57: The third round, divine intervention.

Shen Xiaochuan stood before the war chariot, black sludge, the remnants of Hitel's explosion, at his feet. He didn't look back or speak, merely slowly sheathed his blade.

The fierce wind whipped at the hem of his work uniform, and the copper gears hanging from his cuffs swayed gently.

The enemy formation was utterly silent.

The Italian Deity who had just mocked, “If your arm is broken, you should crawl back,” shrank his neck and whispered to the person beside him, “This guy isn’t right...”

Before he could finish, Shen Xiaochuan raised his right hand.

A purple light flashed at his fingertip, too fast to catch. The next instant, the platform where the main Deity of the enemy's rear was located exploded with a roar.

That militia main Deity, who hadn't even made a move, was struck by heavenly lightning and reduced to ashes, leaving only a wisp of black smoke suspended in the air.

The entire arena was shocked.

No one saw how that attack happened. They only knew that a B-rank Deity, from a thousand meters away, was killed with a single finger.

The Italian Deity's mouth hung open, the smile on his face frozen. He wanted to retreat, but his legs felt rooted to the ground, unable to move.

Shen Xiaochuan lowered his hand, his gaze sweeping over the enemy formation. His eyes were cold, as if he hadn't just obliterated a Deity, but an ant.

“Anyone else want to try?”

His voice wasn't loud, yet it clearly echoed across the entire battlefield.

No one answered.

Trump's face was ashen. He sat on the war chariot, gripping the armrest tightly, his knuckles white.

His original plan was to use low-tier Deities in rotation to stall for time until the faith virus activated. But Shen Xiaochuan gave him no such opportunity.

“Baron!” he suddenly roared.

A man stepped out from the right flank, clad in silver-gray armor, with a lightning-shaped scar on his face. He was a South Alliance spatial expert, possessing the A-rank talent “Shadow Blink Shuttle,” known for his extreme-speed assaults.

Baron sneered, “Huaxia Deity? Just a savage who can discharge electricity.”

Shen Xiaochuan stood still.

Baron leaped into the battlefield, landing fifty meters from him.

The first strike came from the left, a fist grazing his ear. Shen Xiaochuan didn't turn his head, merely tilted it slightly, easily dodging.

The second strike came from behind, aimed directly at his spine. He leaned forward slightly, and the kick missed.

For the third strike, Baron flashed to his front, pushing out with both palms, causing space to vibrate. This strike used eighty percent of his power, enough to shatter an S-rank shield.

Shen Xiaochuan finally made his move.

He raised his left hand, and an arc of lightning burst from his palm, instantly transforming into an electric net covering a hundred meters. Baron had just appeared when he was struck by the current, his body stiffening.

Shen Xiaochuan drew his blade with his right hand.

With one step, he was before Baron. The flat of his blade slammed hard into the third vertebra of Baron's spine. With a 'crack', Baron coughed blood and fell to his knees, his limbs twitching.

Shen Xiaochuan sheathed his blade and stepped back two paces.

Baron looked up, his eyes filled with horror, and hissed, “You... how did you know I would appear there?”

“The third position was too regular.”

Shen Xiaochuan said indifferently, “Left, back, front, a triangular cycle. If you had gone back to the left, you would already be dead.”

He looked at Baron: “I'm not killing you because you still have some strength. Now get out.”

Two South Alliance soldiers rushed out, helping Baron retreat to their ranks. Baron coughed blood all the way, his eyes unfocused.

On the battlefield, only Shen Xiaochuan stood alone.

He looked at the enemy army, his tone calm: “In the first round, you sent trash to test me; in the second round, you relied on speed to maneuver.”

He paused, then turned his gaze towards the direction of Tianzhu, slowly speaking: “Now, it's time for a true God to enter the fray.”

Some low-tier Deities quietly retreated. They finally understood that this was no ordinary battle. This man intended to crush the entire allied army by himself.

Trump gritted his teeth, roaring into the communicator: “Aamir Khan! Attack!”

