Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
The Assault Team swiftly rushed to the side of the Bunker’s entrance, immediately engaging in fierce gunfire with the guarding Yangchuan Soldiers. The sounds of their roars and clashing weapons echoed through the night sky, blood splattering as the ground quickly became stained with corpses and blood. The Yangchuan Soldiers understood that if the Bunker’s entrance fell, the entire Frontline would be lost. They gritted their teeth, vowing to defend this last line of defense with their lives.
The Assault Team Leader shouted commands: “Take the gate! Secure that energy cannon!” He pointed to the energy cannon not far away, which was the Yangchuan Garrison's weapon for counterattack. Once secured, it would provide the Wu Jing Army with more opportunities to breathe and attack.
The members of the Assault Team clenched their jaws, wielding their swords as they tore through the enemy's defenses. They knew that every step taken now was crucial, and at the heart of this effort was Yan Kong.
Yan Kong stood in the open space directly in front of the Bunker, his blade having already claimed countless enemies. The blood on his blade had long since dried, leaving dark red stains. Surrounding him were waves of Yangchuan Soldiers, seemingly endless, encircling him at the center. Yan Kong's eyes were fierce, his face smeared with blood; his stamina had reached its limit, and each swing of his sword felt like it was draining his last reserves of strength.
The alert from his Brain-Computer echoed in his mind: **“Warning: Physical overload detected; immediate rest is advised. Excessive strain may lead to damage to your cybernetic body.”**
Yan Kong paid no heed to it; all he could see were the enemies before him. His fingers gripped the hilt tightly, turning white from exertion, and he could barely feel them anymore. He took a deep breath, pushing the Brain-Computer's warning to the back of his mind, murmuring softly to himself, “Rest? Who has time for that…”
A Yangchuan Soldier lunged at him from the side, blade glinting coldly. Yan Kong swiftly turned around; in a flash of steel, he severed the enemy’s weapon and followed up with a powerful horizontal slash that cleaved the opponent in two. His movements remained sharp and decisive; despite his exhaustion, his willpower drove him to continue fighting.
“Who else?” Yan Kong's roar thundered like a storm, intimidating the Yangchuan Soldiers before him. He stood like a god of war against hundreds, holding back their assault with nothing but a single sword.
Not far away, the battle by the gate intensified. The Assault Team soldiers roared as they clashed against the Yangchuan Garrison with their flesh and blood. Their goal was clear—take down the gate and secure the cannon. They knew that as long as Yan Kong stood there, they had hope of completing this arduous fight.
The Yangchuan Soldiers gripped their weapons tightly, fear and hesitation filling their eyes. They stood opposite Yan Kong but no one dared to take a step forward. This blood-soaked Cyber Samurai stood before them with cold light flashing in his eyes, like a demon from hell. The ground around him was littered with corpses; rivers of blood flowed freely while Yan Kong towered like a solitary peak piercing through the clouds—intimidating and awe-inspiring.
“What… what kind of monster is he?” one Yangchuan Soldier murmured softly, his hand trembling slightly around his weapon. His words echoed everyone’s thoughts.
Yan Kong stood before them, his sword hanging at his side as droplets of blood fell from its blade onto the ground with a soft patter. His armor was battered and torn yet still radiated an overwhelming presence. His breath was heavy; his chest rose and fell dramatically as he stood straight, eyes cold and piercing—warning anyone who dared approach.
“What’s wrong? Not moving?” Yan Kong’s voice was deep and hoarse, like a threat squeezed from deep within his throat. He raised his sword slightly; its tip pointed directly at the soldiers before him as if saying, “You’re next.”
The throats of the Yangchuan Soldiers felt dry; it was as if their feet were nailed to the ground—none dared to move. Their rational minds told them that although this man appeared exhausted, he remained as dangerous as an injured tiger. Any slight movement could lead to them being mercilessly cut down by his blade.
Time seemed to freeze as both sides held their ground; a single warrior standing against dozens created an extraordinary scene on the battlefield. No one dared to be the first to advance because they knew that whoever struck first would surely become Yan Kong's next victim.
"You're really spineless," Yan Kong sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. His gaze sliced through each Yangchuan Soldier like a blade, causing them to involuntarily take a step back.
"Who else?" he growled again, his tone cold and filled with an intimidating pressure that brooked no defiance.
In an instant, the Yangchuan Soldiers felt the air around them grow heavier. Their breaths quickened, yet their feet remained rooted in place, as if Yan Kong's aura had pinned them to the ground. In that moment, this blood-soaked Cyber Samurai appeared as an invincible war god, instilling a sense of despair that made them hesitate to act.
Amidst this eerie standoff, a dull thud echoed from afar, as if some massive barrier had been utterly shattered.
"Boom—!"
