Chapter 83#

The Defense of Black Street City#

Outside Black Street, five thousand iron cavalry formed a dense, dark array beneath the city walls. They were demons descended into the mortal realm from the wind and snow; though they had manifested human forms, most still retained their terrifying appearances. Silver-white steel helmets covered their green-faced, fanged visages, and barbed tongues occasionally flicked from mouths that split open down to their earlobes. Atop the city walls of Black Street, the hooligans and monks watched the demons below with trembling hearts; they had never seen a scene so horrific. Those demons, mounted on puppet warhorses, had azure eyes and pale hair. The wind carried their icy breath, looking as if the vast snows had invaded the boundless Zhulu Forest.

In the center of the cavalry, King Luofu sat high on his horse, draped in a white robe. Bai Ruoye stood by his side, gazing at the towering walls of Black Street. She had already shot an arrow into the city, carrying her letter—Hand over Sang Chiyu.

“My King, once they hand over the Holy Son, let us trample Black Street into the ground,” Yingzhao said from her side, cupping his hands.

“I have already promised to give them a way to live,” Bai Ruoye frowned.

“Your Highness,” Yingzhao laughed, “promising something to mortals is no different from showing mercy to ants. Things that can be crushed in a single nest with one foot—why care for them?”

Bai Ruoye gripped the reins, her expression cold and stern. “Even ants can collapse a thousand-mile dam. Currently, our race has only occupied the Border Capital and has yet to sweep across the world. We must naturally be cautious.”

King Luofu spoke: “The two of you, stop arguing. Ruoye, you went undercover in the mortal world where a single misstep meant total disaster; it was indeed right to be cautious. However, now that our race has descended, you no longer need to shrink back. In the mortal world, there is no Su Guanyu, and no Tantai Jing. Looking across the universe, who dares be my enemy? Once the Holy Son leaves the city, the flying bats will scour the sky, the iron cavalry will crash through the gates, and Black Street shall be bait for you all!”

Yingzhao glanced at Bai Ruoye with a smile, then bowed to ask King Luofu, “What if Black Street does not hand over the Holy Son?”

King Luofu said in a low voice, “Then we shall hang the enemy’s head upon the city tower to suffer the shame of the wind and the pecking of eagles. I want the world to know that those who defy my orders shall die without a whole corpse.”

The generals below were excited, their faces flushed, wishing they could slaughter their way into Black Street immediately. The demonic nature was tyrannical; in the wind and snow, one could argue they fought for survival, but in the mortal world, it was like entering a slaughterhouse where they could release their true instincts. Bai Ruoye watched their jubilation with cold eyes, her heart clouded with gloom. Were these her kin? Arrogant, prideful. If high-level secret arts were truly invincible, why did Su Guanyu perish at the Heavenly Gate, and why did Tantai Jing suffer such a crushing defeat? When humanity is pushed to a dead end, united in hatred and viewing death as a homecoming, how long can a single isolated city like the Border Capital stand?

“How much time has passed?” King Luofu asked.

“There is still half an hour,” Bai Ruoye said.

“Too long,” King Luofu said. “Shoot another arrow. In the time it takes for a stick of incense to burn, I want to see my Holy Son.”

On the city wall, Sang Chiyu crouched behind a battlement, looking down at the compass in his waist pouch. He carried two compasses: one connected to Su Ruhui, and one used for combat communication. A small puppet mouse, biting an oil-paper bag, climbed up the moss-covered stone steps and jumped in front of him. He took the bag from the mouse’s mouth; it was heavy and contained a roujiamo (meat burger).

“Wife’s favorite beef meat burger,” the little mouse said.

Sang Chiyu put the meat burger and the mouse into his waist pouch and made a gesture to the monks. The monks crouched low, carrying crate after crate of cartridges and shells onto the wall. Anan led the secret practitioners into their positions, carefully sliding gun barrels through the arrow slits. Other monks carried bundles of talismans, distributing them one by one. The secret art talismans of the entire Black Street had been gathered in one place; no one hoarded them, and all were distributed to the frontline warriors. Healing talismans were the most sought after; in critical moments, these things could save lives. Sang Chiyu was given two corrosion talismans, which he casually tucked away with Su Ruhui’s little mouse. Behind the main city gate, Han Ye and the hooligans held blades in one hand and spirit-fire muskets in the other, guarding the towering thousand-pound portcullis.

