As Qian Ye seemed to be deep in thought, he was roused by the sight of the dirt-covered, tattered figure that Xiao Zhuji presented to him, saying, “Caught him.”
Qian Ye, lost in his thoughts, was brought back to reality and used his origin power to hold the man aloft. The man’s face was swollen and bruised, barely recognizable, and he was barely clinging to life. If not for the unchanged aura of his origin power, Qian Ye would hardly have recognized him as the one who had been shouting insults at him just moments ago.
A sliver of blood qi shot from Qian Ye’s fingertip into the man’s body. As the blood qi entered, an indescribable agony overtook him, as if every tiny muscle within was being scorched by a flaming blood. The unbearable pain made him scream, his face contorting, and his body convulsing. Just as he was about to pass out, the pain suddenly vanished.
“Are you awake now?” Qian Ye asked.
The man was still trembling, gazing up at Qian Ye with eyes full of terror, mixed with resentment.
“Looks like you’re not quite ready to give in, but it doesn’t matter. Tell me, why did you come to Nan Qing City?”
After asking this, Qian Ye shook his head, mocking himself, “I’m a fool for asking such a useless question. Forget it. If you don’t want all your men to die, tell them to surrender.”
The battle in the city was still raging, with some people stubbornly resisting. Several key locations were particularly fierce, such as the headquarters of Darkflame, where loyal mercenaries, reorganized under Qian Ye’s command, had launched several attacks but were repeatedly repelled. Corpses were thrown out of the building, a gruesome sight.
The young man, catching his breath, sneered, “You don’t even ask who I am?”
“Is it necessary?” Qian Ye replied casually.
The young man, choked with frustration, shouted, “Why isn’t it necessary? I, Zhang Xuanchi, dare to take your Nan Qing City for a reason! Even if all your men are fools, what about the stewards of those big merchant houses? Why would they cooperate with me, why would they hand over Nan Qing City, and why would they help me suppress any foolish resistance?”
Qian Ye pointed to the increasingly ferocious mercenaries below, “They serve me not because they are fools, but because they are afraid. Many of them have stood against me before and were beaten into submission. As for the stewards of the merchant houses…”
Qian Ye’s expression turned cold, “They are the real fools, thinking I wouldn’t dare kill them.”
The young man was shocked, “You! You’re crazy! These are merchant houses that have branches all over the Neutral Lands! They can’t be trifled with. You actually want to kill their stewards? They won’t let it go!”
These powerful merchant houses had their own blood vendetta principles, much like bandits. If someone killed their steward, the entire merchant house would seek revenge until death. Only such a principle ensured that bandits did not easily attack their caravans.
Because they were wealthy, these merchant houses had military strength rivaling large mercenary corps. Two even had their own cities. Their guards were better equipped than mercenaries and could easily fight two against one. Only the newly reorganized Darkflame, armed to the teeth, could overwhelm the merchant house guards.
Hence, the young man thought Qian Ye was insane, even he wouldn’t dare to kill a steward of a major merchant house without a good reason. The backlash from the merchant houses could be terrifying, and even he would be punished.
Qian Ye, growing impatient, said, “The resistance continues. It seems your men really don’t value their lives.”
Qian Ye descended straight into the small building of Darkflame headquarters, like a meteor, penetrating the roof. His senses swept through the building, finding no captives or familiar presences. Blood lines followed his senses, piercing through the building, silencing the most fiercely defended position.
Qian Ye emerged from the building, his figure flashing, entering another stronghold. Silence immediately fell upon each stronghold he entered.
In a short while, Qian Ye had cleared four enemy strongholds. Neither steel nor concrete could stop the life-stealing blood threads. In his wake, only dead zones remained.
Finally, Qian Ye stepped into Darkflame’s command building. This tall building, built by Qian Ye, Ji Tianqing, and Song Zining, contained many beams and pillars that Qian Ye had placed himself. The command building, with its many strategists, clerks, and laborers, couldn’t be handled with the same method. These mid-level officers were the backbone of Darkflame; without them, operations would falter. Given that Song Zining had already laid the groundwork, many here would likely surrender on command. Qian Ye sensed that there were still many who hadn’t resisted.
