Chapter Six: The Slaughter of the Sea Serpent

In the blink of an eye, dozens of spears and swords had already been thrown, and within a span of more than ten yards in front of Liuchou, not a single soldier remained standing. The delicate balance that humanity had painstakingly established with the monsters was torn asunder at this moment. Centered around Liuchou, the advantage of the monsters began to ripple outwards like waves, expanding ever further. Facing the monsters’ relentless assault, the human soldiers, once full of bold oaths and confidence, gradually became timid and hesitant, cowering in place. Hidden among them, the elite Nine Beat Guards became ever clearer to Liuchou’s discerning gaze.

Between the thick walls of the Dark Prison and the outer city, the battle raged on. Liuchou moved between the storehouses; by now, the human formation had been utterly shattered. Monsters and humans were completely entangled in chaotic melee, each fighting for themselves. Two Nine Beat Guards raced desperately before Liuchou, striving to rejoin their comrades, but he relentlessly drove them into the narrow passage between the warehouses.

There was no escape here. The two guards turned in haste, only to confront Liuchou head-on. His gruesome iron club dripped with fresh blood, revealing his fearsome strength to them. Standing shoulder to shoulder, the guards raised their bronze swords, brushing their left hands over them as a talisman turned to ash; a dim light flickered along the blades. Exchanging a glance, both roared in fury and leapt to attack.

Blood erupted skyward in the narrow passage, accompanied by the guards’ desperate howls. Moments later, Liuchou emerged with his iron club. Across the way, another Nine Beat Guard appeared, shuddering uncontrollably at the murderous intent in Liuchou’s eyes, and fled.

He had followed the sounds of his comrades, only to encounter this monster; clearly, the other two guards had perished at the creature’s hands, and in mere moments, without delay. For a monster to slay two Nine Beat Guards so quickly—its strength was not to be underestimated.

The guard fled swiftly, but Liuchou was swifter still. In an instant, he caught up from behind, driving his iron club straight through the guard's back. The dying man’s wails echoed through the warehouse.

Liuchou moved like a specter across the battlefield, his iron club striking again and again, always targeting the Nine Beat Guards and mid- to lower-ranking officers whose combat prowess far surpassed ordinary soldiers. His body displayed no abnormality; even when fatigue crept in, he felt no craving for blood.

He remembered keenly that strange hunger for blood that had arisen during his battle with the Night Bat—yet since then, whether at the Ghost Valley camp or in subsequent fights, that feeling had never returned. This troubled Liuchou deeply, for by all indications, it was not a natural state for a monster—most peculiar indeed.

Unable to find the cause, he could only bury the matter in his heart for now, remaining vigilant in battle. He could not fathom why a monster, however savage or violent, would experience such a thirst for blood and an unnamable hunger—it worried him gravely.

As a beast, he had fought daily, never pausing to contemplate these things. Only later did he recall it, yet dared not speak of it, forced to suppress the discomfort within.

Thousands of soldiers were many, and with only a dozen monsters, it would take hours to slaughter them all. But soldiers were not automata; their morale plummeted with mounting casualties. With numerous lower-ranking officers slain and no one to command, many began to retreat in secret, eventually causing the entire battlefield to collapse.

By the time Liuchou reached Moyun, they found that all human soldiers within sight were retreating. Small squads of a dozen or two still fought desperately, but the tide was irreversible. Masses of soldiers flooded toward the city gate, scrambling for escape.

At least five hundred corpses lay strewn across the battlefield, and of the monsters, only seven or eight remained. Sporadic howls rose from all sides as the surviving monsters emerged, some still giving chase until Moyun called them back. They gathered around Liuchou and Moyun, eyes gleaming with excitement at the rout, some tearing into severed limbs with savage delight.

At this moment, the figure of Husi appeared beside the two monsters, a peculiar glint in his eyes. After a few whispered words, the same light flickered in Liuchou and Moyun’s gaze. Without hesitation, Liuchou said, “Let’s go and see.”

Led by Husi, the group skirted the warehouses to the side of the city, keeping hidden by buildings and peering up from the shadows.

As Husi had predicted, the city wall above was nearly deserted—empty and unguarded, as if everyone had been withdrawn. Liuchou listened intently. Now, nearly all sounds came from the city gate, where soldiers wept, pleaded, and cursed, begging those atop the walls to open the gates and let them out. The defenders above frantically organized archers for defense, shouting orders to re-form ranks and prepare for battle.

Indeed, the forces had been pulled back, leaving this stretch of wall bare and unprotected.

“Let’s go!” Liuchou made his decision, pointing to the wall. “Climb over—we’re leaving!”

Beyond Zheng City, in the wilderness.