Behind them, the outer city of Black Street had been cleared, with all civilians—young and old—transferred to the inner city. The inner city gates were tightly shut, and sixteen Pure Land secret practitioners stood at the four corners of the city towers, together forming a Pure Land barrier to shroud the inner city district. This was done to prevent the demons from using teleportation methods to leap directly into the inner city. All workshop doors were open, and cart after cart of spirit stones was being transported to the Star Array construction site. Su Ruhui coordinated the populace, directing the construction of trenches; every citizen of Black Street, regardless of age, as long as they could move, swung hoes with sweat pouring down like rain.

Three sub-star arrays, at least three hours. Han Ye and Sang Chiyu had to hold out for three full hours outside.

All the monks and hooligans were ready; a heavy silence hung over the city towers, not a sound to be heard. Everyone hid behind the battlements, staring unblinkingly at the iron cavalry below. Cavalry were not usually suited for sieges, but these demon soldiers relied on their Flying Bat Corps; to increase their marching speed, there wasn’t a single infantryman in the formation. Time passed drop by drop, and neither side moved. It was clearly the height of winter, yet sweat trickled down Anan’s forehead. His finger rested on the trigger, almost stiff.

Sang Chiyu gripped his wrist, pulling his hand away from the trigger.

“Relax,” Sang Chiyu said. “Don’t misfire.”

Anan nodded tremblingly.

Beside him, another monk moved his frozen wrist. The metal gun barrel protruding from the arrow slit reflected the sunlight, and a sudden flash of light glinted. Below the city, Bai Ruoye saw that stray glint; her brow furrowed as she said, “Firearms are deployed behind the walls. Black Street refuses to surrender; they want to fight!”

King Luofu laughed loudly: “They have some backbone. Well then, I leave it to you.”

Yingzhao shouted, “Flying Bat Corps, raid the city!”

Thirty flying bats rose into the sky from the front of the formation, their human forms breaking apart to reveal their true shapes. Thirty pairs of pitch-black membrane wings unfurled one after another, nearly blotting out the sun. They screeched as they rushed toward the walls, turbulent gales swirling beneath their black wings. The monks grit their teeth and lifted the Great Gate Cannons; the first volley of artillery fired in unison, and a dense fog of explosions erupted in the sky. They heard the screams of monsters as blood and shredded meat fell like rain. However, from within the thick smoke, the remaining flying bats dove down.

“Reload! Reload!” the monks roared.

The musketeers raised their spirit-fire guns, and cartridges flew into the long sky like shooting stars. The flying bats dodged the cartridges, the trajectories carving transparent air currents beside them. Their speed was too fast; it was difficult for the cartridges to catch their figures. One flying bat took the lead; in his ice-blue eyes, those ant-like mortals became clearer and larger. He excitedly bared his sharp fangs.

The moment he swept onto the city wall, his body suddenly felt heavy. He glanced sideways to see a tall man had used a shadow-shift to appear on his back. Immediately following was a searing pain in his spine; blood trickled out, washing over his shifting, glowing eyes. He shrieked in agony and fell beneath the wall. The man jumped up from his back, and at the moment of being airborne, he pulled the trigger. The spirit-fire musket blossomed with sparks, and the bat’s head was struck by a cartridge, half of it shattered.

Sang Chiyu landed steadily on the wall. The second round of artillery was loaded, the Great Gate Cannons were raised again, thick smoke filled the air, flying bats wailed, and a rain of blood stained the city walls red.

Below the city, Yingzhao looked at the field of flying bat remains, his face darkening. He raised his right hand, making a fist to signal toward the rear. A massive, muscular demon of gargantuan proportions stepped out from behind the army. He dragged a giant hammer as he walked, each step sounding like muffled thunder against the ground.

Secret Art: Running Elephant

Those with this secret art possess a body as heavy as a giant elephant.

“Crash the gate!” Yingzhao shouted.

The entire army charged, the iron cavalry sprinting against the cold wind, the “Running Elephant” roaring as he smashed into the thousand-pound city gate. Cartridges fell like rain; many puppet warhorses were destroyed in the barrage, and demons fell from their mounts only to be stepped into blood-cakes by the Running Elephant. But even more iron cavalry broke through the hail of bullets, following the Running Elephant to ram the gate. The moment of impact felt as if heaven and earth were roaring, a thunderous sound piercing the sun.

