“Shall we engage in combat?
Faced with this question, met with the surging torrent of darkness, and confronting an army ten times his number, Qian Ye suddenly felt his chest brim with passion. There was no need to reply; he simply drew Dongyue and planted it resolutely before him.
“Heavy sword pierces the earth—firm stands as mountains!
Bravo!” Zhao Jun du laughed joyously, raising a finger toward the enemy’s command post, saying, “Let me pave the way for you first!”
Without hesitation, Zhao Jundu unsheathed ‘Bisexicangkun,’ and abruptly a streak of verdant light burst across its form. His aura then surged like wildfire, seemingly unchecked. In the blink of an eye he’d surpassed Grade twelve, yet the escalation showed no signs of ceasing.
“Crown young master!”
“Carefully consider it, my lad!”
“It must not be done!”
Opposing Zhao Jundiu’s explosive force was a chorus of fearful shouts from his subordinates. Several generals were astounded and attempted to intervene. However, an encircling wave of purple fiery flames appeared, keeping them at bay. They could only gaze anxiously as Jundu increased his strength unencumbered.
This spectacle discomfited even Song Zining, who cried in astonishment, “Have you lost your senses? This act shall endanger your future prowess!”
Zhao however replied lightly: “The Lord Emperor remains distant while adversaries approach!”
“However…”
“There exists no however. Do not restrain me because of the precious original strength. Otherwise, to what end would I preserve this strength?”
Zhao Jundu’s voice soared pure yet piercing, like bronze vessels clanging in unison, while his ‘Bisexicangkun’ brightened ever more. Above his head in the open boundless sky, a hint of an endless cerulean canopy mysteriously surfaced!
All marveled at this breathtaking phenomenon when every general suddenly silenced themselves for counsel now came far too late.
However, undeterred by this occurrence and continuously surging forward, unending hordes poured forth, endless in their quantity. Thousands of disposable front-line foot soldiers and warriors charged madly in front of them—they’d fallen lost of reason and possessed neither fears nor caution, their only emotion being unending bloodthirsty rage and a thirst for massacre.
Zhao’s hand was extraordinarily steady in the moment, moving with impeccable timing backward with an astonishing uniformness at the mechanism of his weapon.
A werewolf warrior at the vanguard dashed past a kilometer like lightning and leapt suddenly, delivering its deadly claws with all its might straight towards Zhao Jun du who was within arm’s reach. Its bloodshot eyes anticipated its keen claws ripping straight through the warrior. However at this critical moment, suddenly his pupils engulfed entirely in infinite shades of green, no other sight visible.
Torrents of the emerald flowed ceaselessly like vast rolling rivers. Starting from Zhao Juludu, these streams spanned a kilometer instantaneously. Penetrating the darkness army’s battle arrays, their final aim: striking directly through the opponent’s command post.
Amid that momentary world’s hush, sounds vanished like ghosts lost into void, only the emerald torrent dominating their vision of awe. Emerging slowly out of ebbing emerald hues—the sight returned that showed a host of dark warriors consumed under its light stood petrified in place.
They maintained the posture of a powerful sprint forward but all were frozen motionless at that precise second, as though Time itself had seized to pass.
At that very moment, all immobilized dark legions collapsed soundlessly. Before the ocean-like forces, an unyieldingly expansive thoroughfare had opened mysteriously amidst the grandness.
At realization of the meaning behind the phrase – “let myself open the way,” an indescribable tension seized every general’s breath instantly.
Bisexicangkun, now suddenly reduced to dust upon its final flare, disappeared within the wind—a weapon legendary in the Empire, the famed spear accompanying the journey of Jundu from rise to glory, and here at its most brilliant yet tragic culmination.
In silence came Qian Ye’s voice saying: “It’s My Turn.”
No sooner said and hardly had the audience comprehended when the blur that was Qian Ye already dashed beyond the front as swift as mirage, charging unceasingly down the route forged through by Jundu, straight targeting the enemy headquarters.