Ten peculiar mechanical beasts raced across the plain. Their bodies were long and streamlined, with six swift legs that let them outpace any horse. With each burst of white steam, they surged forward ten yards at a time.

Behind the lead two, a team of lighter mechanical beasts gave chase. Each one carried more than a dozen elite warriors—judging by their attire, they were entirely unlike the soldiers within the city. These were true Nine Beat Guard elites, with many cultivators among them. Their weapons were uniquely effective against monsters and demons. The mechanical beasts spewed white steam and hurtled toward Zheng City at breakneck speed.

In one central beast, a Centurion sat cold-faced, his gaze fixed sternly on his two lieutenants. One looked composed, the other flushed with embarrassment and discomfort. The calm one was uninvolved in the prison’s escape; the flustered one, however, was the commanding officer of the Dark Prison here—the one who had slipped away for drink and pleasure, neglecting his post.

The rebuke had been delivered, but a haze of anger lingered in the Centurion’s heart. He decided to wait until the situation was resolved before reporting and assigning blame.

At that moment, the mechanical beast suddenly halted. The Centurion’s face twisted in irritation, but before he could speak, someone approached to report, “Sir, you’d best come see for yourself.”

He jumped down, his lieutenants close behind, and walked to the front—where a giant fallen tree blocked the road. Perched atop it sat a person in dazzling, multicolored robes, fingers poised in a lotus gesture, twisting their waist and singing a tune:

“A lone banner waves on the outskirts of Jun;
Bright silk binds, and four fine steeds draw near.
That virtuous one—how shall I reward them…”

The singer wore a brilliant crimson cloak embroidered with floral patterns, gaudy as a jester or sycophant. Yet when their gaze turned, it was as sharp as a blade, infusing the barren wild with danger. It seemed that, by their mere presence, the world was rendered unsafe, saturated with killing intent.

Nearby, five others lounged or stood idly, yawning and fingering short knives or crossbows. Each wore close-fitting garb and bore an air of eerie menace.

To the Centurion, these were not people, but taut crossbows—one move, and the bolts would fly.

Standing at the head of his men, he was about to speak when the composed lieutenant drew near and whispered, “Centurion, they’re from Tianshan Escape.”

“Tianshan Escape?” The Centurion’s expression soured. “Who?”

“Unknown,” the lieutenant replied, gesturing skyward. “There’s a Bat Cloud Boat.”

Anyone traveling by Bat Cloud Boat was surely a Tianshan Escape commander—a brigadier at least, outranking the Centurion. Though the four Guards rarely cared for military rank, one could not ignore the power such a rank represented. To become a commander was to wield formidable strength.

The Centurion looked up and finally saw the distant airship hovering above—a clear sign of Tianshan Escape. His face darkened, and he grunted, about to speak, when the flamboyant singer abruptly ceased their song and said softly, “Turn back. Consider it a favor from me.”

Their voice was not loud, but carried a haunting, seductive quality, reaching everyone’s ears across dozens of yards.

The Centurion leveled a steely gaze at this androgynous figure. “The disturbance at Zheng’s Dark Prison is the Nine Beat Guards’ affair. Tianshan Escape has no right to interfere!”

The stranger’s brows arched, pupils unfocused for a moment. Suddenly, the Centurion sensed a strange pressure beside him. He twisted violently to the side—just as a short blade burst from the earth, tearing his cloak and shooting past his collar into the air.

He shuddered, cold sweat pouring down. At once, his men drew their weapons and surrounded him, ready for battle.

Coughing heavily, the Centurion pointed at the stranger and barked, “Loose a volley!”

A great humming arose as dozens of arrows flew in a storm. Two of the stranger’s companions sprang into action, darting through the arrow-rain with lightning speed, their blades flashing and splitting every shaft that came near.

Amid the rain of arrows, the singer laughed slyly. When the last arrow fell, the laughter stopped; the voice turned cold: “Care to try again? If you do, I will not hold back.”

Their words were laced with amusement, but to the Guards, they were as chilling as a serpent’s hiss. All around, killing intent thickened, clinging to the Centurion like tar.

The meaning was clear: try again, and there would be no mercy—only death. The entire squad might not lose, but he himself would never escape.

Face to face with such naked threat, the Centurion could not help but feel a chill. His expression shifted uncertainly, then he demanded, “Name yourself.”

The stranger’s smile grew more bewitching as they replied, simply and directly, “Tianshan Escape—Mirage Executioner, also called… Tu Shen.”

(Translator’s note: The song is from the Classic of Poetry, “Banner Flies High.” It speaks of a banner of ox-tail fluttering high, and men and horses arriving at the outskirts of Jun City. Bright silks are neatly arranged, four fine steeds are a grand gift. The loyal and virtuous—how shall you repay them?)