In the White City, Qian Ye’s eyes had barely closed before the thunderous roar of cannons jolted him awake. He stood up and gazed out from a half-broken wall, spotting a group of vampire swordsmen charging silently and swiftly like phantoms.
Qian Ye remained motionless, his bloodline powers dormant. The vampire warriors, oblivious to his presence, rushed past him without a second glance. Once they were gone, Qian Ye straightened up, drew the Phantom Manjushaka, and aimed it at the back of a vampire knight. A single shot rang out, and he vanished once more.
The vampire knight let out a ghastly scream and collapsed, clutching his head in agony and writhing on the ground. The other vampire soldiers halted, some remaining vigilant while others tried to aid their leader. The knight, the commander of the squad, was grievously wounded but not beyond saving. In the end, the vampires split their forces, with most carrying the knight away, while a few cautious members continued to search deeper into the White City.
Qian Ye, observing the aftermath, disappeared from his spot and reappeared atop the ruins several blocks away. He hurled a broken spear, nailing a werewolf baron to the ground.
The baron had two retainers, who attempted to help their master. Suddenly, several corpses nearby rose and unleashed a hail of gunfire, turning the retainers into pincushions. The mercenaries then scattered, lying down elsewhere to continue their masquerade as dead.
The entire White City had become a hellish battlefield. Bullets and daggers could fly from any shadowy corner, and every corpse had to be verified as real or fake. Even the rubble was not safe; it could house more mercenaries or collapse into deadly traps.
Underneath the city, the Dark Army had long dug tunnels for preparation and storage. After Song Zining took over, he expanded the underground into a vast labyrinth, with multiple levels. Now, all these preparations were proving their worth.
The dark races, after several setbacks, discovered the underground secrets but lacked an effective response. They found several tunnel entrances, but none returned. No one knew which ones were real and which were death traps.
Above and below, the city was a battlefield, with dangers lurking from all directions. In the ruins, the two most dangerous foes were Qian Ye and Song Zining. Song Zining’s Three Thousand Drifting Leaves domain created lifelike illusions, often tricking enemy squads into fighting each other. Qian Ye, however, was the nightmare of all titled nobles. On this battlefield, his bloodline powers allowed him to blend in with the mercenaries. Even those accustomed to using their senses often mistook Qian Ye for a regular soldier, and that was always a fatal mistake.
After slaying another spider demon viscount, Qian Ye finally felt a twinge of exhaustion. Unbeknownst to him, he had been fighting nonstop for a whole day. How many battles had this been? Twelve or thirteen?
The sky darkened, and the moon shone a dim yellow, edged with a line of crimson. The floating land occasionally showed two moons, different in position and shape from those on the mainland. Looking up during the heat of battle, Qian Ye felt a sense of being in a foreign land.
Distant, mournful whistles sounded, signaling retreat. The dark race warriors fled the city, many falling to bullets from behind. The mercenaries, spurred by resilience and bloodlust, continued to kill even as their enemies retreated.
Qian Ye climbed to the top of a ruined building, surveying the White City. The faint flower-like glows, representing living beings, were noticeably fewer. Many more mercenaries had fallen in this battle. Although it was uncertain how many remained hidden in the tunnels, it couldn’t be many.
Feeling something, Qian Ye leaped to another block’s ruins. Song Zining sat on a stone, panting heavily. His mask and distinctive white robe were nowhere to be seen, only his speargun remained, now stained with blood and dirt.
Qian Ye sat beside him, sighed, and said, “We don’t have many people left.”
Song Zining replied, “They lost far more than us.”
“Many of our people have been with us for a long time.”
Song Zining seemed to understand Qian Ye’s feelings. “In such a war, casualties are normal. This is a direct confrontation between two major factions. Even you and I, or even greater figures, are just small pawns on this battlefield. Even if pushed to the front, we are still at the mercy of fate.”
Qian Ye exhaled deeply, saying, “Sometimes I wonder, what is the point of this war?”
“Survival, resources, and more? Ha, that’s not something we should be thinking about now. We need to focus on surviving.” Song Zining patted Qian Ye, saying, “You are the man who will conquer the Holy Mountain. How can you be so dispirited, ha ha!”
“And you, what is your reason?” Qian Ye asked suddenly.
Song Zining paused, then said, “When the old matriarch entered her seclusion, I could sense her regret. She regretted not taking decisive action to cleanse the family earlier. If she hadn’t made the final decision, I might never have gone to the Yellow Springs Training Camp.”
