Blood with uncertainty, looked at Ballock and felt pained. Ballock was just like the previous him—bereft of refined techniques and formidable arts. Though Ballock had raised his cultivation realm, the skills he wielded remained crude and unrefined. His arsenal was scant, and he had no means to offer aid.
"Why the hell are you looking at me like that." Ballock scowled.
"Hehe. You should stay close to me throughout the battle. If we cannot endure it any longer, we will withdraw in that instant. The clash ahead is perilous, and only by standing together can we hope to survive it." Blood said in a serious tone.
Ballock neither refuted nor agreed; he simply kept his gaze fixed forward as the wind drifted by, carrying with it a quiet tension. Blood, too, refrained from disturbing him, fixing his eyes upon the road ahead.
Two men glided along the route, bound by circumstance, each lost in thought as destiny pulled them onward.
___
"It is amazing that their forces can endure for so long. With this resilience, I am truly impressed." a man with a rough face commended. There were two figures standing behind him, their hands folded neatly atop their bellies.
Sand‑scale City's forces stood against overwhelming odds, their defiance was a testament to discipline and resolve, forging warriors worthy of admiration.
"They will not endure for long once we employ your generous gift, mister. Soon, they shall scatter like sparks from a forge when the stakes are raised." one of the figures spoke.
He looked old, and he was none other than the Head of Bland Town. Yet the way he conducted himself at that moment in the presence of the rough‑faced man would make one wonder. He was subdued, and seemed almost tamed, as though shackled by an unseen chain.
Bland Town was but a weak high‑grade 3 territory, its leader still lingering in the Silver realm. Such weakness left the town vulnerable—easily maneuvered by superior territories.
And that was truly what transpired. Bland Town had been approached by a superior territory, who took high interest in the city of Sand‑scale—especially the mysteries surrounding its beaconing forest.
Bland Town became the first to engage with the city of Sand‑scale. Besides, they had approached the city of Sand‑scale directly, offering concessions in exchange for total submission and cooperation. Yet the mayor's refusal only worsened the situation, forcing them to resort to other methods, since they had been late in issuing a formal challenge.
Supporting Bland Town with meager aid wouldn't arouse the Settlers' attention, since the Settlers themselves sought a way to suppress the matter and let it fade swiftly.
As far as the Settlers Army were concerned, if other groups did not send large support, it was perfectly fine. Just because the Settlers Army mediated matters didn't mean one had to rely on them completely.
The superior territories could also buy others' spots, but that would be difficult, since it would involve negotiating with hundreds of inferior territories.
It took five to ten peak Grade‑3 cities to match a Grade‑4 city, and victory remained uncertain because Grade‑3 and Grade‑4 territories differed greatly in strength and other factors.
The man with whisky hair quickly voiced out, "How about we make it more fun by bringing in the rest of the cannon folders." he asked, eagerness in his eyes.
The rough‑faced man looked at him with the corner of his eye, and he quickly composed himself. The gift the rough‑faced man had given them was a large number of cultivators, mostly of the Iron realm and a few of the Bronze realm.
They couldn't deploy any Silver‑realm forces, since those units formed the territory's secondary strength; losing even one would still inflict a serious, if lesser, blow.
Kill! Kill!
The same dreadful roar filled the battleground as blood patterns swirled and formed in the air. Although the city of Sand‑scale seemed to be winning, that was not the case; they knew these weak soldiers had been sent to wear them out, and the main camp would join afterward.
Aiye!
Galock roared as blood dripped down his face. His entire body was slick with sweat and blood. He parried the spear thrust aimed at his face and moved to the side. He then slid forward, slashing through the air.
Red blood sprayed as his opponent's shoulder took a deep cut. He gripped his sword tightly, the tip facing backward, and shoved it into his opponent's chest. He didn't wait a second; he twisted his shoulder back and slashed with his sword, cleaving another enemy's neck.
The enemies were all around him. Even though he had a higher cultivation realm and a larger energy reserve, he couldn't sustain this indefinitely. The enemies were like ants that kept coming no matter how many he killed. He was astonished that they showed no sign of faltering.
He was growing exhausted. Yet the thunderous cries of his brothers roused him, and his gaze swept the field, locking onto every foe in sight. He tore into them with unrelenting ferocity, hunting them down one by one.
But the enemies still outnumbered them, and several of his brothers who could unleash sweeping, long‑range strikes, positioned themselves around the battleground, so the pressure eased for some. He could see their commanders' exertions—cleaving tens of enemies with a single sweep—and yet many of his comrades had already fallen.
He narrowly evaded an arrow loosed from afar and kicked backward, sending an enemy sprawling to his knees. The terrified man stared up, eyes pleading for mercy, but Galock's gaze was merciless. He smashed a brutal kick into the man's face, flinging him several meters, then hurled a spear that embedded itself in his eye.
His brothers still fought with measured vigor, conserving their full strength to preserve their energy reserves. They knew the final wave had yet to come and would be the deadliest, so everyone stalled. No one had expected Bland Town to be so tenacious.
They cursed at the Settlers Army with red eyes!
Galock's emerald eyes flared as if he were dreaming, yet he dared not drift into reverie on the battlefield; instead, a breathtaking spectacle was unfolding before him.
'What the hell is this…?'
He made out a shadow beneath the blistering sun, skirting the enemy camp; as it flashed by, men toppled in its wake. Its passage was brief and its movements flawless, felling adversaries one after another with cold efficiency.
He had never seen anyone on the battlefield achieve such lethal precision. It wasn't that others couldn't, but most conserved their strength for the final blows; this shadow showed no such restraint. It moved like a scourge across the field, rampant and remorseless, cutting down foes with cold, mechanical grace.
Their kill count was rising sharply. Each swing and thrust of that strange weapon came at unexpected angles—as if every motion had been rehearsed thousands of times.
The shadow showed no sign of relenting; five minutes slipped by and it still hadn't drawn breath, as if weariness could not touch it. Some soldiers guessed the city of Sand‑scale had summoned reinforcements—which was plausible—while others among the enemy camp thought the Settlers had finally arrived to tip the balance.
Could a single person really be enough as reinforcement?
Never!
Each motion was surgical, each strike perfectly timed; anyone could tell this unknown warrior had rehearsed this innumerable times. The sight unnerved the enemies—they recoiled instantly when they realized the shadow was seemingly inexhaustible. Their eyes narrowed, faces slack with fatigue, they finally started wavering.
If only they knew the force that had shattered their lines was a child, moving with effortless cruelty—yet the worst was still to come.
Only a handful glimpsed the shadow during its fleeting pause; the hazy flash left most oblivious.
In an instant the enemy camp fractured, soldiers trampling one another as they fled in disarray. This time felt different; they were forced to rally, gather their bearings, and steel themselves for what came next.