Chapter 1144: Wang Po Has Arrived
The two demon generals on the grassland, along with the more profound demon clan elder and the prince of Snow Old City, wore expressions of extreme gravity.
The remnants of that sword intent drifted to the peak of Nuo Ri Lang.
The Demon Marshal reached out and grabbed the air, bringing it to his nose to sniff, a faint wariness rising within him.
The Sect Leader of Li Mountain had broken through his realm over a decade ago, but he had not received much attention. In many people's eyes, this old Taoist who had never left his mountain gate had only barely managed to break into the sacred domain by relying on the ultimate techniques of the Li Mountain Sword Sect and centuries of bitter cultivation. He was hardly worth mentioning.
Who could have imagined that his sword path cultivation would be so astonishing, that he had already walked right up to the second threshold?
Mao Qiuyu looked at the Sect Leader of Li Mountain and said, "Today, we will have to trouble you."
The Sect Leader of Li Mountain glanced at the peak of Nuo Ri Lang and waved his hand, saying, "I can't beat that brute."
Before Mao Qiuyu could speak, he pointed at the two demon generals on the grassland and said, "These two can't beat me. Let me handle them."
Mao Qiuyu and Huai Ren were momentarily stunned, thinking how candid his words were, and then wondering who would deal with the Demon Marshal.
There was no time to think. The fog in the passage beneath the night grew heavier, and those few towering figures became clearer and clearer.
The demon clan elder and the prince of Snow Old City had already descended upon the battlefield. If they were not stopped, the central command tent would come under direct attack.
A gentle breeze stirred. Huai Ren moved to intercept the prince with his flowing brocade robes, while Mao Qiuyu swung his sleeves wide to block the member of the Elder Council.
The Sect Leader of Li Mountain held his sword in his right hand and the scabbard in his left, treading upon a rainbow light as he advanced toward the two demon generals.
Sacred domain powerhouses appeared one after another. Their powerful auras clashed incessantly, whipping up countless gales and clouds of dust.
A flash of sword light tore through everything between heaven and earth, catching a ray of celestial light and illuminating the grassland.
A demonic aura as thick as night surged out from the valley, like a true abyssal dragon, devouring that sword light.
Heaven and earth were overturned, the sky and land plunged into darkness.
Countless unimaginable, wondrous scenes played out in turn between the sky and the earth. Several peaks near Nuo Ri Lang were ground flat. Golden blood dripped from the sky, igniting upon meeting the wind, releasing boundless heat and holy light. The blood of the demon clan’s powerhouses, however, was like ink, staining the sky an even deeper darkness.
In that brief span of time, it felt as though countless days and nights had passed.
The human army on the grassland relied on the barrier of their formation to barely withstand the shockwaves from the clash of sacred domain powerhouses. Occasionally, the military experts and crossbow formations within tried to aid the human sacred domain powerhouses, but they could not shake off the harassment of the wolf cavalry and were utterly unable to break free.
The Demon Marshal, however, remained aloof. His cold, cruel gaze pierced through his helmet, fixed on some point in the south, as if waiting for someone.
A hundred and fifty li to the west lay the most dangerously positioned right camp of the Western Route Army.
No one expected that the Prince of Xiang, the most important figure in the Western Route Army, had not stayed in the rear, nor had he bothered with the people of the Congzhou Military Prefecture, but had remained here all along.
The streaks of light before Nuo Ri Lang were clearly visible in the sky. Though a hundred and fifty li away, they seemed close at hand.
The Prince of Xiang rested his hands on the fat spilling over the top of his belt, squinting at those flashes of sword light and demonic energy, lost in thought.
If he had set out when the battle began, he might still have been in time to join this rare melee of sacred domain powerhouses.
But he did not. He believed it was far from the most critical moment. The most crucial thing was that not everyone had arrived yet.
Yes, just like the Demon Marshal, he too was waiting for someone to come.
...
...
"He's here! He's here!"
A burst of overjoyed shouts erupted from behind the central command tent.
The shouts spread like sparks falling into boiling oil, quickly traveling through the entire camp and then across the whole battlefield.
Both the human soldiers and the wolf cavalry attacking fiercely on the periphery heard that sound from afar.
He was here.
That man had finally arrived.
The wind howled.
Gravel pattered against the blades of grass.
A man appeared before everyone's eyes. He wore a cloth shirt washed white, with a downcast look about his brows and eyes, like an accountant who owed a great deal of money.
Wang Po had arrived.
No one knew where he had been just moments ago.
No one knew where he had come from.
It was not the central command tent; he was not in the habit of standing beside the commander.
Nor was it some storage shed; he had no inclination for frivolity.
He had walked over from the south.
The south was the human world.
His shoulders still drooped as usual, making it convenient for him to grip his saber hilt.
The grassland was now a scene of chaos, filled with brutal, life-or-death struggles. Shouts of killing and cries of anguish rose and fell in waves. The wind and flying sand obscured many people's vision.
In such a vast and complex tableau, Wang Po was merely an inconspicuous speck, one that should have gone unnoticed by anyone.
But when he walked over from the south, everyone—including the demon soldiers and powerhouses—saw him.
No matter how shabby his clothes, how ordinary his bearing, or how dazzling the world around him, he still possessed the strongest sense of presence.
The Demon Marshal, however, closed his eyes.
The temperature at the peak suddenly dropped sharply. A thin layer of white frost formed on the black rocks.