“She made the decision?” Qian Ye was surprised.
Song Zining had never mentioned how he got into the Yellow Springs. Qian Ye had always assumed he was a pawn, possibly thrown away by the family. It seemed now that Song Zining was indeed marginalized by the family, with the old matriarch pulling strings behind the scenes.
“The Yellow Springs wasn’t all bad. Think of the people on the Evernight Continent, who would trade their lives for such resources but have no way to do so,” Song Zining stretched, “I’m exhausted. Come, let me lean on you.”
Qian Ye kicked away a charred metal piece and sat back-to-back with Song Zining, and they began to chat sporadically about the past. The Yellow Springs, and the times before they met.
This was an era where survival required struggle, not just charity. Even if one could live on their knees, some would rather die standing.
Returning to the very beginning, the memories of the Evernight garbage dump, Qian Ye couldn’t help but recall a scene. A silver-haired man leaned down, extending his hand, surrounded by a faint green rain of light. At that moment, he seemed like a divine being.
Far away, Rommel held a long list of the fallen, his face pale and eyes red as if they would bleed.
The list was filled with titled nobles. This list was so long it was terrifying. The other strong ones present were relieved they weren’t on the list.
The only one unfazed, besides Rommel, was Duke Pratt, the only other seated figure. He had indeed entered the White City and retreated with the army. What he did in the city, only the high-ranking officials knew, and no one dared to speak of it.
Rommel, powerless, now understood Pratt’s feelings when he withdrew. Over half of his titled nobles had perished, including a marquis. These were his trusted subordinates. This battle had crippled Rommel’s power, and it would take decades to recover.
All eyes were on Rommel. His subordinates hoped he and Pratt would enter the White City together, the only way to suppress Qian Ye and Song Zining. It was time for the main generals to face off.
Yet, making this decision was not easy.
Rommel, though rarely engaged in factional wars, never underestimated human strength. As a key figure in the Mammon Clan, he knew many secrets even Pratt didn’t. He thought of the spider demon duke who once breached the Hall of Heroes. The duke, alone, was severely wounded and fled, leaving his fleet, and was rescued by a support fleet. Still, he remained in a coma, and no one knew what happened in the hall.
Rommel pondered the whereabouts of the mysterious strong one who wounded the duke. Despite his efforts, he couldn’t find any trace. The only apparent strong ones in the White City were Qian Ye and Song Zining.
Gritting his teeth, Rommel glared at Pratt, who pretended not to notice.
Rommel, more enraged, blamed Pratt for the misinformation that led to his losses. It turned out there were still thousands of mercenaries in the White City, meaning Qian Ye had gathered over thirty thousand soldiers!
Stationing thirty thousand soldiers in such a small area was madness. And what kind of black magic fortified the human defenses, allowing them to withstand heavy artillery and still fight a war of attrition?
Staring at the distant White City, Rommel finally spoke, “How many troops do we have left?”
“Sir, less than forty thousand.”
Rommel’s pupils constricted, and he said, “Order a full assault! All tribesmen, if they can still move, go to the front. My flagship and all airships, retreat into the void.”
His subordinates were shocked, “Sir, you can’t!”
This was cutting off their retreat. Clearly, Rommel was going all-in. But while he could escape if things went south, the lesser nobles, unable to enter the void, would be left to die.
Pratt, knowing Rommel’s plan, was content as his ship was also in the void. Others dared not question Rommel.
Having set the assault, Rommel turned to Pratt, smiling, “Lord Pratt, care to visit the White City with me?”
Pratt stood up, “There’s nothing to see. But if Lord Rommel is interested, I’ll accompany you.”
“Excellent!” Rommel led the way out of the ship, standing mid-air. The other strong ones followed, and the massive warship turned, ascending into the sky.
In the White City, Qian Ye had just sat down when the roar of heavy cannon fire resounded again.
No one would intercept the shells now. Original force was precious, and even Qian Ye’s recovery couldn’t keep up. The dark race’s artillery was dwindling, serving merely as a signal for the assault.
Qian Ye and Song Zining exchanged glances, preparing to part ways. Suddenly, Qian Ye sensed something and looked up.
In the night sky, two figures of dukes from the Evernight slowly approached, their overwhelming pressure like a tsunami.
“The final battle has begun,” Qian Ye realized.
Song Zining looked at Qian Ye, gesturing. Qian Ye thought for a moment, then nodded slowly.
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