Chapter 1161: The Bloody Swamp
Hearing these words, everyone was stunned for a moment before realizing that the old master was truly overjoyed, and they quickly set to work.
"Father, please reconsider!"
The eldest son of the Tang family was also in the grain transport convoy, supporting Old Master Tang’s arm as he earnestly tried to persuade him.
A grain convoy of such massive scale, traveling through Nuorilang Peak overnight and heading all the way to Star Gorge, was indeed somewhat risky from a military standpoint.
Old Master Tang was displeased by this and only relented after being urged for a long time.
He gazed at the plains ahead and the mountain range beyond, as if he could already see Snow Old City thousands of miles away, tears streaming down his aged face.
"That’s right, we’ve already waited a thousand years—why rush for a single day?"
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The longer the wait, the more impatient one becomes, but if the wait truly stretches to a thousand years, people’s patience tends to grow a bit better.
The human army now seemed very patient. Whether it was the sudden withdrawal of the demon army or the inexplicable attack by those hundreds of thousands of tribal warriors, none of it could shake the human army’s front lines in the slightest, nor did it seem they intended to launch an assault on Snow Old City.
"Seeing Gao Huan die made me suddenly realize that I too will die, so I need to be more cautious."
Old Master Tang looked toward distant Snow Old City and said, "I must see the city breached with my own eyes. I cannot allow any accidents."
Chen Changsheng said, "Many people want to see that sight."
Old Master Tang took the hot tea and nodded politely to Xu Yourong.
For the Holy Maiden herself to brew tea—in all the world, only Old Master Tang could receive such treatment.
Xu Yourong knew that Chen Changsheng needed to speak with Old Master Tang about matters not meant for others to hear. She smiled slightly and left the tent.
The tent was very quiet, and it remained so for a long time, until the hot tea in the cups gradually stopped steaming.
"Tang Thirty-Six isn’t sick—he’s been poisoned."
Chen Changsheng looked into Old Master Tang’s eyes and said.
"Your Holiness, with your keen eyes, naturally you wouldn’t be mistaken. The poison isn’t severe; it just keeps him burning with fever."
Old Master Tang made no attempt to hide it and admitted the truth with great calm, saying, "The Tang family needs him alive."
He admitted it because Chen Changsheng had already guessed the truth of the matter. Since he hadn’t exposed it then, it meant he never would.
Old Master Tang left the tent and walked toward a small hill in the distance.
Xu Yourong returned to the tent.
She hadn’t asked that day, and she wouldn’t ask today either, but Chen Changsheng felt he should say something, yet he didn’t know how to begin.
"Everyone is selfish, especially when they act selflessly."
Xu Yourong concluded the matter with this ambiguous remark.
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The demons in Snow Old City must have already learned the fate of Gao Huan’s isolated army. They quickly began to contract their front lines. Under the cover of their auxiliary forces, the demon wolf cavalry disengaged from contact with the human heavy cavalry and retreated into the city. A small portion of the over two hundred thousand tribal warriors was escorted inside, while the majority remained outside.
The chaos gradually subsided. The human army did not pursue. The outcome of this sudden decisive battle was already clear. The tribal warriors stood between the tightly shut city gates and the fully prepared human army, their eyes filled with helplessness. A sense of despair permeated the disorderly tents.
The morale of the demon army was already very low, but as the saying goes, a cornered beast will still fight. The human side could afford to wait a while longer. With time, the situation would surely improve, especially with the tribal warriors outside the city—some might even retreat without a fight.
Yet, for some reason, after receiving a report delivered by a Red Eagle, General He Ming pondered for the time it takes to eat a meal, then issued an order to intensify the attack. The central army launched a campaign to clear out the tribal warriors scattered across the hills, while the eastern and western armies were ordered to converge as quickly as possible.
Many generals and ordinary soldiers did not understand this order, but they executed it resolutely. Before issuing the command, General He Ming had visited the tent of Chen Changsheng and Xu Yourong and gained their support. Moreover, Shang Xingzhou on that small hill had remained silent.
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Everyone has their own memories. Hundreds of thousands of people have hundreds of thousands of memories. The memory of the same event may share a similar outline, but the details often diverge greatly. Guan Feibai always insisted it was a day in mid-September. He was lying in his tent receiving treatment from a Li Palace divine priest when he heard the sound of the city gate being breached dozens of miles away. Lifting the tent flap, he saw the leaves on the tree before the slope were as red as if they were bleeding. Bai Cai, however, firmly maintained it was a day in early September, when the wild trees outside Snow Old City still bore the last traces of green. The reason Guan Feibai saw those leaves as red was because he had killed so many demons that his eyes had turned red.
Never mind these discrepancies in specific memories. In any case, on a certain day when autumn was deepening, the human army launched their final fierce assault on Snow Old City.
