60: Summoning the Heroes of China

The Black Peacock was still screaming, the gale howling, and the flags were flapping violently in the wind.

Shen Xiaochuan stood motionless, his robes billowing in the wind, the copper gear on his cuffs clinking together with a soft, crisp sound.

He released his hand, and the black scroll slowly shattered, transforming into specks of light that rose and swirled in the air, circling the Black Peacock ceaselessly.

The Black Peacock's tail feathers fully spread out, like a massive black curtain veiling the sky.

Its eyes were crimson, and as its gaze swept across the area, every enemy war-pet that drew near trembled and prostrated itself on the ground; some shivered in fear, while others turned and fled.

Trump sat on his war chariot, his expression grim.

He stood up abruptly and shouted, "Do not be afraid! That is merely a summoned beast! Everyone, obey my orders, form ranks and advance! Focus all attacks on the person in the middle!"

A dozen deities gritted their teeth and pushed forward, but they had only taken a few steps when the Black Peacock suddenly turned its head and stared at one of them.

The man immediately collapsed to the ground, clutching his head and screaming in agony before passing out.

The others stopped in their tracks instantly.

No one dared to step forward again.

Trump roared, "Do you want to flee? Do you no longer care for the honor of the South Alliance? Attack!"

Before he had even finished speaking, a blonde deity tore through space and leapt into the battlefield; another shouted, "My wife is going into labor!" and turned to run; a third threw a smoke bomb and vanished into the chaos.

One after another.

More and more people fled.

Some rode their war-pets in a mad dash back, some activated a teleportation array to escape, and some even lay on the ground and played dead.

The ranks completely collapsed; flags were toppled, war-pets trampled over one another, and the once-orderly formation was already shattered beyond recognition.

Shen Xiaochuan watched this scene quietly, the corners of his mouth curling slightly upward.

He raised his hand, and the faith points within him began to surge out rapidly.

Originally increasing at three points per second, they now poured out like a tidal wave, coalescing into a pale golden film of light around him.

On the film, intricate characters slowly swirled, insulating him from the outside Aura.

He closed his eyes and crossed his hands in front of his chest.

In an instant, the battlefield fell silent.

The Black Peacock folded its wings and hovered in mid-air, completely motionless.

The wind stopped, and dust slowly settled.

Everyone's gaze was focused on him, their eyes filled with shock, fear, and a hint of awe.

Trump sensed something was wrong and sternly ordered, "Fire arrows! Ranged attacks! Interrupt his spellcasting!"

Several Archers drew their longbows and fired arrows imbued with magic.

The arrows flew halfway before being blocked by an invisible barrier; they hung in the air, then shattered inch by inch and fell to the ground.

Shen Xiaochuan still did not open his eyes.

He silently recited in his heart, "Zhang Yide of Yan is here."

A towering figure appeared in his mind—nine feet tall, with a wild, bristling beard, holding a serpent spear, standing atop a mountain ridge, a single roar repelling thousands of troops.

A low rumble suddenly echoed between heaven and earth.

The ground shook, and scarlet light shone from the fissures.

A vertical line of light appeared in the sky, as if being pried open from within by some force, gradually expanding until it took the outline of a massive gate.

Trump stared at the gate, his pupils constricting sharply.

He recognized this sight—it was not an ordinary summoning, but the arrival of a Heroic Spirit.

The situation was spiraling out of control; he was anxious and furious, slamming the mechanism of his war chariot.

With a "bang," three scrolls popped out.

He grabbed the scrolls, bit his finger, and using his blood as ink, rapidly drew talismans in the air, chanting an incantation: "With my blood, I summon the ancient war souls! Appear!"

Three beams of light shot up from the scrolls—a Thunder Eagle spreading its wings, a Steel Ape roaring, and an Ice Snake winding forward, all lunging toward Shen Xiaochuan.

Shen Xiaochuan still had his eyes closed.

Yet, the corners of his mouth suddenly curled up.

He pressed down lightly with his left hand.

A bolt of thunder struck down, hitting the Thunder Eagle squarely.

The Thunder Eagle instantly exploded, scattering into fragments.

With a wave of his right hand, the ground cracked open, and magma surged out, swallowing the ape.

Finally, he gave a soft hum, and a thunder shield condensed in the air.

The Ice Snake collided with the thunder shield, freezing on the spot, then shattered and fell to the ground.

Three summoned creatures, all destroyed within three breaths.

Trump widened his eyes, his throat tightened, and he could not utter a single word.

Shen Xiaochuan opened his eyes.

His gaze had turned pale gold, with characters swirling deep within his pupils.

Red patterns appeared on his skin like glowing runes, spreading along his veins to his heart, eventually converging into a mysterious totem.

He slowly raised his right hand, palm upward.

The faith points number jumped frantically.

The next moment, he uttered in a low voice: "Battle Formation Master, activate!"

Twenty points of light suddenly lit up on the ground, distributed across the battlefield.

Twenty Skydome City warriors simultaneously felt their blood boiling, and pillars of light rose beneath their feet.

Their strength surged, their muscles bulged, their eyes turned red, and their Aura rose sharply.

Shen Xiaochuan pressed his hands together, then abruptly separated them.

Twenty streams of light were drawn out and wrapped around his right arm.

His arm instantly thickened, and the veins beneath his skin became as hard as metal.

His combat power continued to climb—301, 356, 389... finally settling at 402.

He looked down at his hand and clenched his fist.

With a "crack," the air exploded.

He stepped forward, and with every step he took, the ground cracked and fractured.

The twenty warriors behind him followed in sync, their strides uniform, their Aura like a rainbow.

Up ahead, over three hundred enemies were still gathered, holding shields and forming a formation, ready for battle.

Seeing Shen Xiaochuan approach, they raised their weapons one after another, prepared for a desperate fight.

Shen Xiaochuan raised his left hand.

A bolt of thunder-light slashed out.

The Saber Qi spanned a hundred meters, consecutively cleaving through seven shields and cutting both the men and their armor in two.

Before the corpses had even hit the ground, the people in the back rows were already trembling at the knees.

He continued to advance.

Another bolt of thunder-light.

And another.

In less than ten seconds, fewer than fifty of the three hundred remained.

The survivors turned and fled; some threw down their weapons and knelt to beg for mercy.

Shen Xiaochuan did not even glance at them.

He walked to the center of the battlefield and stopped.

He looked up at the massive gate of red light.

Footsteps came from within the gate.

One step, the earth shook and mountains swayed.

Two steps, the wind and clouds changed color.

Three steps, all sounds faded into silence.

Shen Xiaochuan formed hand seals again, his faith points nearly exhausted.

But he did not care.

He knew that as long as he completed this final step, everything would be different.

He took a deep breath, his voice low but clear: "I invite the Heroic Spirit—to descend!"

The gate of light vibrated violently.

A large hand reached out from the gate.

It was a rough palm with thick knuckles and an old scar on the back of the hand.

In its grip, it held a spear tightly, the tip of which dripped specks of red light.

Immediately after, a hulking figure stepped out.

He wore heavy black armor, covered by a scarlet cloak, with a full, wild beard and eyes like torches.

Once he stood still, he was like a mountain standing firm, immovable.

He scanned the battlefield, his gaze landing on Shen Xiaochuan, then sweeping toward Trump in the distance.

He grinned, revealing a mouthful of white teeth, his voice like a booming bell: "Kid," the voice sounded like a thunderclap, "you called me here—do you want to fight?"

Shen Xiaochuan looked up, gazing at that familiar face, and smiled.

"Yes. It is them."