On the battlefield, Xia Xia completely abandoned his human inhibitions. He used his body brilliantly, performing all manner of ingenious, incredible movements, turning his flesh into the deadliest weapon and creating a hell on earth.
The commander of this mechanized unit seemed determined to fight to the bitter end, hoping modern weapons could inject a last shot of life into his dying battle.
But combat was combat, and soldiers were human. Under ordinary circumstances, no unit could suffer over fifty percent casualties and retain its will to fight without immediately routing.
"I say, guided missile launched."
Xia Xia shot through the air like an arrow. After a few flips, he stabilized himself, using attached cursed energy to temporarily hover in an unshakable stance, then hurled a silver table knife from almost eight hundred meters away.
The unsharpened table knife traced a nearly perfect parabola as it flew.
It struck the commander's military goggles.
And left a tiny scratch.
Then the scratch kept extending, reaching the American combat squad commander's face and becoming a fine line of blood. That line, beaded with blood, continued to spread until it embroidered a wreath around the man's face.
A faint sting came from the wound.
The commander paid it no mind and continued issuing orders.
He gave the flying table knife little attention. Although the attack had briefly startled him, the knife hadn't hit his face, had it? It had merely scratched his tactical goggles.
He tried to push the slipping goggles back into place with his fingers, only to discover that they fell into his palm in two halves. The cut was smooth, without a single ragged plastic edge, as though they had instantly been divided into two separate objects.
Then-his face shifted along that bloodline, sliding as smoothly as an ice cube across a tabletop. His fingers effortlessly pushed the upper half of his face off, and it fell beside his feet.
A corpse with only half a head collapsed.
The cut was just as smooth.
The table knife was still there, silver and unremarkable, no different from cutlery anyone could buy at a furniture store or department store.
Its material had been some unfortunate Grade 2 Cursed Spirit.
It had originated from humanity's fear of a slasher film in which the killer neatly sliced up the protagonist and turned them into flat specimens.
The cursed tool made from it thus possessed the terrifying ability to extend any wound it inflicted, within certain limits, until it formed an entire horizontal plane.
The commander had been neatly sliced into an unprocessed steak. If that description made the soldiers witnessing his gruesome death feel any better, then so be it.
As for where that table knife had come from, they hadn't even seen the attacker. A decapitation strike had already been completed before they could do anything to stop it.
"You're a demon!"
Someone said it.
Xia Xia didn't take it seriously. He was reflecting.
A little reflection helped one improve. His throwing motion hadn't been stylish enough, nor had it been fast enough. These guys had actually seen the trajectory. Wouldn't a skilled opponent have dodged it...?
No.
There was something dangerous in the wind.
Xia Xia recalled the table knife into his hand. As a silver glint pierced through his hair, he sliced a 7.62 mm subsonic sniper bullet in half with a backhand swing, and stabbed a soldier aiming a sniper rifle at him from a tree to death along the way.
The M21 Sniper Weapon System, abbreviated as the M21 SWS, or informally, the M21.
This individual sniper equipment package centered on a semiautomatic sniper rifle developed from the M14 Automatic Rifle, with proven effectiveness on the battlefield.
The M21 entered service with United States forces in 1969. During the latter stages of the Vietnam War, it became the standard sniper rifle of the United States Army, Navy, and Marine Corps. Although the M24 began replacing it in 1988, the M21 remained a primary weapon in the National Guard and other special operations units and had never been completely phased out.
During the Vietnam War, American snipers frequently employed a tactic called "Silent Death." Operating at night, they would ambush targets from rice paddies, using a Sionics Suppressor and a night-vision scope to engage targets two hundred to three hundred meters away with subsonic rifle rounds whose muzzle velocity was below 330 m/s.
Thus, after losing countless squads during the Vietnam War, the Vietnamese began spreading rumors that the Americans were using laser weapons and guided bullets.
Using this tactic in a modern unit had a certain retro charm. Unfortunately, the sniper was facing a monster who could slice through a light tank like butter with a knife.
Before absolute power, clever tricks were merely another name for throwing your life away.
"Sniper! Big brother, get out of the way!"
Xia Xia called to Choso, who was still standing at the window.
"What?"
The remark distracted Choso for half a second, and the bullet was already upon him. It struck the young man's facial skin, then stopped helplessly, leaving a slight scorch mark...
Jujutsu sorcerers were superhuman. An incarnation of a Special Grade Cursed Object had practically nothing to do with humanity anymore. As a Blood Manipulation user, Choso casually applied Reverse Healing. Any later, and the wound would have healed by itself.
Big brother was tanky!
Did they understand the sheer relief of eating an entire silky-smooth combo from Naoya Zenin, then checking their health bar and finding it hadn't budged? Their big brother Choso was a tank support with a full tank build and a special skill that boosted healing. Check his damage taken after the match.
