The group advanced confidently through the underbrush, sliding down the slope like wolves on the prowl, ready to pounce on a flock of sheep. They laughed loudly, exchanged jokes without a care in the world. Smiles remained etched on their faces.
At the front marched the bald one, his heavy mace hanging from his belt, swaying with each firm step. From his position, he could already see the fields stretching beyond the hill. They only had to descend and cross to reach the edge of the city.
They crossed the fields without bothering to hide. They showed no urgency or tension. Only an arrogance that floated in the air.
Upon reaching the main entrance, right in front of the wooden walls, a guard post awaited them. Ten Vespers were in position, already on alert. Weapons ready. Eyes sharp as blades.
"HALT!" one of the Vespers roared, raising his rifle and aiming at the group without hesitation.
Another, without saying a word, pulled a metal cylinder from his belt and slammed it against the ground. Instantly, a spiral of yellow smoke began to rise, dense, vibrant, slicing the air like a silent warning.
The intruders stopped a dozen meters away. They still chuckled under their breath, exchanging mocking glances.
The long-haired young man didn't speak. He only watched.
The bald one curled a crooked smile and stepped forward, completely ignoring the warning.
"Not another step!" shouted another Vesper, chambering his weapon with a dry clack that echoed.
The barrel pointed directly at the bald man's chest, who kept smiling.
"Identify yourselves," ordered the sentinel, not moving his aim. "What is your purpose here?"
The yellow smoke continued to rise, thick and persistent. An unmistakable signal that something was about to happen. The Vespers knew they were clearly outnumbered, but their fingers did not tremble. None would move without an answer.
The bald man stepped forward once more, with the same crooked smile and eyes gleaming with malice.
"We're just passing through..." he said in a casual tone, before letting out a dry laugh. "...and slaughtering everyone along the way. Nothing serious."
Silence fell like a slab.
Not even the wind dared to blow.
The Vespers did not flinch. The commanding sentinel narrowed his eyes, his face expressionless.
"Turn around and leave immediately." His voice was low, sharp as a blade dipped in ice. The air tensed with his reply, as if the entire world held its breath.
Others might have been intimidated by the threat. But not the Vespers.
Behind the group, the long-haired young man felt a chill run down his spine. Instinctively, he stepped back half a pace, hiding behind one of the mercenaries, while his hand prepared to channel Qi, ready to activate a concealment technique.
In the nearby shadows, hidden from the beginning, the Black Centipede watched the scene with a cold, emotionless gaze. His voice, low and raspy, was almost a whisper:
"Let's see what makes them different… enough for the Xuan family to act with caution."
He knew he was being used.
And yet, he trusted his strength. He didn't believe a group of mere mortals could oppose him. At most, if things turned sour… he could always escape.
The bald man's mocking smile vanished instantly, leaving a cold face. His gaze became as icy as ancient frost, and his body tensed like a spring, ready to leap into battle.
"Turn around? Who the hell do you think you are, trash?" he growled, his legs preparing to lunge. The atmosphere grew tense, the air dense as if everything was about to explode.
The Vesper captain was alert; from the beginning he had maintained a vigilant stance, aware that any wrong move could be the signal he needed.
When he saw the bald man's reaction and perceived there was no intent to retreat, his eyes narrowed with resolve. Without hesitation, he gave the order with a firm, cold voice: "Fire!"
The uproar of gunfire echoed in the air like an unexpected explosion. The first shots were like lightning, catching the mercenaries off guard — they hadn't expected to be hurt by mortals. The bullets cut through the air with precision, and some of the attackers fell before they could react, their smiles vanishing in an instant. The bald man's mocking laughter was abruptly silenced, replaced by the sound of his companions hitting the ground, one after another, struck by bullets.
The bald man was the first to react, quickly raising a spiritual shield, a translucent barrier that glowed with golden light, blocking the bullets coming his way. Without losing a second, he pulled a small treasure from his belt: a magical gem that shone in his palm, infusing him with power.
The gem flickered violently in the bald man's hand, its glow weakening by the second, drained by the continuous impact of the bullets. His spiritual shield creaked, vibrating with a sharp hum that promised it wouldn't last much longer.
