Reverence Between Life and Death

The night passed quickly.

Surprisingly, only five clueless little demons crashed into them last night; other than that, there was no other activity.

The terrifying, harrowing night Zhang Yang had imagined never materialized.

However, this was probably normal. There couldn't be too many demons in one area, especially since he had already eliminated three bosses in this region.

With that thought, Zhang Yang took out twenty units of demon meat, had the soldiers set up a bonfire, and began preparing breakfast.

As the aroma of roasted meat began to fill the air, he saw Wu Yuan, the spearman captain, return with a patrol squad. Each man carried a large bundle of wood on his back.

At first, Zhang Yang thought it was firewood Wu Yuan and his men had collected, but then he noticed that these so-called "firewood" pieces were quite uniform—about two meters long, arm-thick, evenly shaped at both ends, with a fine and sturdy texture. Clearly, they had been carefully selected.

"Village Chief!"

Upon reaching Zhang Yang, Wu Yuan and his men unloaded the wood and saluted him in perfect unison. That kind of deference from subordinate to superior seemed to be ingrained in their very bones. If his previous guess was correct—that these soldiers were sealed and bound within the Village Building Order—then there must be some reason why they dared not defy any command from the Village Building Order's holder.

Of course, Zhang Yang only thought this to himself. On the surface, he remained very cordial, even stepping forward to pat the dew off Wu Yuan's shoulder.

"You worked hard last night. Come, have breakfast. Hmm, what are you planning to do with these?"

"Village Chief, I took some time this morning to lead men to cut these. I plan to carve all of them into wooden spears, the kind that can be thrown. Your words yesterday reminded me that our soldiers' attack methods are still too limited against those terrifying demons. If they all master the skill of throwing wooden spears, it will undoubtedly make it easier for us to eliminate those demons."

Wu Yuan said loudly, his expression very serious.

Zhang Yang looked at him carefully, then burst out laughing, "Good, let's do it! Do I need to recruit another artisan?"

"Village Chief, there's no need. I've always believed that a good soldier's first priority is to be familiar with their weapon. If they can't even craft the weapon their life depends on with their own hands, what right do they have to survive on the battlefield? Death would be well-deserved."

"Oh, that makes so much sense! You're right, I truly didn't misjudge you!" At this moment, Zhang Yang admired Wu Yuan even more. It was as if this guy was born to be a hero. So, should he start the hero's trial?

No, he'd wait a bit longer.

Next was a pleasant breakfast.

After eating their fill, Captain Wu Yuan officially began teaching the soldiers throwing techniques. The six Elite Archers didn't need training; they were responsible for daily vigilance.

The twelve Elite Sword and Shield Soldiers, seven Elite Spearmen, and Zhang Yang himself joined the training. Hmm, although Zhang Yang considered himself a mage, in the face of survival, everything else was fleeting. As long as he could survive, let alone learning to throw wooden spears, he wouldn't hesitate even to learn how to steal chickens or jade.

However, Wu Yuan's training was truly unique. For the twenty trainees, each was given ten rough logs and a long knife. They were to start carving and stop when they felt they had carved a good wooden spear.

Although perplexed, Zhang Yang was quite serious. Learning, after all, required a learning attitude. If one didn't understand something and just yelled about it without knowing why, that was very undignified.

As he began carving, Zhang Yang didn't find it particularly easy or difficult. After all, ever since he was a child, besides the regret of not being a top student, his hands-on and destructive abilities were very strong. Having a mechanical engineer for a father was no joke, after all.

Swish swish swish. Before long, Zhang Yang had carved his first wooden spear. He felt quite good about it, perhaps related to his B-grade soul strength and E-grade physical strength. His hand holding the long knife was very steady, so the carved wooden spear was also very beautiful—so smooth it reflected light.

But when Wu Yuan walked over, his expression became very odd.

"Village Chief, forgive my bluntness, but although you carved diligently, I believe you lack reverence for this task. If you wish to continue learning wooden spear throwing, I humbly venture to let you experience what reverence truly means."

"Reverence?"

Zhang Yang was a little puzzled. He thought he was very serious, and he truly was focused, without a single distracting thought. Look, the other soldiers hadn't even carved their first wooden spear, and they were all ugly.

"I don't quite understand. Can you explain more clearly?"

"Village Chief, I apologize, I also cannot explain, but I truly feel that you lack reverence for this matter. Please forgive me." Wu Yuan seemed troubled as well, as if some memories were fragmented.

This made Zhang Yang even more certain of his previous guess.

"Alright, then use whatever way you can express to make me feel what reverence means." Zhang Yang laughed, unconcerned.

"Thank you for your understanding, sir. Please be careful."

Wu Yuan bowed and casually took the wooden spear Zhang Yang had just carved. He retreated about 100 meters, then took a stance as if preparing to throw.

To be honest, up until this moment, Zhang Yang hadn't paid much attention. He thought Wu Yuan was simply demonstrating.

But the next second, when Wu Yuan's body twisted at an imperceptible angle, aiming the wooden spear directly at Zhang Yang, everything changed.

It was as if a great terror descended instantly. Zhang Yang felt all the hairs on his body stand on end, his heart stopped because it was beating too fast, and everything outside was forcefully severed by an invisible power.

Death—these two words appeared clearly in Zhang Yang's soul. He felt as if he had been placed on a red-hot anvil, in an ice-cold world, thrown into the abyss of endless darkness.

He couldn't even cast the Imprisonment spell, and escape was impossible. All he could do was watch helplessly as Wu Yuan threw that wooden spear from a hundred meters away.

"Buzz!"

This time, the thrown wooden spear didn't break the sound barrier; it just accurately passed between Zhang Yang's legs, sticking into the ground and vibrating. He wasn't harmed in the slightest, but he felt as if he had truly walked through hell. His soul was scared out of him, his mind blank, his body trembling, and he nearly wet himself!

It took several seconds before Zhang Yang finally sat down with a thud, feeling completely drained. But he didn't feel embarrassed, or annoyed, or humiliated, because he finally understood what Wu Yuan meant by his lack of reverence.

Simply put, what he lacked was reverence for death.

He had never faced death directly, at least not alone, helplessly, completely unprotected.

Even when he killed the first Red Hawk, he had relied on Level One Protection. Perhaps he could argue that he was brave, but that was still far from enough.

At least at that time, he hadn't experienced much of the great terror of facing death directly.

"Sir, please punish me!"

Wu Yuan walked over and knelt on one knee, asking for punishment.

"It's—it's nothing. I understand. You—you did very well." Zhang Yang could barely speak coherently, but he truly understood. He had Wu Yuan stand up, then silently went to carve a second wooden spear. This time, he was still him, the knife was still the same knife, and the log was still the same log, but his attitude was different.

Before, when he carved wooden spears, although he was also fully focused and concentrated, he treated it like a game in life, a task, at most a satisfying work of art.

So Wu Yuan was right when he said Zhang Yang lacked reverence.

He was a village chief, he had Level 2 Protection, he had the Imprisonment spell, and he had soldiers who would risk their lives for him. Even if he'd felt fear, dread, or worry before, it was always indirect. He had never truly faced the great terror between life and death head-on.

But now, the wooden staff in his hand was no longer just a wooden staff; it was his life. On the battlefield, it was the only trusted companion, weapon, and even a part of his own body he could rely on between life and death.

This kind of carving and training wasn't just about technique or attitude; it was a profound test of will, of soul, of true self.

Are you truly prepared to face life and death directly?