Facing an opponent like Wang Po, even he had to be cautious and go all out.
Wang Po's pace seemed unhurried, like an ordinary walk, but he quickly passed through the human camp and arrived on the battlefield.
The situation on the battlefield was extremely complex. Unexpected events could occur at any moment, bringing many variables and dangers.
But Wang Po did not quicken his pace, nor did he change his direction. He simply continued walking quietly like this.
The Demon Marshal closed his eyes to gather his momentum, to prepare for their imminent encounter. It would surely be a thunderous, earth-shattering strike.
Wang Po was no stranger to this.
Back then, at the Tanzhe Temple on the outskirts of the capital, he had sat motionless beneath that ginkgo tree for over ten days and nights, his iron saber never leaving its sheath. He was comprehending the way of the saber, but he was also accumulating saber momentum.
That was how he had been able to cleave the Iron Tree with a single stroke by the Luo River.
Now, as he walked toward that mountain peak, this process was also one of accumulating momentum.
...
...
The ranking method for demon generals was similar to that of the Great Zhou's divine generals. It considered seniority and reputation, but what mattered more was absolute strength.
Xinjia was now the third demon general of the demon clan. His realm and strength were formidable. None of the current Great Zhou divine generals could match him. Coupled with the trust of the young Demon Lord, he had been granted several powerful demon artifacts. In terms of combat power, he could be considered a true sacred domain powerhouse.
Earlier, he had been nicked on his demon horn by that sword light, bleeding and utterly disgraced. Apart from the fact that the Sect Leader of Li Mountain's sword strike was indeed profound, it was also partly due to his own underestimation of his opponent.
Moreover, he had not expected the sword in that old Taoist's hand to be so sharp and terrifying.
This injury made him much more alert and cautious. He fought alongside the eighth demon general and some military powerhouses against the Sect Leader of Li Mountain, displaying considerable steadiness.
He saw Wang Po crossing the battlefield, but he could not break free from the sword intent of the Sect Leader of Li Mountain. He let out a sharp howl, commanding the wolf cavalry to attack Wang Po, while signaling the eighth demon general with his eyes to coordinate with him, drawing the entire battle group toward the center of the battlefield.
No matter how terrifying those wolf cavalry were, they could not harm Wang Po. The third demon general understood this. He only hoped to interrupt Wang Po's momentum accumulation.
In a battle between powerhouses of Wang Po's and the Demon Marshal's level, even the slightest disturbance could directly alter the outcome.
The Sect Leader of Li Mountain guessed the demon general's intention. His long brows fluttered slightly, and he gently flicked his finger.
At that moment, the Sky-Covering Sword had just shattered a third demon artifact, slicing the eighth demon general until he was drenched in blood. Suddenly meeting that finger wind, it let out a crisp sword cry.
The sword's tone was extremely clear and piercing, spreading across the entire grassland.
Several seemingly ordinary soldiers emerged from the chaotic battlefield and came to Wang Po's side.
The wolf cavalry began their charge.
The bloodthirsty giant wolves' eyes were filled with madness. The demon cavalrymen let out harsh screeches.
Several chilling sword intents shot into the sky, slashing toward them.
Those few ordinary soldiers were actually elders of the Li Mountain Sword Hall!
Cold swords flashed. Wolf cavalry fell one after another, splattering countless streams of foul blood.
The several sword hall elders walked beside Wang Po like bodyguards.
No matter which direction the wolf cavalry charged from, they were cut down.
They had to ensure that Wang Po was not disturbed in any way.
Even if it affected their own sword strikes, or even got them injured.
Before the battle with the Demon Marshal began, Wang Po should do nothing.
In many people's eyes, this was the approach that showed the greatest sense of the bigger picture.
But Wang Po was never someone who could comfortably accept others' goodwill.
If he did that, how could his saber be as powerful as it was today?
On the western side of the grassland, the Taoist nun Huai Ren was battling the demon clan Elder Council member.
Her beautiful yet deadly finger force shot through the sky like arrows, shattering dozens of energy locks and leaving deep, bloody holes in the demon clan elder's body.
The Divine Finger of the World's Stream was indeed extraordinary, especially when wielded by a sacred domain powerhouse.
The demon clan elder let out a sharp howl. He reached out and seized the scepters of two tribal chieftains, absorbing the souls attached to them. His injuries healed instantly.
Not only that, but his demonic body visibly grew larger, reaching over ten zhang in height, cloaked in the night sky, like a god or demon.
Just then, a crisp metallic sound rang out from afar.
It was the sound of iron grinding—the saber about to be drawn!
The demon clan elder's expression changed drastically. Realizing he could not dodge in time, he let out a desperate, strange cry and toppled toward Huai Ren like a mountain!
The night was torn open by that saber intent, which seemed to come from beyond the heavens.
Several sharp cracks sounded. Wounds appeared on the demon clan elder's shoulder.
Celestial light scattered onto the fly whisk, white as silk threads, gathering into a cloud that slammed into the demon clan elder's chest.
The demon clan elder shattered instantly, turning into a cloud of black powder that scattered everywhere. The wild grass within several li withered upon contact!
Huai Ren's face was pale. A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of her lips.
She looked toward the center of the battlefield.
Wang Po walked toward the mountain peak, as if he had done nothing.
Many gazes fell upon his side.
His hand had already gripped the scabbard.
His thumb pressed against the lower edge of the saber hilt.
The iron saber was exposed by a fraction.