thrust forward together, forcing the resentful souls to charge. Harried until their eyes turned crimson, the several hundred souls milled in place before finally surging forward against the heavenly might.
The formation was instantly activated; the moment they struck the barrier of heavenly thunder, they were blasted into oblivion.
Even so, the souls charged forward wave after wave.
The living watched the formation flash and thunder roar while the Gale Army outside remained arrayed in strict battle order, their hearts sinking with dread.
In clashes between armies or during sieges, captives were sometimes shoved to the front rank as human shields. If the enemy hesitated to attack, one's own side seized the upper hand. Cruel yet effective, this tactic had never been absent from warfare throughout the ages.
Chapter 54