For the first time, his expression turned serious.
He felt it — that icy breath brushing the nape of his neck. Real danger. The imminent edge of death. Like when he faced demonic beasts that could tear his head off with a single mistake.
He roared in fury and raised his mace. A dark whirlwind wrapped around the weapon, and as he swung it in the air, a massive spectral ball of black gas erupted with a roar, flying toward the defenses like an unleashed beast.
"GET DOWN!!" a sentinel shouted, throwing himself behind the sandbags.
The impact was brutal. The concrete and steel barricades shook, and part of the front wall exploded in a cloud of dust, debris, and barbed wire flying through the air. The breach was open. The ground trembled. The sound swallowed even the screams.
"Kill them!" roared the bald man, leaping through the threshold in a single bound, like a living projectile.
"Suppressing fire, left flank! Grenades up front, now! Hold the advance! Reinforcements are on the way, hold the line and don't give up ground!" roared Captain Vesper, steady behind a wall of sandbags.
The rifles spewed fire. Explosions engulfed the open field. Some mercenaries who had followed the bald man tried to raise spiritual barriers, but not all were strong enough. Bullets pierced shields, tore through muscle. One dropped to his knees, blood gushing from his throat. Another was blown backward by a grenade's impact. Screams, chaos, death.
The Vespers maintained discipline. Fire, cover, controlled advance. Every shot counted.
The bald man, unstoppable like a storm, didn't stop his charge. He crossed the threshold through the dust and shrapnel, and then he saw him: the enemy captain, standing tall amid the chaos, shouting orders with cold precision.
"So you're the alpha dog... Die!"
With a savage roar, he launched at him like a cannonball. Each step shook the ground, the sound of his advance rumbling like thunder.
The captain reacted instantly. He dove to the side just as the mace fell like a hammer from the heavens, splitting the ground like wet clay.
The cultivator didn't stop. He retrieved his weapon with brutal ease and resumed the assault like an unrelenting shadow, his silhouette merging with the smoke and blood of the battlefield.
"Running? Pathetic."
A soldier tried to cover the captain with suppressing fire, but the bullet disintegrated against the enemy's spiritual shield, causing only a faint flash.
The bald man kept advancing without losing pace, activating another talisman that sparked with glowing runes.
"Interesting little toy... I wonder what else you can do."
"Hold the line! Don't let any more cross!" the captain shouted, keeping his composure. Pressure surrounded him, but his voice didn't waver.
Then, with a cold and precise motion, he drew a small metal syringe from his gear. He plunged it into his arm without hesitation. The liquid injected directly into his bloodstream.
D-Serum.
A wave of heat surged up his spine. His pupils dilated instantly. The noisy, chaotic world began to slow down. Explosions became distant echoes, screams, muffled murmurs. His breathing deepened, steadied. Each heartbeat marked the rhythm of a new symphony: sharper, faster, deadlier.
Without delay, the bald man was already on him.
With a roar that seemed to tear the air apart, he unleashed a horizontal blow with his mace. The weapon sliced through the wind with a murderous whistle. The captain, still adjusting to the D-Serum's effects, barely managed to duck in time. The pressure from the impact kicked up dust, destabilizing him. His body responded on pure instinct, more reflex than skill.
"Is that all?" growled the cultivator with contempt, his voice as rough as stone dragged across iron. "It doesn't matter how many toys you bring. Trash is still trash before the truly powerful."
The captain rolled to the side, gasping, seeking distance. He couldn't afford to yield for even a second.
He pushed back, his boots striking the ground with amplified force. Mid-retreat, he pulled out his Mauser C96 and fired. The bullet tore through the air with superhuman precision but wasn't enough. The bald man's defensive talisman still sparkled with spiritual energy.
The bald man raised his mace again, and this time, a vibrant darkness enveloped it. A dense, heavy aura, as if the weapon carried a will of its own.
The captain recognized it instantly: the same technique that had destroyed the barricades.
Without thinking, he yanked the G-1 grenade from his belt and threw it precisely at the enemy's feet.