Behind the gate, the hooligans were terrified, Han Ye’s face turned ashen. They had originally thought the portcullis could hold for at least a short while, but they hadn’t expected that with just one hit, a corner of the gate had already cracked. Through the crack, they could see the Running Elephant’s gaping, bloody maw.

“Han Ye, the gate can’t hold.” Sang Chiyu’s voice came through the compass. “Proceed as planned.”

“Got it.” Han Ye gritted his teeth.

With the second impact, the city gate shattered! The Running Elephant stepped over the broken iron gate and entered the city, followed by a surging flood of thousands of horses. Han Ye led the hooligans and turned to run; the second thousand-pound portcullis dropped, crushing countless iron cavalry attempting to pursue them. The enemy had entered the barbican (the enclosure between the gates). Sang Chiyu fired a signal arrow, and the “Cage” secret practitioners took their positions. Centered on the barbican, invisible cages instantly dropped. The demon riders discovered with horror that they could not get out.

The hooligans on the city towers poured pot after pot of boiling oil downward, and the demon riders screamed shrilly from the burns. Han Ye had already reached the tower; with an expressionless face, he fired a fire arrow at the demons below. All the hooligans fired arrows simultaneously, and the oil was ignited. The barbican instantly became a purgatory of karmic fire; all the monsters inside were roasted, screaming.

Blue fluorescence lit up on their pale skin—the demon race’s innate self-healing talent was activating in response—but Han Ye’s black flames spread extremely fast, and those firefly-like glows evaporated and dissipated like starlight. In an instant, the demons had become charred bones.

“Great,” a hooligan laughed. “This time we can definitely win.”

Han Ye wanted to say not to be happy too early, when he suddenly saw the Running Elephant’s massive head peek out from outside the city wall behind the man. This hulking giant demon had been driven mad by the burns and had actually climbed the wall. Half of his skin was charred, but because his body was so massive, the other half hadn’t finished burning, and the hot oil poured on him had been exhausted. Half green-faced and half charred bone, this towering demon looked like a hungry ghost crawling out of hell.

“Get out of the way!” Han Ye roared.

The Running Elephant reached out, grabbed the laughing hooligan, and bit off his head in one mouthful. Blood sprayed out like a fountain. The Running Elephant gripped the city wall, and the bricks collapsed like toy blocks. Sang Chiyu suddenly appeared, holding Kuyue (Withered Moon) in his left hand and grabbing the tail of a small iron-armored mouse in his right.

Han Ye stared at him, his eyes nearly splitting with intensity.

“You’re crazy, Sang Chiyu!” Han Ye roared again.

That guy was simply reckless, landing directly on the Running Elephant’s upturned face. His left and right feet stood apart, stepping respectively on the Running Elephant’s two rows of saw-like fangs. The Running Elephant opened its mouth wide, attempting to swallow the man. There was no expression on Sang Chiyu’s face, as if he were merely taking a stroll on the monster’s face. He reached out, tossed the little mouse into the Running Elephant’s mouth, then used shadow-shift to vanish instantly, appearing next to Han Ye the next moment.

“Go.”

He grabbed Han Ye’s back collar and dragged him as they jumped off the city tower.

Behind them, the fire-explosive mouse detonated. The Running Elephant’s head blew apart into fragments, shattered like a gourd. His headless body slowly toppled over, flattening many iron cavalry. In front of him, a gap in a corner of the city wall was exposed to the light—the opening he had just torn out, leading directly into the streets of Black Street.

The city gate was lost. Everyone from the Pavilion of Supreme Joy and the Great Compassion Temple retreated into the city, hiding within the market districts.

Sang Chiyu led Han Ye as they ran through the alleys. The city’s terrain was complex, with dark alleys and narrow streets crisscrossing one another. As long as the people of Black Street didn’t encounter extremely powerful offensive-type secret practitioners, they could maintain an advantage here. They had scattered iron nails across the city streets, making them impassable for puppet horses; the demons could only proceed on foot, which to some extent slowed their advance.

The “Heavenly Eye” secret practitioner sent a message: “The iron cavalry has entered East Grand Street, estimated at a thousand riders, divided into three groups. They are entering the city through Mountain Fire Lane, Tea Water Street, and Thunder God Street. The most monsters are heading to Thunder God Street.”

“Order Red Ghost and Anan to block Mountain Fire and Tea Water. Leave Thunder God to me and Han Ye,” Sang Chiyu commanded.