Choso looked in the direction the bullet had come from.
"Piercing Blood!"
His next move was Piercing Blood again.
It was Blood Manipulation's most useful basic attack. As long as one had enough cursed energy and blood, it practically guaranteed Grade 2. With good aim and enough penetrating power, even Grade 1 wasn't out of reach.
Kevlar body armor with hardened ceramic ballistic plates could handle attacks from small-caliber rifles with ease, but against such a bizarre blood attack...
The soldier saw the blood arrow emerge from his back, leaving a crimson bullet trail. At the same time, the blood inside his body was rapidly evaporating.
I'm never playing sniper again in my next life. Before dying, the soldier endured the agony of his boiling blood and pulled a black-and-white family photograph from inside his jacket. It had already begun to fade and discolor.
Once, he too had been his family's pride, with a gentle mother and a loving father. But after he picked up that sniper rifle, those beautiful voices calling to him seemed to drift away amid the gunfire.
All that remained was the cold breath of the wind and the firing of the semiautomatic sniper rifle in his hands. People within his sights scurried like rats, clutching their heads, before falling into cold corpses. Just one step from the evacuation point, their skulls were shattered by bullets fired from above.
Or else they were burned to ash.
How full of swagger he had been back then.
Unfortunately, the bridge had still been destroyed. He had failed to hold it, just as he had once failed to protect the woman beside him.
He could do nothing.
He could only stand on the broken bridge like a fool, using his life to block other people's path to survival.
He no longer used a semiautomatic sniper rifle, instead choosing one of the few old weapons left in the military warehouse-the AWM. The silent 7.62 mm armor-piercing rounds in the bolt-action rifle would speak the foolish words he had never managed to say, teaching this man who did not know how to love what love was.
Family, lovers, friends-it doesn't matter anymore. Whatever I can do, I want to do it now...
Before dying, the soldier thought of that bridge.
I'll be with you soon, darling...
Even if those who block the bridge are doomed to lose the love of their lives, doomed to lose their families and comrades, there's still something I want to accomplish in this final moment!!!
Darling, let me block the bridge one more time.
This will be the last...
He collapsed onto his sniper rifle, but his finger still pulled the trigger. Through the scope, that immense distance became arm's reach-the body of the black-haired boy.
"Aagh!"
Megumi Fushiguro went flying.
The sniper bullet carried tremendous kinetic energy. Although he had protected himself with cursed energy beforehand, as a Grade 2 Jujutsu Sorcerer, his reserves were pitifully small.
He hadn't built tank items, nor could he slice bullets apart.
Prisoner Megumi fell like a stalk of ripe wheat.
Hana Kurusu flew over and, together with Yuji Itadori, carried the poor boy away from the battlefield.
Poor Prisoner Megumi had taken a nasty hit. He only managed to say, "What misery!" before passing out.
But the hotel couldn't be saved either.
At medium to long range, mortars exerted overwhelming pressure. Destroying buildings and defensive fortifications was child's play.
Ammunition rained down, scouring the buildings from the earth. After several rounds of bombardment, only shattered walls and rubble remained.
Xia Xia was getting desperate.
Goddammit, I'm up front slaughtering everyone, having the time of my life all by myself. Could you guys in the back offer a little support? Give me even a tiny bit of emotional value???
The ELO system had rigged this match against him. Prisoner Xia was a jailed player. According to the Jewish law, the harder a jailed player worked, the more miserable he became. He could only watch his opponents rack up death after death while his team threw away the advantage already in hand.
That was life in the solo lane. The tank support was soaking damage, the mid and jungle were rescuing people, and the farm lane had already issued an obituary. This match depended entirely on whether the solo-lane prisoner could carry.
Are any of you human?
Watching his home base gradually explode, Xia Xia turned ruthless, lost himself in the moment, and stopped holding back.
[Domain Expansion: Death-Bound Curse!]
I told you to dive their carry, but all you do is make wind and rain. Blades, come!
He had actually expanded his domain when the fight first began. He wasn't one to hold anything back. But now, Xia Xia had a second option.
Ordinary people wouldn't actually suffer any serious effects inside this domain, and even if they died, they probably couldn't be used to forge blades. But that did nothing to stop Xia Xia from bringing out all the blades he had previously forged and remotely controlling their flight within his domain.
That was how a closed domain worked. Its capture range was small, so dealing damage required his own Cursed Technique Extension.
"Keep an eye on Megumi Fushiguro!"
He shouted, then formed a hand seal for a spell of his own invention. The blades flew out at his direction, and even the unfinished metal ingots were put to work as bricks to hurl.
Ten Thousand Swords Return to the Source-time to let a modern mechanized unit feel the charm and pressure of ancient martial arts.
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