Chapter Three: Blood-Stained Streets

Jiu Li City, South Gate.

Two hundred thousand Black Armored soldiers marched through the desert, their armor clashing with a thunderous roar at each step. The howling sandstorm ceased, and small animals had long vanished from sight.

At the city gate, two guards saw the black mass of soldiers approaching from the horizon and felt their scalps tingle with fear. One guard quickly ran up to the watchtower and blew the alarm horn, while the other began pulling the thick winch. The mechanism creaked as the massive bronze gate slowly closed with a resounding boom.

The Holy Church, the foremost power of the Western Continent, demonstrated an execution efficiency that was truly astonishing. Mobilizing two legions, a total of two hundred thousand troops, with such speed was remarkable, arriving only half a day later than Li Zhuo.

Inside Jiu Li City, Li Zhuo had just finished gathering the Dragon Cavalry Guards when he heard the blaring horn. His expression changed as he turned and ran towards the ancestral hall.

As he crossed the training ground, he bumped into the old chieftain emerging from the hall. Disregarding etiquette, he asked urgently:

"Second Uncle, where is Xiao Ao?"

"He's gone. Rest assured, Xiao Ao took the inheritance and is now the hope for the future."

The old chieftain's face no longer held its usual kindness; it was replaced by calm and authority.

"He's already gone?"

Li Zhuo felt a twinge of disappointment knowing his son had left without a proper farewell. He realized he wouldn't have the chance to take him to the Ba Xian Lou for a feast. He chuckled self-deprecatingly.

He adjusted his mindset and said, "It's good that he's gone. As for that so-called apocalypse, what does it have to do with him? Survival is enough."

As Li Zhuo spoke, the old chieftain had already reached the edge of the training ground. His voice still echoed in Li Zhuo's ears:

"I believe in Xiao Ao. For thirteen years, he has never let us down, has he?"

Reflecting on the past years, Li Zhuo nodded in agreement, "Yes, he has never let us down. He never will."

Raising his head to look at the grand ancestral hall, Li Zhuo's gaze became resolute:

"Today, I will live and die with Jiu Li City."

A beautiful woman appeared beside Li Zhuo at some point, taking his hand. They smiled at each other and walked away side by side.

The old chieftain glanced back at the departing couple and shook his head with a smile:

"After all these years, they're still so in love."

Watching the affectionate couple, the old chieftain sighed, thinking of his beloved grandnephew, feeling more certain that he was a product of their love.

As these thoughts surged, the old chieftain's figure dissipated in place—it was merely a residual image he left behind. At the same moment, the old chieftain appeared on the southern city wall.

"Let's see what progress you scum of the Holy Church have made over the years."

...

Though the sky was clear, the atmosphere inside and outside Jiu Li City was unbearably oppressive. The able-bodied men of the clan had gathered on the southern city wall, facing off against the Black Armored soldiers of the Holy Church's Judgment Army outside.

The vast sea of black-armored soldiers surged like waves, covering the omnipresent yellow sand, and the usually noisy wind had fallen silent. It was more overwhelming than any poem's description of clouds pressing down on a city.

It was at this moment that the old chieftain ascended the city wall, though Li Zhuo and his wife were nowhere to be seen.

Seeing the old chieftain appear, the people on the wall seemed to find their backbone, and their previously subdued morale soared.

Unlike the south, the west side faced a different situation. Kuchaz had just driven his sword through the last standing member of the Jiu Li clan, raising his eyes to the streets of Jiu Li City.

The clan didn't have enough manpower to defend all four gates, forcing them to concentrate their forces in one area. With the main force of able-bodied men engaged in the south, Kuchaz and his ten thousand troops had effortlessly breached the city from the west.

The vanguard, after all, earned its name.

Looking at the beautiful eastern-style buildings before him, Kuchaz felt a surge of destructive desire.

"Kill!"

With his command, over ten thousand Black Armored soldiers drew their swords and charged towards the buildings.

...

Inside a two-story house, an elderly man worried about his son, who had gone to the southern part of the city. Suddenly, his ears perked up at the sounds of shouting and fighting from downstairs. The old man got up and walked to the window, seeing a group of fierce Black Armored soldiers charging in.

Calmly, he turned back into the room, retrieved his old spear from under the bed, and tore off the oiled cloth wrapped around the spearhead. The elderly man's slightly hunched figure straightened as he gripped the spear, becoming tall and imposing. His eyes turned sharp as a knife, and a powerful aura emanated from his aged body.

Holding the gleaming spear, the old man leaped from the second floor, charging head-on at the group of Black Armored soldiers. There was no fear in his eyes, only a resolute determination to die fighting.

In a fleeting moment, it was as if he had returned to his younger days, his battle instincts ingrained in his flesh and blood awakening. His spear thrust forward like a dragon, piercing the chest of a Black Armored soldier who had gotten close. With a horizontal sweep, he repelled the soldiers flanking him.

But ultimately, he was old. After just two moves, he was already panting heavily. His Silver-level abilities couldn't restore his long-aged body to its youth. The surrounding Black Armored soldiers closed in relentlessly.

Just as the old man closed his eyes, thinking it was the end, he heard a cacophony of footsteps behind him. Opening his eyes in surprise and looking back, he saw his neighbors rushing out. There were people with missing arms, those with limps, elderly men and women in their seventies and eighties, and even children as young as seven or eight. They held various weapons in their hands, and though their ages varied, they all had the same look in their eyes. There was no fear, no panic, only resolve.

They were like beasts cornered, ready to tear a chunk of flesh from their enemies even in death. The old man laughed heartily, raising his spear:

"Everyone, charge together!"

The two sides quickly clashed, blood splattering and cries of pain filling the air. More Jiu Li clan members, hearing the commotion, rushed to join the fray.

After a fierce battle, the elderly and weak of the Jiu Li clan ultimately couldn't overcome the physically strong soldiers of the Judgment Army. The surviving Black Armored soldiers looked at the lifeless bodies of the elderly, women, and children on the ground, a lingering, uncontrollable fear in their eyes.

Out of the ten thousand well-armored and armed Judgment soldiers, at least Silver level, nearly a third had been lost in this fight.

In a corner of the street, a Judgment soldier with shattered armor and a dent in his forearm stood staring at a corpse on the ground. It was a child, the same one who had been scolded by his parents for not studying like Li Ao a few days ago. Little Yan's lips were bloody—his blood. The chunk missing from the soldier's arm had been bitten off by Little Yan, who never let go, even in death. The soldier would never forget the ferocious expression on the child's face in his final moments.

But this battle was far from over; it was just beginning. Jiu Li City had only the elderly, sick, and weak left, but none of them gave up. Fierce fighting erupted in the city's streets and alleys.

Kuchaz didn't waste time on the outskirts. His target was the ancestral hall of the Jiu Li clan, their legacy. The surviving seven thousand Black Armored soldiers scattered, forming hundreds of combat teams, swiftly spreading throughout the city with one goal: to kill.

Kuchaz, along with a few trusted subordinates, headed straight for the city center. Compared to large-scale battles, these small skirmishes were far more brutal. Finding a complete corpse became increasingly difficult.

On the long street, severed limbs were everywhere. The blood-stained bluestone was a stark and sorrowful sight.