The sound of the great door being forced open reverberated throughout the Frontline, as Wu Jing's Army surged in like a flood breaking through a dam. The disciplined troops radiated Leng Lie's sharpness, wielding long spears and energy weapons, crashing through the last remnants of the Yangchuan Garrison with unstoppable force. The soldiers' shouts and the clash of weapons rolled in like thunder, crushing any final resistance from the enemy.
Upon hearing this sound, a wild grin spread across Yan Kong's face. He twirled his blade in his hand before driving it fiercely into the ground, blood trickling down the blade and pooling into a small puddle on the earth. He laughed heartily, his voice unrestrained with arrogance and relief: "Hahaha! It's over; you're finished!"
The surrounding Yangchuan Soldiers turned to face the direction of the great door as Wu Jing's Army poured in like a tide, their weapons glinting ominously and encircling them completely. The morale of the defenders crumbled instantly; soldiers who had intended to fight to the death now found their eyes filled with fear. Their weapons trembled in their hands, and some even involuntarily took a few steps back.
"Retreat! Fall back!" someone shouted loudly, but in such a dire situation, where could they possibly go?
Chaos quickly spread among the defenders. Some attempted to flee but were cut down by Wu Jing's soldiers; others stood frozen in place, eyes glazed over and unsure of what to do. Amidst the panic, the Fog City Soldiers' assault was like a scythe, slicing through enemy lines into shattered remnants.
"Think you can run?" Yan Kong scoffed coldly, watching those fleeing soldiers with contempt and disdain.
As Wu Jing's Army gradually suppressed the entire Frontline, the remaining Yangchuan Soldiers finally surrendered completely. They dropped their weapons, raised their hands high, and slowly knelt on the ground, their faces etched with despair and regret.
"We surrender! Don't kill us!" one soldier cried out in terror, his voice trembling and nearly unintelligible.
Yan Kong glanced at those kneeling defenders with a cold smile before pulling his blade from the ground; its edge glimmered coldly in the night light. He said nothing more but stood there, coldly observing the end of this farce. Wu Jing's banner was raised high, fluttering above the Frontline—a symbol of victory in battle, belonging to Yan Kong and Wu Jing.
Feng Huo's Palanquin moved slowly under the steady steps of its robotic bearers; the heavy treads emitted faint sounds. As the Palanquin came to a halt, an overwhelming sense of pressure seemed to descend alongside it.
The surrendering soldiers on their knees lifted their heads, seeing Feng Huo's face, which bore a hint of mockery, peering out from the window of the Palanquin. His gaze swept over the disheveled Yangchuan Soldiers on the ground, as if appraising a pile of worthless scrap metal.
"Not bad, Yan Kong," Feng Huo said casually, his voice laced with a lazy indifference. He turned his attention to Yan Kong, who stood not far away, a slight smile curling at the corners of his mouth, seemingly pleased with the scene before him. He waved his hand dismissively, as if dealing with a trivial matter: "The rest is up to you; handle it as you wish."
As soon as he finished speaking, he leaned back into the Palanquin, appearing utterly uninterested in what would happen next, leaving behind a ground full of surrendering soldiers and Yan Kong standing with his sword drawn.
Yan Kong's gaze was sharp, coldly scanning the kneeling soldiers. He stepped forward slowly, each step carrying a heavy pressure; the blood beneath his feet had already congealed, emitting a pungent metallic scent.
He lowered his sword from his shoulder, its tip lightly scraping against the ground with a piercing sound. He stopped in front of one of the kneeling soldiers, the blade's tip pointed at his throat. His voice was low and ruthless: "Listen carefully, I don't care what your identities or statuses were before. Now, you have two choices."
He raised his sword high towards the night sky, his tone growing even colder: "Those willing to surrender will obediently join Wu Jing, starting from the lowest rank. Do not expect any special treatment or pity from anyone. You will redeem your lives with loyalty and sweat!"
Yan Kong slowly lowered his sword until its tip pointed directly at the ground, but his tone became increasingly Leng Lie: "For those unwilling... come to this blade now; I will personally send you on your way."
His gaze weighed heavily on each soldier's heart. The kneeling Yangchuan Soldiers trembled; some had already begun to sob quietly, while others were filled with fear yet dared not move.
In the oppressive silence, Yan Kong's figure loomed like an insurmountable mountain, suffocating everyone’s breath. After a moment, several soldiers finally raised their hands high and shouted: "We surrender! We are willing to join!"
With the first shout, more voices followed suit. The cries of surrender echoed one after another as the kneeling soldiers bowed their heads, their foreheads pressed against the blood-stained ground like a pack of conquered beasts pleading for a chance to live.
A cold smile crept across Yan Kong's lips as he sheathed his sword and turned to walk toward the direction of Wu Jing's soldiers, leaving behind a chilling remark that lingered in the air: "Welcome to Wu Jing."
Comment 0 Comment Count