The rear ranks parted, and a tall man slowly emerged. He had bronze skin, wore a dark red battle robe, and a golden mark on his forehead. His eyes were tightly closed, as if in slumber.

Aamir Khan, Tianzhu's strongest Deity, with the S-rank talent “Brahma's Wrath,” had once single-handedly incinerated three divine cities.

He walked to the edge of the battlefield, still not opening his eyes.

Shen Xiaochuan watched him, a slight smile playing on his lips: “You've finally arrived.”

Aamir Khan slowly raised his head and opened his eyes. His golden pupils were as dazzling as the scorching sun, and the air around him twisted. He pressed his palms together, softly chanted a prayer, then raised his hand and pointed at Shen Xiaochuan.

A powerful sense of oppression surged forward.

Shen Xiaochuan stood unmoving, his work uniform flapping wildly in the strong wind. His right hand rested on the hilt of his blade, touching the cold metal.

In the distance, on the Skydome City wall, Yang Lie leaned on his long halberd, gazing at the scene. He murmured, “Boss... don't force yourself this time.”

Shen Xiaochuan took a step.

Fine cracks appeared on the ground.

Aamir Khan's feet lifted from the ground, and he floated in the air, his entire body engulfed in golden flames. His voice resonated like a great bell: “Outsider, you have crossed the line.”

“Crossed the line?”

Shen Xiaochuan sneered, “Three hundred thousand people pressing against my city gate, and you say I've crossed the line?”

He drew his blade, and faint golden patterns appeared on its surface.

“I'm not here to reason.”

Aamir Khan spread his arms, and the flames condensed into a gigantic sword. He looked down at Shen Xiaochuan: “I will show you what Divine Might truly means.”

“Then you'd better be ready.”

Shen Xiaochuan held his blade horizontally before him, “Because next, I'm taking on ten.”

He took a second step.

The blade tip scraped the ground, sending sparks flying.

Behind Aamir Khan, Trump stared intently at the battlefield, his palms slick with cold sweat. He whispered to his adjutant: “Notify the rear, activate the faith virus early.”

The adjutant turned to leave but was stopped by a sharp shout.

“Stop!”

Alicia galloped onto the city wall on a black horse, holding a blue glowing chip high. She shouted, “Shen Xiaochuan! The virus coordinates have been deciphered! They're going to destroy your divine kingdom's core in ten minutes!”

Shen Xiaochuan's eyes instantly turned cold.

He no longer looked at Aamir Khan but directly at the direction where Trump was.

“So, this is the moment you've been waiting for?”

He sheathed his blade, put his hands in his work pants pockets, and slowly walked forward.

“Then let's see who falls first.”

Aamir Khan frowned and suddenly swung his sword. A hundred-meter-long fiery blade tore through the air, cleaving downwards.

Shen Xiaochuan did not stop walking.

The instant before the fiery blade struck, he raised his right hand. A rotating, phantom gear, covered in runes, appeared in his palm.

This was the “Spatial-Temporal Anchoring: Elementary” he had exchanged for three thousand faith points, capable of pausing time for only three seconds.

He pressed the button.

Time stood still.

The fiery blade hung in mid-air, dust particles froze, and the enemies' expressions were locked. Only Shen Xiaochuan could still move.

He walked up to Aamir Khan and reached out to remove the golden mark from his forehead.

The moment the mark detached, Aamir Khan's eyes snapped open, his face filled with terror.

Time resumed.

Boom!

The fiery blade struck the ground, blasting a deep crater.

Aamir Khan staggered backward, pointing at Shen Xiaochuan, his voice trembling: “You... how could you...”

“I told you.”

Shen Xiaochuan crushed the golden mark, “I'm taking on ten.”

He looked up, gazing at Trump at the highest point.

“Is the first one you?”

Trump suddenly stood up, turning to flee.

Shen Xiaochuan raised his hand, purple light once again condensing at his fingertip.

This time, the target was perfectly clear.