The explosion was brutal.
The shockwave cracked the spiritual shield with a sharp crunch. Shreds of cloth and blood splattered the air as the cultivator was sent flying, his robe torn, skin scorched in several places. He stood up, staggering, furious, eyes bloodshot.
The captain didn't hesitate, his eyes locked in instantly. He aimed and emptied the magazine.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Each shot struck flesh, muscle, bone. The bald man stumbled half a step, spitting blood. And still, he didn't fall. With a roar of rage, he activated a defensive technique: his skin turned opaque, metallic gray, as if covered in a layer of living steel. The bullets pierced flesh but didn't reach anything vital.
Then, a dry click.
Out of ammo.
The bald man, seeing the attack stop, didn't waste the opportunity.
Eyes crazed, he lunged forward—a fury incarnate. The captain tried to retreat but was too slow. The mace, infused with spiritual energy, came down with devastating force. A portion of the impact crushed his side.
The crunch of broken ribs mixed with his strangled groan. The captain's body was flung away, rolling several meters before lying in the mud and blood, his arm trembling as he tried to reload the empty weapon. In front of him, the bald man advanced again, his figure as dark as a storm that could not be stopped.
But suddenly, the bald man felt a chill run down his spine. A primal instinct, a silent scream in his mind, alerted him. He jumped to the side. Just at that moment, a grenade exploded with brutal force, lifting a column of earth and debris.
The battle continued in the area. Scenes of violence repeated as the mercenaries broke through the defensive lines, advancing without pause.
But in that instant, something changed. From the shadows, like a fist of steel, more stationed Vespers arrived at the scene. In the blink of an eye, they joined the fray, reinforcing the line and pushing the mercenaries back.
The casualties among the attackers increased, while the Vespers held their position relentlessly.
The captain, lying in the mud, tried to move and seize the opportunity. But it felt as if his chest was about to collapse, and every breath tore through his lungs. His armor was deformed, crushed by the brutal blow, and the pain spread through his body like fire.
The scene intensified even more as the bald man approached him again.
His face, covered in blood, showed a sneer of contempt and fury. Every step resounded like a hammer blow, the rage in his eyes showing there would be no mercy.
"I must admit I underestimated you," he roared. "But it doesn't matter. Even so, you're not my opponent, mortal. Once I'm done with you, it'll be their turn. Die!"
The captain tried to move his arm, but his body refused to respond. The pain crushed him, the wounds multiplied in every part of his body. He felt the weight of the battle, the gravity of the fate that had reached him. Every breath was a titanic effort, and every attempt to rise was futile. Despair enveloped him, the certainty of his defeat loomed over him like a shadow.
But then, when the bald man raised the mace to deliver the final blow, something inside the captain, something deep, activated.
Everything froze.
In that second of absolute stillness, time seemed to stretch. A heartbeat, strong and resonant, pulsed in his chest, as if his heart had been rekindled by an inhuman force. In that moment, the captain's entire life condensed into a flash of memories, fleeting but vivid images.
He saw the faces of his comrades, those who had fought by his side and fallen on the battlefield, their smiles, their voices, everything they had shared. He saw his mother, old and hunched, waiting at home. The sacrifice of those who had protected him. In his mind, he relived the scene of his former captain, a man who had given his life to save him at the last moment. A sacrifice that had marked him forever.
He saw the shadows surrounding his future, the decisions he had made, and those still fighting by his side. He saw the determination in his eyes, the promise he had made to himself, that he would not let this world devour them. And then, a question crossed his mind, so clear and deep that it almost paralyzed him.
"Even with three times the bodily enhancement, is it truly impossible for a mortal to face a cultivator?"
The doubt, like a cold current, enveloped him. But then, like a ray of light breaking through the shadows, the answer came. A roar, primal and full of rage, emerged from the depths of his being. It wasn't just despair. It wasn't just the fear of dying. It was something much deeper: the will to survive. To fight.
The bald man had no idea what he had just awakened.
