Forty Millenniums of Cultivation

"There are… so many people?"

Looking at the pairs of eyes with different colors in their eyes, which were glittering with 'anticipation', as if they were thousands of scorching hands that were trying to lift him to the altar, Gus felt that it was a lifetime ago.

Just three months ago, he had been a nobody in the northern town who had been bullied and ridiculed, a light dust that was dancing in the wind, and a chess piece that nobody knew how he was born and why he was fighting.

But right now, so many people believed from the bottom of their hearts that he was the 'Holy Son' who could save the world and lead them to the meaning of survival and fighting.

Was he really as clear as they expected him to be? What kind of mission was he on exactly, and where was he going?

Gus bit his lips hard and swallowed his confusion and helplessness.

With a wave of his arm, the young man led the desperate believers of the Burning Sun Tribe forward resolutely.

Closer, closer. They were getting closer and closer to the main battlefield.

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It was evident from the louder and louder noises on the ground and the smell of blood in the air.

The main battlefield was only one step away from them. At such a distance, the noises of the battle between the enemy and themselves were like the sound of a devil. Everybody was breathing fast and clenching their fists hard.

The overlapping smell of blood was so intense that it condensed into a red mist, making one feel that they had fallen into a devil's den and could not move at all.

More and more broken bodies appeared in front of him.

There were also war machines that were twisting and burning.

The robes of the priests of the Temple of Fist were stomped into the mud by the iron feet. Even the bodies of the priests were stomped into colorful meat pies.

The broken bones of human beings had pierced the steam boiler into a honeycomb full of holes. The high-pitched whistle could only wail because of the leakage of air.

The Iron Fist Legion and the Steam Legion had been mortal enemies when they were alive. They had tried everything they could to kill each other—blades, axes, and steam. They had even dug each other's throats with their fingers and bit with their teeth, drinking each other's blood until they tied each other's throats and fell into a nonexistent hell together.

But after their death, the bodies that were tied together looked like lovers who had died for each other. They were even burnt into inseparable weird statues.

The closer they got, the denser the weird, twisted statues became. The ground under their feet was softer, too. It was literally a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood. When they stepped on it, the mud soaked in blood reached their ankles. They could even feel the sharp and broken bones below the mud.

Gus gazed into the distance.

In front of him was a valley.

Yesterday morning, when a troop of the Iron Fist Legion was passing through the valley, they were ambushed and suffered heavy losses.

And in order to rescue the besieged remnants, all the Iron Fist Armies drew close to the valley like infuriated bees, trying to swallow the ambushers.

The ambushers summoned reinforcements, too, which eventually triggered a chain reaction and attracted the attention of the main force of both sides.

Naturally, the small valley could not accommodate the final battle of the main force of both sides.

After a day and night of fierce battles, the main battlefield had been shifted to the plain north of the valley.

The valley that was almost drowned in blood and corpses was overlooked by both parties.

On Gus's side, Andre was quite experienced in combat.

They did not pass through the valley recklessly. Instead, they climbed up the mountains on the two sides of the valley to check the situation of the main battlefield in the north.

Although Gus had been mentally prepared,

But when he stood on the top of the mountain and looked down at the battlefield, he was still deeply shocked and did not come back to himself for a long time.

In front of him was a bloody battlefield dozens of kilometers long.

After a day and a night of fierce battles, probing, interconnecting, pushing, and crushing, the battle formations of both sides had lost their clear boundary and smooth command. They were now in a tangled and entangled state.

It was like two heavily wounded animals that were even more ferocious and triggered all their hunting instincts, tearing and digging out each other's internal organs in the most primitive and violent way.

There was no sense of justice or beauty in such a war.

It was impossible to associate it with words such as 'glory', 'glory', 'will of the true god'…

Instead, it was disgustingly ugly.

In the battlefield that had been cut into pieces, Gus saw hundreds of soldiers of the Steam Legion carrying repeating crossbows on their shoulders, screaming and lunging at the priests of the Temple of Fist.

Although the priests of the Temple of Fist were divided and surrounded, they were not scared at all, like reefs that were surrounded by tides.

Unstoppable gold brightness was beaming out of their bodies, as if they had received the blessing of the Fist God. Every punch and every kick was so intimidating that the crazily charging soldiers of the Steam Legion were blown into pieces.

No matter how many times the tide crashed, it was impossible for the reef to collapse.

But the priests of the Temple of Fist were not real reefs after all.

Besides, the crazy will of the believers of the believers of steam was like scorching flames that could melt steel.

It was not a metaphor, but a literal one. Dozens of zealots ignited the oil in their tubes and approached the priests of the temple of fists like burning torches, while more believers concentrated their crossbows, steam guns, and flamethrowers and slashed at them. Finally, they defeated the defense line and the will of the priests of the temple of fists, turning themselves and their opponents into glittering sparks in a sea of blood.

On another battlefield, Gus saw war machines as ugly as black iron castles.

They were like upgraded versions of the steam cannons that Gus had seen in Qianyuan City. The rusted iron plates were simply connected by countless rivets and powered by steam furnaces that were leaking air everywhere.

Because of the lack of combustion, intense black smoke was swirling around the war machines, making them look like black, fire-breathing dragons.

Such a simple design and assembling technology did not affect its damage at all. Every explosion of the steam cannons would open a path of blood and flesh in front of them. The ordinary Iron Fist Soldiers who were not strong enough would not be able to resist the bombardment. Before they were blown to pieces, their internal organs would be soaked in pus and blood. Even the priests of the Temple of Fist would often have their bones broken and fall to the ground because of the bombardment. They could only watch the tanks of the war machines crushing them and their beliefs into mud.