Sang Chiyu and Han Ye moved along the eaves, reaching the cartridge storage point on Thunder God Street. The path was empty and deathly silent. The hooligans from the Pavilion of Supreme Joy had already established a defensive line in a brothel facing the street. The road leading to the inner city was blocked with layers of barbed wire, making it impossible for monsters to pass directly. The hooligans were grouped in threes, scattered and prone near the fences on each floor, covered by oilcloth canopies to avoid being spotted by enemy Heavenly Eye practitioners.

Gunfire and cannon blasts echoed from the neighboring street; Anan and his group had already engaged the demon race.

“Seven hundred paces,” the Heavenly Eye practitioner reported the distance of the enemy.

Sang Chiyu lowered his head to load ammunition. He used a long-barreled three-eyed musket, loaded with lead bullets. Lead bullets were softer than iron ones; they would shatter after entering the human body, often causing massive wounds. Coupled with lead poisoning, anyone wounded by such a bullet would surely die. The Pavilion of Supreme Joy rarely used this kind of ammunition because it was too cruel. But now, with a great enemy before them—especially since the demon race had self-healing talents—a normal person would lose combat effectiveness from a bullet wound, but a demon would recover in a few breaths after digging out the cartridge. There was no room for hesitation; now all cartridges in Black Street had been replaced with lead bullets.

Han Ye lay beside him and said, “I really didn’t expect the day would come when I would fight side-by-side with you.”

“Five hundred paces.”

Sang Chiyu moved a sandbag in front of him and rested the three-eyed musket on it.

“Don’t you have anything to say to me?” Han Ye asked.

“Three hundred paces.”

Sang Chiyu said indifferently, “Su Ruhui has a big influence on you.”

“Really?” Han Ye was confused. “How can you tell?”

“One hundred paces.”

Sang Chiyu said, “You talk as much as he does.”

Han Ye: “…”

“They’ve entered Thunder God Street… wait—” The Heavenly Eye practitioner’s voice stalled.

Sang Chiyu stared at the corner of the street entrance, his brow furrowing.

It was completely empty; there was no sign of any monsters.

“They suddenly disappeared!” the Heavenly Eye practitioner said in shock.

“Where are they?” someone tried to straighten up to look. “No, where are the demons?”

“Don’t move!” Sang Chiyu hissed a sharp warning.

His warning was a step too late. The person’s head had just peeked out from behind the sandbag when a cartridge came shrieking through the air. In an instant, it pierced through his eye socket, flew out the back of his skull, and embedded itself in the pillar behind him.

Sang Chiyu and Han Ye moved quickly. Just as they left, an iron bullet flew through the air, turning the place where they had been lying into a field of fire. The hooligan whose eye had just been shattered was blown away, his limbs torn apart, and his head rolled to Sang Chiyu’s feet.

“They have a ‘God’s Concealment’ practitioner,” Han Ye gritted his teeth, raising a telescope to look at the street opposite. “Where are they?”

Sang Chiyu picked up the hooligan’s head and used the hilt of his saber to hold it up, handing it to Han Ye.

“Lift it up, not too high,” Sang Chiyu said.

“What are you doing?” Han Ye asked.

Sang Chiyu aimed the three-eyed musket, staring at the opposite side.

“Lift,” Sang Chiyu said.

Han Ye did as instructed, slowly lifting the hooligan’s head. The bloody head had just exposed half its face when a spark erupted from behind a pillar on the opposite street. The head’s other eye socket was shattered. At the same moment, Sang Chiyu pulled the trigger, and three lead bullets flew out. A tragic wail erupted from the opposite side.

Sang Chiyu’s shot gave the hooligans a target. Immediately, a rain of bullets was fired, and blood suddenly splattered into mid-air across the street. They had likely hit the enemy’s God’s Concealment practitioner; the secret art instantly deactivated, and all the monsters were revealed. Only then did they realize that a squad of monsters, relying on “God’s Concealment,” had been quietly approaching the barbed wire and had already reached the middle of the street. With the secret art broken, they were exposed to the daylight.

The scene was silent for a fleeting moment.

Han Ye roared: “Kill them!”

The roar of muskets rose one after another. The middle of the street soon turned into a river of blood, and the surviving monsters hurriedly dragged their wounded comrades into the buildings opposite. Both sides fell into a stalemate.