The captain, with a ferocious roar, raised the bayonet, his body reacting purely on instinct. The D-Serum still bubbled in his veins, enhancing his capabilities, granting him superhuman power. Time resumed its natural pace, but nothing was the same anymore. In a swift and fierce movement, he jumped and thrust the bayonet forward, cutting through the air with superhuman strength.
The bald man, who already expected the captain's defeat, was momentarily paralyzed by the roar. The bayonet pierced his flesh, and he showed an expression of disbelief. Blood spurted from his side, and for a moment, he faltered.
Rage, despair, and the will to live came together in that final act of resistance.
With renewed strength, the captain pushed the bayonet even further, tearing through flesh and muscle reinforced by spiritual energy, until the bald man finally recovered, his face filled with horror and astonishment.
"Impossible...!" the bald man whispered, his voice broken. "How is it that...?"
"I'm not a mere mortal... I'm the end of your arrogance!" the captain growled, his gaze burning with fury and determination. Then he pushed even further. The bayonet sank deeper, tearing organs, breaking bones. The bald man growled, but his resistance quickly faded, as if life itself had escaped through the wound.
"No…! I'm not going to die like this…!" The bald man tried to turn, his mace rising once again, but the captain didn't allow it. In a single explosive movement, he pulled the bayonet from his side and raised it.
A spark of light reflected in the captain's eyes. With supernatural speed, he lunged at the bald man. With a cry that echoed through the air, he stabbed the bayonet into the bald man's neck, plunging it so quickly that the flesh tore like paper.
The bald man let out a guttural sound, like a final roar of life, as the bayonet pierced his throat. Blood gushed from the wound in torrents, and his eyes bulged, as if staring into the void, searching for answers to a question that would never come.
With one last effort, the captain pulled out the blood-soaked bayonet. The tension in his body was so great it looked about to explode. But in that same instant, the bald man, already lifeless, fell to his knees, his body giving one last spasm, and collapsed forward, his face hitting the ground with a dull thud.
The captain, exhausted to the bone, collapsed over his fallen enemy, gasping and trying to stay conscious. The bayonet was no longer in his hands; his fingers simply had no strength left to hold it.
With a final effort, he tried to rise, but his vision blurred.
He fell onto his back, his body shattered by the brutality of the fight. A last breath escaped his lips before everything went dark.
The captain fell unconscious, his body lying motionless on the battlefield, surrounded by the blood of his enemy and his own.
But the bald man would move no more. The captain had fulfilled his mission.
In the nearby shadows, hidden among the trees, the Black Centipede frowned.
One by one, his men were being massacred. By mere mortals.
Mortals… without a visible trace of cultivation.
His eyes, sharp as daggers, followed the battle from the gloom.
He saw the bald man, his most powerful subordinate, fall like a bleeding dog. The seventh level of Qi Refinement… killed by a Mortal with a knife.
"Interesting…" he murmured, his voice rasping like the scrape of dry bones.
It wasn't just surprise he felt. It was discomfort.
He didn't like it.
Without a sound, he stepped back, vanishing among the branches. His feet left no trace.
His breath, controlled. His Qi, completely suppressed.
Like a liquid shadow, he began to retreat, his silhouette sliding between the trees as if the darkness consumed him and let him pass.
He remembered the meeting.
The sound transmission from the Xuan emissary had been: Destroy, capture one alive if possible.
He had known there was something odd about the mission from the start.
The Xuan family wasn't known for its good reputation… they were acting with unusual caution. They hadn't sent their elites, not even a single direct member of the clan.
But a single phrase from the emissary had been enough to seal his decision:
"They say a Foundation Establishment Pill will be auctioned soon."
His heartbeat had quickened upon hearing it.
Such a pill could grant him one last chance.
He, who was already nearing the end of his lifespan, who had watched his progress stagnate decade after decade, knew this was the moment.
His last ticket to Foundation Establishment.
And if to obtain it he had to sacrifice his entire mercenary group… he would do so without blinking.
His gaze rose toward the smoke-shrouded zone.
The explosions, the thunder… that wasn't spiritual energy.
And that disturbed him even more.
For the first time in many years, the Black Centipede felt fear.