The last holy light crossbows rained down on Snow Old City like a storm.
A wolf cavalry unit preparing to leave the city to escort the tribal warriors unfortunately ran into this barrage of arrows, suffering heavy casualties.
Catapults moved like giants onto the plains before Snow Old City. The demons inside the city, seeing them, turned pale as if they had glimpsed the ancestral spirits of the Pantagruel clan.
Mountain-like stones mixed with gunpowder whistled through the air, tracing high arcs, and crashed into the city with dull thuds. More stones slammed directly into the walls of Snow Old City, failing to cause direct damage but shattering into a rain of gravel that fell to the ground, smashing the tribal warriors’ heads and drawing blood.
At the height of the battle, two demon tribes suddenly charged in from the northwest—the demon tribe’s Pingbei Camp had been roaming the grasslands after leaving Congzhou, but that was merely a feint. The true reinforcements of the demon tribes had detoured through the grasslands of the Gu Xiu Ling tribe, crossed the layered mountain ranges to the west, and under the cover of the western army, silently approached Snow Old City, all to deliver a fatal blow to the demons at the most critical moment.
The demon army, facing yet another powerful enemy, finally had its will crumble. More and more tribal forces scattered, fleeing in all directions.
The setting sun dyed the entire grassland red. To turn the tide, the Demon Marshal took a risk and infiltrated the human army camp, attempting to kill an important figure like Chen Changsheng to change the battlefield situation, or at least slow the pace of the demons’ defeat.
South of the city lay a swamp, its thick fog unshaken by the wind and impenetrable even by the crimson twilight. Wang Po had been waiting here for the Demon Marshal for many days.
When the Demon Marshal, using the suicidal charge of several hundred wolf cavalry, slipped through the blood and corpses to the front of the camp, Wang Po drew his blade.
The bright blade light tore through the thick fog above the swamp, illuminating the entire sky and earth.
Wang Po did not ambush; he acted with complete openness.
The Demon Marshal glanced at the camp ahead, a look of regret in his eyes.
The human army was pushing forcefully toward Snow Old City, and the camp’s position had also moved forward by dozens of miles.
The figures of Chen Changsheng and Xu Yourong were now clearly visible.
"Ah!"
The Demon Marshal let out a furious and unwilling shriek.
The corpses of human soldiers and demon soldiers all around exploded, raining blood.
Blood flowed over armor, soaking green rust and bright gems, exuding a cold and maddening aura.
He turned, drew the absurdly large blade from behind him, and charged toward the bright blade light.
With a sharp crack, a rift several miles long appeared on the plain, with underground springs and fiery magma visible within.
The Demon Marshal staggered twice but quickly steadied himself.
His short figure appeared immense in everyone’s eyes.
He raised his long blade and charged into the swamp.
The earth trembled, the cold wind shattered, and the thick fog was sliced apart.
The two most powerful blades in the world met once more.
The terrifying blade intent churned the fog like a tornado, quickly clearing it away.
The hundreds of thousands of people on the plain could now clearly see the scene in the swamp.
The black swamp was extremely wet and soft. Two figures moved at high speed, impossible to discern clearly.
Two flashes of blade light occasionally lit up the sky and earth, flinging black mud into the air.
Gradually, truths buried by the swamp for countless years emerged: piles of bones, treasure chests filled with gold coins, and many hidden chambers.
These forgotten histories, these stories that might have become mere tales in books, were shattered into pieces by these two powerful blades.
Before absolute power, everything becomes meaningless.
With a thunderous roar, Wang Po’s iron blade and the Demon Marshal’s great blade clashed head-on.
All the water in the swamp was blasted into the air, becoming murky rain. The wet black mud was flung up, falling over an area dozens of miles wide. Both demon soldiers and human soldiers were drenched from head to toe, reeking of filth.
A trench over ten miles long appeared on the grassland.
Wang Po stood at the end of the trench, half his body buried underground.
His face was pale, two streams of blood flowing from the corners of his mouth. The hand gripping his iron blade trembled slightly, and another notch had appeared on the blade’s edge.
The Demon Marshal was not much better off. He traced a straight white line through the air and slammed heavily into the city gate of Snow Old City.
All the demon soldiers on the city wall heard the deafening crash and felt the vibrations transmitted through the wall.
The Demon Marshal spat out a mouthful of blood. As his blood vessels cleared slightly, he was about to fly back onto the wall when a shadow fell across his face.
The shadow came from a giant kite.
Under the slanting sunlight, the kite seemed to be burning.
It matched perfectly with the scene depicted in the painting hanging beneath it.
Besides the painting titled "The Burning of the Garuda Temple," a person was also tied to the kite.
The wind rustled the white paper.
Xiao Zhang leaped toward the city gate, the Frost-Leftover Divine Spear in his hand, letting out strange, wild cries.
8
(Three-Seven Chinese)