Moving impossibly fast, the majority in Zhao clan weren’t prepared to perceive; they failed to comprehend as their darkness adversaries fared worse – only recognizing the maneuver as Qian Ye raced mid-way—only then did realization dawn, and flanking closed, attempting to surround him. Yet Qian Ye neither paused nor swerved.
His path cut like an exact straight blade of destruction at Command’s heart.
At that moment, every cell in Qian Ye transformed into weaponry as fatal moves emanated from every limb, instantaneous upon impacting the opposing legions. The final stretch elevated his Dongyuo, delivering a crushing strike of unstoppable might cleaving the air. Clearing a thirty-meter wide swath before him with nothing more than overwhelming force and dominance in sheer destruction.
The brutality of his strike startled Count Gart from the demonic race; originally lounging placidly within, he shot up in alarm. Extending a pointed finger in response, his sharp, piercing cry sent a wave of horror into the air.
At the enemy headquarters, 100 black-armored royal guards standing motionless earlier suddenly charged forward. As though a torrent of black tides they lunged violently at Qian Ye.
Qian Ye dodged none of these assaults. Fearless, he met these head on. With full blade drawn; he lunged into the heart of enemy formations. From within that storm, he burst out. Countless red threads danced about his figure during that escape, yet now gone from sight.
For most in royal guard units the motion seized abruptly as they swayed like the drunk upon their footing. Some merely wandered confusedly about, uncomprehending the events; clueless as to locating Qian Ye’s location post escape themselves.
The headquarters of demons, now wide-eyed and disbelieving, clearly saw a surge in Qian Ye’s previously spent power.
Seeing how Qian might recover to his best, no choice was left but for the dark Duke from throne, unleashing terrifying might aimed Qian Ye, sealing possible escape.
Amidst inner pressure combined, blood surged inside him near uncontrollably close from bursting. Then with Qian’s pulse thundering, his golden blood pumped throughout his vessels—previously coursing in each limb but now surged past numerous thresholds all at once merging together in fierce combustion!
The moment resonated like an enormous explosion within Qian Ye. From his very soul, torrents of power surged, and at some far distance, in the deepest void swirled a vortex inside the legendary River of Blood. Torrents of ancient insight cascaded, pouring endlessly into Qian Ye’s mind.
Utter domination! Unparalleled might so grand it may shatter entire celestial spheres! This transformation echoed an ancient vampiric Duke.
In the air an elusive, thin line of bloody red appeared, stretching from the feet of Qian Ye forward to that of the demonic Earl. Wraps around him threefold.
Yet when the blood river’s faint appearance became tangible for but an instant—the Duke felt a sudden wave of fear, uncontrollable; impossible to suppress.
And then, Qian Ye, moments ago several meters distant, flashed re-into view—materialize abruptly in the air in front of him.
At once—Qian Ye zipped about the Count thrice in blinding flight. Abruptly lifting upwards as effortlessly as possible he flipped. Floating lightly in midair as he turned, eventually landing in perfect composure tens of meters outside again—the descent though so heavy it created a dull thud. The Earth itself caved slightly beneath his feet forming a vast hollow.
Then from the demonic Duke erupted a shriek so harrowing, he disintegrated into quarters as blood sprinkled across skies.
A noble son from the House Truman, leading forces of shadowed horde was thus destroyed.
How swift were those proceedings! The many present watched agape: stunned, disbelieving.
Was his the one of demonic lineage from the elite, an Earl of Earls? Yet he was vanquished here in mere blinks?
Only Song Zining managed coherent movement at this precise moment.
His visage now grim; he seized instinctively a blade from one of the Zhao officers by his side, rushing toward the frontline. Yet in crossing the distance next to Zhao Jundu’s location, the latter lightly placed a hand—halting Song’s charge mid-stride as if rooted into earth.
“What in heavens is your purpose! The moment requires I aid him in the battlefield!” Song cried in protest and ire.
Zhao replied calmly: “Support proves unnecessary for Qian now. Moreover you would fall to no greater gain in a premature advance.”
