Chapter Seventy-Four: Absolutely Ferocious! (Please recommend and add to your favorites!)

“This time it’s a battle between cultivators. There aren’t many participants, and their ranks aren’t particularly high, but isn’t it a bit reckless to send this fledgling up right now?” Meng Fei spoke to Xie Guotao, his eyes drifting toward Yang Fan not far away.

“It’s fine. The boy’s at least seen blood at the rear lines. For a small-scale raid like this, he’ll manage. He’s reached the third rank; he’s ready for the battlefield,” Xie Guotao replied with a broad grin.

“Alright, since you think he’s ready, I won’t try to persuade you further. Speak to him—departure’s in half an hour.” Meng Fei gave Yang Fan a deep look before turning and leaving.

Once Meng Fei was gone, Xie Guotao made his way over to Yang Fan.

“You heard all that?” Xie Guotao stopped in front of him.

“Yes.”

“How do you feel about it?”

Yang Fan was silent. The rush of blood from ten days ago hadn’t yet cooled, but it lacked the fervor of that day.

Xie Guotao watched Yang Fan’s wordless hesitation and smiled slightly. “I understand how you feel,” he said. “The first time I went to war, I was much the same. In fact, I was even stronger than you at the time, yet I couldn’t help feeling afraid during the pre-battle preparations.”

Yang Fan looked straight at him. “How did you get over it, Brother Xie?”

Xie Guotao chuckled, then, with a touch of nostalgia and wistfulness, answered, “There’s no trick. Once you’re on the battlefield, when it’s kill or be killed, you get over it naturally. Nothing steels the nerves like charging back and forth across the front lines.”

Yang Fan gave a wry smile. That answer was as good as saying nothing at all.

Xie Guotao’s smile faded. He looked at Yang Fan seriously. “Yang Fan, you’re a genius—no one can deny that. But a genius who cowers at the rear, trembling with fear, is not what this era needs. Since you’ve made your choice, see it through. Let this first battle at the ruins be your beginning.

This fight is small in scale, not many on either side—probably fifty or sixty people each. All cultivators are third rank or below, including third rank. With your strength, you’re unlikely to run into trouble. But don’t get careless.

On the battlefield, no one can say what the next second will bring. You said you want to survive—then win. Only the victorious get to keep living.”

Yang Fan’s wry smile deepened. “Brother Xie, has anyone ever told you your pre-battle speeches aren’t exactly inspiring? Not very convincing, either.”

“You brat, will you die if you don’t mouth off for one day?” Xie Guotao finally lost his composure and roared at him.

This rascal is infuriating!

Watching Xie Guotao's angry tirade, Yang Fan’s expression eased, his smile shifting as well. “But for some reason, even with your lack of conviction, you've managed to convince me. Don’t worry, I’ll come back alive.”

Xie Guotao watched Yang Fan’s transformation—from wry smile, to playful grin, to solemn determination. His scolding grew quieter and quieter, until in the end, all he said was, “Come back alive.”

...

Jubei City stood at the heart of the ruins, or rather, at the intersection of two worlds’ passageways.

On the human side was Jubei City; across from it, in the Dark Realm, stood Brobei City.

The two worlds faced each other, yet their coordinates seemed misaligned. To humans, the Dark Realm lay to the north of the ruins; to those of the Dark Realm, humans were also north of the ruins.

The rules on each side differed, and some things simply defied explanation.

Just like the scene before them now.

Half an hour later, Yang Fan joined the Jubei City cultivator strike team as they left the city.

Yang Fan carried a sword on his back and gripped an automatic rifle in his hands.

The team marched forward; all were equipped much like Yang Fan—personal weapons slung on their backs, firearms issued before departure in their hands.

The ruins were a strange place.

In this vast space, two different rules seemed to coexist, intersecting at the center of the ruins.

Jubei City and Brobei City were sixty li apart.

Within thirty li of Jubei City, technological weapons functioned without hindrance. But step even a single foot outside that zone, and your firearm would become a useless club.

Yang Fan ran his hands over the gun—it was the first time in his life he’d ever handled one.

The cultivators leaving the city with him all cast scrutinizing glances at the newcomer in their ranks.

Within the ruins, any martial artist below sixth-rank master would be organized into squads, varying in size, but rarely would a newcomer be added right before a battle.

Today was an exception. Yang Fan—a young, fresh-faced recruit.

“Hey, what’s your name?” said the burly man walking beside him.

Yang Fan turned and pointed to himself.

The man nodded.

“Yang Fan.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Han Shu.”

“Hello.”

“What’s your situation—joining the team right before a fight?”

