May Your Souls Become Heroic Ghosts

Crack!

A crack appeared in his breastplate mirror. Chen Xian was sent flying more than ten meters by the Golden Ring Great Saber, skidding several more meters across the bloody mud before steadying himself.

Pfft!

Unable to hold it back, he spat out a mouthful of blood. His chest heaved violently, shaking the Golden Ring Great Saber away and sending it crashing to the ground.

Chen Xian wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, stepped forward, and seized the Golden Ring Great Saber. It weighed heavily in his hand, at least five hundred kilograms.

"Good saber!" he praised, raising his head to stare at the Black Tiger King ten miles away.

The Black Tiger King was equally astonished. That human youth had not died?

Then again, they were too far apart!

By the time the Golden Ring Great Saber had crossed ten miles to reach Chen Xian, it retained less than half its power.

"Hmph!"

The Black Tiger King snorted furiously and strode through the air.

Pei Menglong and the other young general did not pursue him. Their gazes fell upon Chen Xian in Blood River Forest. The middle-aged general frowned. "A Cook Soldier? He blocked an attack from the Black Tiger King?"

"He is a talent," Pei Menglong said gravely.

He immediately returned to the Ninth Camp. The middle-aged general frowned, said nothing more, and quickly departed as well.

Within Blood River Forest, Chen Xian did not continue hunting demons. Gripping the Golden Ring Great Saber, he retraced his path, killing any demon he encountered.

Not until the southern bank of the Blood River was devoid of a single demon in sight did he stop.

Only then did Chen Xian carry the great saber to the northern bank of the Blood River and rejoin Ding Chen, Wang Yan, and the others.

With the demons retreating, everyone finally let out their pent-up breath. One after another, they slumped onto the bloody mud, gasping for air.

"This is not a place to rest. Return to Seven Mile Peak first," Chen Xian said.

At his words, Ding Chen, Wang Yan, and the others struggled to their feet and hurried with him toward Seven Mile Peak.

Tonight's battle had been exceptionally brutal. The demons had suffered severe losses as well, so they likely would not fight again.

Before long, they returned to the foot of Seven Mile Peak.

A foul stench of blood hung in the air, and even the cold wind could not disperse it.

Corpses lay everywhere across the bloody mud—demon corpses and Cook Soldier corpses.

"Zhao Yu!"

Chen Xian swept his gaze around and spotted a blood-soaked Cook Soldier. One hand clutched a long spear as he knelt on one knee, his breath weak.

Chen Xian flashed over and supported Zhao Yu with both hands.

Blood foam bubbled from Zhao Yu's mouth, and half his face was a mangled mass of flesh and blood. He struggled to lift his head, looked at Chen Xian, and grinned. Clumps of bloody foam spilled from the corners of his mouth.

"Brother... Brother Xian, I... I did my best!" Zhao Yu said weakly. At last, his head drooped.

"Zhao Yu!" Chen Xian shouted lowly, grief and fury rising in his heart.

He had been in this world for nearly two months. The people he had spent the most time with were Ding Chen and the other four, along with Cao Fang and Zhao Yu.

Now that Zhao Yu had died in battle, his mood was especially bleak.

"Where is Cao Fang?" Chen Xian abruptly stood.

"Brother Xian, I'm here...!" A weak voice came from the distance.

Chen Xian and the others turned their heads. A blood-covered figure lay atop demon corpses. One arm had been torn off by demons, while his left leg had been cleanly severed by a sharp weapon. Blood was still gushing out.

"Cao Fang!" Ding Chen bellowed as well, striding over quickly.

The others hurried after him and helped Cao Fang upright.

"Hehehe..."

A miserable laugh came from Cao Fang's mouth. He had imagined this day long ago, but never expected it to come so soon. He had not earned the slightest merit before dying on the battlefield.

"Brother Ding, Brother Xian, you needn't grieve for me. We are Great Ning's Demon Slayer Soldiers, heroes who protect hundreds of millions. At this parting, with my life, I wish for you to live forever, defeat the demons, and establish achievements that will never fade! Cough, cough, cough..."

After Cao Fang exhausted his final strength to say those words, he only kept coughing blood, unable to utter another word.

His head tilted back against a demon's abdomen. Gazing at the blood-colored sky, he slowly closed his eyes...

Chen Xian, Ding Chen, and the others stared at Cao Fang's peaceful face, smeared with demon blood, and fell silent together.

Whoosh, whoosh!