Qian Ye resorted to a brute force method, searching room by room, killing any who resisted. One by one, figures were thrown out of the windows, crashing to the ground. The floors from which they were thrown gradually rose, until finally, two snipers were thrown off the roof, landing with a thud, their fates unknown.
In a short time, the resistance in Darkflame headquarters was completely suppressed.
Qian Ye sat in the original seat in the council hall, overlooking the assembly. This central seat was rightfully his, but the young man, having seized Nan Qing and taken over Darkflame, had altered the hall, building a raised dais at the end. Now, Qian Ye sat atop the dais, looking down on everything.
A red carpet led from the dais to the door. Behind the dais hung a tapestry depicting a fearsome void beast. The walls were adorned with ancient swords and armor statues, creating a solemn and mysterious atmosphere, elevating the hall’s owner above the common folk.
This young man might lack other skills, but he was adept at interior design.
Qian Ye sat in the luxurious high-backed chair, chin in hand, deep in thought. On either side, the commanders of Darkflame and the representatives of workshops and merchant houses stood. Closest to the front were Song Zining’s former subordinates, and behind them, representatives from the major merchant houses, curious to hear Qian Ye’s plans.
The young man, standing awkwardly at the base of the dais, was seemingly forgotten. He almost wanted to remind Qian Ye of his presence, but the two burly mercenaries glaring at him kept him in check.
On the dais, a stunning young girl stood, curiously examining the hall, including the paintings, tapestries, and statues, as well as the people.
Those under her gaze felt uncomfortable, some even pale and trembling. Xiao Zhuji’s stare made them feel as if they were being examined like toys or food.
Xiao Zhuji soon finished her inspection, muttering, “Not fun, not tasty.”
Many broke out in a cold sweat at these words.
Growing impatient, Xiao Zhuji nudged Qian Ye. Startled from his reverie, Qian Ye looked around, “Is everyone here? Let’s begin.”
He pointed at the young man, “Tell me, who are you.”
The young man, nearly moved to tears, had waited too long for this moment.
“I, Zhang Xuanchi, am the grandnephew of the Heavenly King! Knowing my identity, you still dare…”
Qian Ye cut him off, “No need for the formalities. Are all of Zhang Buzhou’s direct descendants dead, or are you here to cause trouble?”
Zhang Xuanchi, speechless, struggled to respond. This hit was too hard, and if not for his pride, he might have spat blood.
“Well, there are still heirs, but my cousins aren’t very capable, nor are my uncles.”
Qian Ye, now intrigued, said, “That’s strange. Zhang Buzhou’s own children are not accomplished, but you are? That’s a bit odd.”
Zhang Xuanchi, though a sixteen-level origin power user with a solid foundation and pure origin power, showed promise. But his demeanor and combat experience were lacking, and he collapsed when Qian Ye instantly killed his guards and injured the elder protector.
The Empire’s thousand-year history had proven the importance of bloodlines. Clans like the Zhao, with their endless stream of geniuses, and the Emperor’s bloodline, which produced numerous Heavenly Kings and even the legendary founder, demonstrated that strong bloodlines often produced prodigies. It didn’t make sense for Zhang Buzhou’s descendants to be incompetent, leaving a grandnephew to run amok, unless his line was near extinction.
Under Qian Ye’s gaze, Zhang Xuanchi stammered, “Actually, there’s a reason. When I was young, my third uncle was a prodigy, rumored to rival the Heavenly King. His child, my cousin, had more talent than me. The good things never came my way, but later…”
“What happened later?”
“My third uncle went to rescue someone with a friend. The person was saved, but my uncle didn’t return.”
Qian Ye, curious, asked, “Who was your third uncle’s friend?”
“Luo Bingfeng.”
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