“Um… My teacher sent me.”

“Training? But this battle doesn’t seem right for a rookie like you.” Han Shu sounded doubtful, and there was a hint of resentment in his tone. Was this some privileged scion here to pad his resume? People like that were universally disliked.

Those of us fight and die for humanity on the front lines, drilling again and again before every battle, because any lapse could cost blood. Now, a greenhorn who knows nothing is thrown in. If he’s strong, fine—but if he holds us back, brothers might die in these ruins.

“I don’t know. Why? Is there something unusual about this battle, Brother Han?” Yang Fan, oblivious to Han Shu’s inner thoughts, asked.

“Nothing in particular. It’s just that this one might be more intense. Stick with the team; don’t act on your own. Follow the captain’s orders in everything.” With that, Han Shu turned away and strode ahead.

Yang Fan said nothing more, his mind turning over just how intense this fight might be.

...

“Open fire!”

Pressed flat behind a dirt embankment, Yang Fan instinctively straightened, raised his gun, and squeezed the trigger.

Bullets sprayed out.

Around him, dozens of fellow cultivators unleashed streams of fire from their weapons.

Across the plain, the Dark Realm squad was thrown into chaos.

Before long, however, they raised steel shields and began charging toward Yang Fan and the others’ position.

A dozen bodies were left sprawled where they’d stood.

The sound of bullets clanging and banging off the shields drew ever closer.

Then Yang Fan heard a roar: “Close combat—kill them all!”

Han Shu and the others tossed aside their empty guns, drew their weapons from their backs, and leapt over the embankment, charging the Dark Realm fighters.

Yang Fan was a beat slow; by the time he drew his long blade, Han Shu and company were nearly upon the enemy.

He vaulted the embankment and came face to face with blood and shattered bone—bodies falling, none left intact.

Martial artists were powerful; even a first-rank could wield hundreds of pounds of force. Once their defenses broke, a wound was almost always fatal.

As Yang Fan ran, he watched the combat ahead, his eyes growing ever redder, his fighting spirit rising to its peak.

Just as he was about to reach the melee, a figure sprang into view—a massive spiked club swung straight down at him.

Yang Fan instinctively raised his blade to block.

At the moment of impact, he staggered back a step.

The club came at him again, leaving no time to think. Lightning surged through Yang Fan’s body; he blocked with one hand and punched with the other, striking at the club’s wielder.

His punch made the club tremble and hesitate; his blade followed, slicing down.

The enemy’s body fell, cleaved in two at the waist. Yang Fan gave no time for trembling nerves; he pressed forward.

Han Shu was now beset by two Dark Realm fighters, barely holding out.

Yang Fan cut a straight path through the chaos—no one moved to stop him.

One of Han Shu’s assailants felt a chill at his back and fell, never to rise.

The other, just clashing blades with Han Shu, saw his comrade collapse, his hair standing on end. He turned, only to catch a flash of cold steel.

Han Shu, seeing the rookie he’d once looked down on now drenched in blood, was left speechless.

Before he could say anything, Yang Fan was already racing toward the squad captain’s embattled knot of fighters.

At that moment, Hu Dao was in dire straits.

He was targeted.

A peak third-rank and a high-tier third-rank Dark Realm warrior had teamed up against him. The fight had been brief, but he was already bleeding from several wounds.

“Damn it, always the same!” Hu Dao cursed inwardly.

Human cultivators were always outnumbered by the Dark Realm. In every battle, they suffered for it.

This time, even with Yang Fan’s last-minute addition, they were only fifty-one in total.

Their mission was to ambush a squad of Dark Realm scouts.

But these scouts—every last one—were cultivators, a full hundred strong.

The initial ambush with firearms had taken out a dozen or so, wounded others, but even so, the numbers were unequal.

The ones felled by ordinary rifles were the weakest, mostly first-rank at best. Whether a second-rank would die depended on luck. If a third-rank was wounded, that was already impressive.

It was mostly about making an impression, with little effect on the overall battle.

The two in front of him had been unfazed by the gunfire.

The moment battle was joined, their full power exploded, and together they pressed Hu Dao hard.

Now, just as Hu Dao was forced back, coughing blood from a sudden blow, a long blade slashed through the air.

The third-rank high-tier Dark Realm warrior instinctively retreated, dodging the descending blade.

The enemy captain, a peak third-rank, moved to act, but Hu Dao, despite his injuries, rushed in to pin him down.

Yang Fan’s blade rained blow after blow, driving the Dark Realm warrior steadily back.

For the first time, Hu Dao felt a surge of joy.

Finally, a fair fight—even wounded, he felt as fierce as ever.