From the blood-colored sky, a torrential rain poured down upon the blood-red earth.

It washed over every soldier still alive, cleansing their grief-stricken souls. Heaven and earth were eerily silent.

After a long while.

Chen Xian picked Cao Fang up and laid him beneath a great tree.

Ding Chen and the others carried Zhao Yu beneath the tree as well, followed by the other fallen Cook Soldiers, arranging the corpses one by one in neat rows.

Soon, one hundred and thirty-nine Cook Soldier corpses lay before Chen Xian.

Looking at his fallen brothers, Chen Xian took the lead in bowing deeply.

Ding Chen and the others were slightly stunned.

The Great Ning Dynasty had no such rite, but seeing Chen Xian do so, Ding Chen and the others hesitated before bowing as well.

At that moment, Chen Xian's clear voice rang out:

"Once we march forth, we shall never return; we crush demons, and the road stretches beyond all measure. With long swords at our sides and Ning bows in hand, though head and body part, our hearts shall not be punished. Truly brave and mighty in battle, firm to the end, never to be humbled. Though the body dies, the spirit becomes divine—may your souls become heroic ghosts!"

"May your souls become heroic ghosts!"

His sonorous voice was like a great bell and a mighty chime, shaking hearts to their core.

Everyone stared at Chen Xian in stunned silence. None had expected him to possess such literary brilliance.

"May your souls become heroic ghosts!" Ding Chen came back to his senses and shouted.

Everyone shouted in unison, "May your souls become heroes among ghosts!"

"May your souls become heroic ghosts!"

"..."

Their voices tore through the rain, striking straight at the heavens.

A little later,

Chen Xian waved his hand, and only then did the crowd stop shouting.

Turning to Ding Chen, he said, "Brother Ding, when dawn comes tomorrow, take the men and send our fallen brothers back to the Ninth Camp."

"Yes!" Ding Chen nodded solemnly.

Only at this moment did he realize that he had still underestimated Chen Xian.

Chen Xian was three years younger than him, yet he was a prodigy among youths.

Perhaps this was the chance Heaven had given Ning Chen to turn the tables.

The next day.

The rain stopped. The eastern dawn rose, its yolk-yellow light piercing the blood mist and shining upon the faces of the surviving soldiers.

Chen Xian opened his eyes and looked toward Ding Chen.

Ding Chen opened his eyes as well. After exchanging a glance, he rose and called for Wang Yan and Luo Ying to lead the men in sending the one hundred and thirty-nine fallen soldiers back to camp.

"Xian, we're leaving. You'll have to hold the line for now," Ding Chen said.

"It's fine." Chen Xian shook his head.

Of the three hundred men, one hundred and thirty-nine had died, leaving one hundred and sixty-one alive.

Yet fifty-three of them were severely wounded, while the remaining one hundred and eight all bore injuries, whether light or severe.

Chen Xian kept Qin Fei, Xue Qishan, and fifty others behind.

Everyone else followed Ding Chen, Wang Yan, and Luo Ying back, taking the fallen Cook Soldiers and those too severely wounded to fight.

After everyone left, Chen Xian did not idle about. He led Qin Fei, Xue Qishan, and the fifty men in carrying demon corpses from Blood River Forest to the foot of Seven Mile Peak, piling them up to await the Cooks' Camp cooks who would transport them back.

When the sun was high in the sky, Zhao Tong finally arrived at the foot of Seven Mile Peak with thirty cooks and carts.

When he saw Chen Xian, he merely snorted coldly and did not dare say anything. He hurriedly ordered everyone to move the demon corpses.

As many cooks carried the demon corpses, they secretly glanced at Chen Xian and the others.

Some gloated over their misfortune, some were indifferent, some admired them, and some sighed...

Chen Xian ignored them. Sitting cross-legged on a stone slab, he summoned the panel.

Martial Arts: Ox Demon Golden Flame Technique (Perfect), Vajra Dragon Elephant Art (Not Initiated)...

Experience: 259,280 Points

Realm: Dao Foundation Perfection

Lifespan: Two hundred and twenty years

Two hundred and fifty thousand Experience Points!

Chen Xian's heart stirred with excitement. That was fifty thousand more Experience Points than he had anticipated.

With those two hundred and fifty thousand Experience Points, it should be enough to reach the Soaring Realm.

An eighteen-year-old at the Soaring Realm—just thinking about it was shocking!

1 Note: Adapted from "Nine Songs: National Mourning."