In the blink of an eye, the mercenaries swiftly made their judgment, pouncing on Qian Ye like ravenous wolves. The black-armored warlord in charge of the Zephyr’s Wrath was seething with rage, his eyes turning green as he roared like thunder. However, only the mercenaries directly under Zephyr’s Wrath listened to him. The others, belonging to different mercenary groups or even temporary teams, surged forward, hoping to snatch Jujie from Qian Ye. In their eyes, Qian Ye was just a lucky lad who happened to catch little Jujie.
Gazing at the charging mercenaries, Qian Ye merely sneered and watched them approach calmly. Occasionally, a few force bullets flew by, but Qian Ye casually batted them away, as if swatting away annoying flies.
Most mercenaries had their eyes only on Jujie, completely missing Qian Ye’s astonishing feat. A few seasoned mercenaries, however, noticed this and immediately broke into a cold sweat, slowing down discreetly.
As the mercenaries charged, a sound of crashing waves filled their ears, followed by an irresistible pressure.
Most of them crumpled to the ground, with weaker ones letting out sharp cracks of breaking bones. Even the strongest among them could barely stand, let alone run.
Qian Ye strolled through the mercenaries, his sword flashing with each movement, sending blood spraying. The strongest mercenaries fell first, becoming corpses.
In mere moments, over a hundred mercenaries lay sprawled, causing the rest to stop in their tracks. But Qian Ye did not stop, striding through the crowd, releasing and retracting the power of the sea, toppling more mercenaries.
These mixed mercenaries were numerous but mediocre. Most couldn’t withstand a single breath in Qian Ye’s domain. They collapsed with broken bones, grievously injured, making it unnecessary for Qian Ye to finish them off.
By now, Qian Ye’s eyes were fixed on the black-armored warlord of Zephyr’s Wrath.
The black-armored warlord’s eyelids twitched, staring at Qian Ye, raising his right hand but unable to bring it down. He couldn’t discern Qian Ye’s strength, but someone who could take down a hundred men in an instant, even if they were mere grunts, was not to be trifled with.
Jujie, a living treasure, sat perched on Qian Ye’s shoulder. This temptation would have been irresistible, but now, his vision was fixed solely on Qian Ye.
“Do you want to make an enemy of Zephyr’s Wrath?” The warlord’s voice came out dry and hoarse. Intimidation was not Zephyr’s Wrath’s style; eliminating any who dared challenge them was the tradition.
The warlord was torn between fighting and fleeing. Despite having thousands of mercenaries and hundreds directly under Zephyr’s Wrath, the carnage before them showed that numbers were meaningless against Qian Ye’s terrifying domain.
When Qian Ye’s icy gaze fell on him, the warlord shivered. His instincts screamed danger, and without hesitation, he decided: Flee!
But before he could, Qian Ye waved his hand, tossing Jujie towards him!
Stunned, the warlord wondered what was happening. Was Qian Ye trying to join Zephyr’s Wrath and using Jujie as a bargaining chip?
This absurd thought vanished as he realized Jujie was coming at an incredible speed, accelerating in mid-air. When she raised her tiny fist and aimed it at him, the warlord still felt disbelief. Could such a small creature actually hit him? Would she kill herself if she hit him?
As Jujie’s fist descended, a sharp whistle cut through the air. The warlord, startled, tried to block with his arm, which was thicker than Jujie’s waist. With a loud crack, his arm bent.
Jujie, surprised that she hadn’t killed him, had other means. She crashed into him headfirst.
Though the head was usually a weak point, the warlord, his arm broken, no longer trusted his judgment. He backed away, trying to redirect the tiny human missile with his good left hand.
Yet again, he felt like he’d been kicked by a giant, flying backward, a mouthful of blood nearly erupting from his throat.
Thankfully, Jujie’s momentum had finally dissipated, and the distance between them grew.
The warlord turned and ran, not daring to linger. As for the thousands of mercenaries, they could only fend for themselves. The warlord hoped they would delay Qian Ye, giving him time to escape.
Seeing the warlord flee, Qian Ye simply watched, his pupils reflecting the running figure, then raised his gun and fired.
The warlord, drenched in cold sweat, turned to see Qian Ye aiming at him.
Meeting Qian Ye’s gaze, the warlord leaped, trying to escape faster. Sadly, an invisible rope seemed to tug at him, pulling him down.
This brief pause was enough for the bullet to catch up. He barely saw the trajectory, a terrifyingly fast shot that oddly brought some relief.
Qian Ye’s force level seemed low, and such a fast shot should have limited power, giving him a sliver of hope.
Yet, the bullet passed through him without pause, his face shifting from hope to horror as he watched his shoulder and half his chest disintegrate, his body nearly split in two.
With Qian Ye’s Dominating Eye and the King of Point’s custom rifle, the sixteen-level force wielder in seventh-grade armor, a pillar of Zephyr’s Wrath, fell on the battlefield.
The warlord’s death shattered Zephyr’s Wrath’s morale. Even the most determined teams turned to flee, unwilling to fight.
Qian Ye’s unmatched combat prowess was clear. No one cared about his level twelve force; survival mattered, and dead men tell no tales.
Neutral mercenaries, vicious when winning, fled without hesitation when losing. Qian Ye, with his Twinflower, shot down a dozen, and the remaining mercenaries vanished. Half of Zephyr’s core escaped, but Qian Ye didn’t bother chasing them. Zephyr’s Wrath would not tolerate this defeat and would regroup.
And Qian Ye awaited that moment.
As the mercenaries fled, many continued to clash with the native warriors, suffering heavy losses. After the mercenaries dispersed, the native warriors moved to the fallen, over a hundred severely wounded. The enmity between the mercenaries and the natives had reached a point of no return.
With a strong command, Gordo stopped the native warriors. Approaching Qian Ye, he bowed, “Great Warrior, these are your spoils. Can we claim them for our tribe? I offer a Sacred Tree fruit.”
Qian Ye looked at him, “To me, they seem unworthy of a fruit.”
Gordo, resolute, gritted his teeth, “Too many of my kin died at their hands. Without blood sacrifice, their souls will never rest. Any price is worth it.”
Qian Ye nodded, “Fine, they can be yours, but wait a while, not now.”
Gordo, puzzled, asked, “How long?”
“Before nightfall, likely.”
Gordo glanced at the sky, noting the approaching dusk and the usual darkness of the Black Forest.
Qian Ye also looked up, instructing, “Chop some branches and light more torches. That way, we won’t have to wait so long.”
Confused, Gordo complied. The native race and the Black Forest were one. Zephyr’s Wrath, in clearing the buffer zone, felled many ancient trees, providing perfect torch material.
Soon, thousands of torches illuminated the battlefield like daylight, casting a desolate, solemn glow over the site of the day’s battle.
Qian Ye sat in the center, on a makeshift wooden stool, his eyes closed, waiting. Jujie, perched on his shoulder, also waited, her chin in her hand.
Gordo and the natives were bewildered, but their wait was short. As the sky darkened, a tide of Zephyr’s Wrath mercenaries emerged, changing course at the sight of the firelight, rushing to the battlefield.
Gordo realized why Qian Ye lit the torches: to guide the mercenaries to him.
The mercenaries, seeing Qian Ye sitting calmly, paused, bewildered. The scene was surreal. The leading mercenaries stopped, causing confusion behind them. The captains, pushing to the front, were equally stunned.
Qian Ye, seated amidst the chaos, exuded a presence like a mountain or a chasm. Jujie, a priceless treasure, sat on his shoulder, yet no one dared to take her.
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