“And yet, though dying be my path, it is no affair of yours!”
Unfazed, a smirk almost curling over face, Zhao responded leisurely: “Truly, is this the impulse of the famed seventh-young master of Song Household—one destined future War Deity of the mighty Empire.”
While exchanging these phrases, the darkness troops began regathering their wits after the initial astonishment. They approached once more slowly to encircle tightly again Qian Ye.
The shock of Qian Ye’s decisive stroke left them wary, no sooner daring initiate first strike. Meanwhile the senseless expendables and lower warriors, continuing onward.
Song was both furious and anxious. “Master Zhao, Fourth son, you’re no kin to myself. Step aside now!”
Still maintaining half-a-smile, Zhao’s glaze bore hidden lavender tones as he sealed Song firm through the octagon.
Then suddenly rising in some direction afar beyond horizon: an immense dark column, manifesting at once as raging twister connecting both heaven and earth with overwhelming force drawing near. Many felt immediately deep within their bones—a calamity approached.
Not to forget—amid so very many locked and held adversaries, yet one might persist—another chasing commander of opposing darkness ranks bearing might of Duke level or more!
Although distant in approach this force seemed as yet less overwhelming compared to an ultimate Duke perhaps even below a demi—Nonetheless, a demi-Duke still remained undeniably a Duke of essence, entirely different from any Marquises ever faced previously. One could still nurture some slight confidence in defeating a Viscount like Jun-Du previously yet here against an emerging Duke-like force none dared hope at all!
Amid enemy center formation, Qian Ye stared aloft, toward that terrifying typhoon bearing directly from sky’s height towards earth, he suddenly rises upright anew.
Looking sideways briefly, there was Zhao Jun-Du, and likewise Song Zi Ning too.
He drew his gaze back again. Taking one deep intake of air his mighty East Peak blade suddenly ablaze now with faint flames shimmering a golden shade upon its edges and surface. Sword at hand, unwavering he advanced towards the approaching ominous windstorm, passing the legions of darkness about him unnoticed.
Song Zi Ning, in sudden alarm shouted aloud: “QIAN!!! RETURN!!!
He cried out with a clear pitch that reached beyond just their battlefield, likely distant Duke too caught the wail.
Despite the plea, Qian did not so much as glance back while not missing a stride.
Before a powerful nobleman, none escaped death even in flight; none but could choose battle to stall time for survival in those moments behind. Qian knew behind lay strong brethren with trusted hands—thus choosing alone the storm—so to face a destruction thought able to consume entire sky-spheres.
The moment Song quieted in silence was also his moment of inner brewing preparing his inner esoteric arts awakening. Suddenly rising about him flared violet flame, wavering at edge between light and oblivion moments later emerged from its surroundings four new pillars of jade-green flame. As jade fire emerged, the flickering purple light regained balance though continued undulated violently within.
The display revealed how Song’s art approached great depths of power able to disturb even Zhao’s firm Eight-Direction Seal by such unpredictable flame.
With lingering thoughts veiled beyond those mysterious glints, Jun Du silently looked after Qian Ye’s receding silhouette then he calmly placed firm grasp upon Song’s shoulder declaring simply; “Everything Will Turn Out Fine”
Back within the army formation rear, the sky unexpectedly grew dark: dark waves of冥河 emerged from dusk glooms. Within floated petals of彼岸之花 in endless drifts of bloom and decay.
Then erupted from within the eye midst whirlwind, the furious scream: “Manjusha! You dare invoke曼殊沙华 flower here? Can it be…the Hell’s Realm Bloom! Is this a ploy conjured by a true Hearty Phantom!?”
I attempted to recreate some of the original tone within a more vivid and fantastical vocabulary. While trying keeping true to the plot while translating from the original provided Chinese text passage. I also used the context given for “Qian Ye” being translated as Qian Ye (possibly should be “Qian Ye? Or did I misread context? If it should be something else please suggest).
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage