222: Chapter 222 Stubborn to the end

Eighteenth Prince Wu Zhenkan pointed his longsword diagonally at the ground. A single drop of fresh blood slid slowly down the sword's spine, hitting the dust and blooming into a small dark red stain.

His gaze slowly swept across those behind him—

Qin Lie's shoulder was marred by a gruesome, bloody hole, and his chest heaved violently. He was at the end of his rope, yet he gripped his long spear tightly, his back straight as a pine, firm as a mountain.

Second Prince Wu Yuanchen was drenched in blood, with a wound on his arm so deep the bone was visible. Fresh blood dripped steadily from his fingertips onto the ground, yet his eyes remained burning with intensity as he stared fixedly at the enemy formation ahead.

And there were the surviving descendants of the military families, each one covered in wounds and breathing their last, yet not a single one retreated even half a step. In their eyes, there was no fear, only the flames of unyielding defiance burning to their limit.

Eighteenth Prince Wu Zhenkan slowly curled his lips into a cold arc.

In that arc, there was determination, arrogance, and a sense of iron-blooded dignity that would brook no violation.

"Endless battle until death?"

He repeated these three words softly. His voice was not loud, yet it was like ice crashing into boiling oil.

"From the moment I stood on the opposite side of you, this outcome was already sealed."

As his voice fell, it suddenly rose, like a thunderclap exploding across the Nine Heavens, carrying a force that pierced through hearts with overwhelming power—

"The hot-blooded sons of my Great Wu Dynasty are all upright men who stand tall between heaven and earth! How can I allow you petty scoundrels to slaughter them at will!"

"Their lives, their aspirations, their initial intent to protect their home and country—"

His longsword swept across the sky, his black robes fluttering in the wind.

"Today, I, Eighteenth Prince Wu Zhenkan, shall stand guard!"

"Good!"

Qin Lie threw his head back and laughed, his laughter filled with the wild abandon of one who had survived a catastrophe, and even more, the intense passion of blood boiling to its limit. "Eighteenth Prince! I, Qin Lie, will remember this favor! In the future, should you have any commands, I will go through fire and water without hesitation!"

"Hahaha! Well said!"

Second Prince Wu Yuanchen's spirits soared, as if he had instantly forgotten the pain throughout his body. He raised his arm and roared, his voice shaking the surroundings, "Eighteenth Prince Wu Zhenkan! I, Second Prince Wu Yuanchen, accept this favor on behalf of my brothers! Even if we die in battle today, we have no regrets!"

"Brothers!"

It was unknown who first roared out, their voice hoarse, yet it was like the spark that ignited a gunpowder barrel—

"Follow me and kill!"

"Protect Your Highness! Protect our comrades!"

"Kill—"

The surviving descendants of the military families felt their blood rush to their heads, the Battle Intent in their chests igniting like dry wood meeting a raging fire!

Their exhausted strength seemed to be reawakened by some indescribable force, and strands of spiritual power crazily surged from the depths of their Dantian.

They drew close together, their auras intertwining and winding around each other, their scattered Battle Intent once again coalescing into an indestructible torrent!

Qin Lie took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the surging blood in his chest and swallowing the metallic taste of blood in his throat. He grabbed his long spear, pointing its tip diagonally at the firmament, and stood side by side with Second Prince Wu Yuanchen.

His voice was low, yet it struck everyone's heart like an iron hammer—

"Brothers, don't drag down Second Prince Wu Yuanchen and the Eighteenth Prince! Form the formation, assist him!"

"Form the formation!"

The remaining Cultivators roared in unison, the sound wave shaking the very clouds!

They forced their battered bodies to stand and once again activated that tattered battle formation, which nevertheless carried countless hopes.

Threads of weak spiritual power surged from within their bodies, gathering like trickling streams into a river, pouring without reservation into Eighteenth Prince Wu Zhenkan!

Their strength was meager.

Their cultivation was low.

But at this moment, they cast life and death aside, placing all their beliefs, all their hopes, and all their unyielding will onto that black-robed figure before them!

Their will and the Battle Intent of Eighteenth Prince Wu Zhenkan were tightly connected at this moment, condensing into an impenetrable barrier!

Fentian's expression was so gloomy it was as if blood were about to drip from it.

He clearly sensed it—those guys behind him, whom he regarded as "ants," were providing spiritual power support that actually caused Eighteenth Prince Wu Zhenkan's aura to faintly rise another level!

The already overwhelmingly powerful pressure now felt even more like an abyss or a vast sea, causing one's mind to tremble!

"Stubborn fools!"

Fentian laughed in extreme anger, his roar filled with brutality. "Since you wish to die, then you shall all be buried here together!"

Before the words had even faded, flames soared into the sky around him, transforming into the phantom of a hideous fire beast. It bared its fangs and brandished its claws, its eyes flashing with a baleful light that sought to destroy everything. Carrying an earth-scorching, world-destroying momentum, it lunged at Eighteenth Prince Wu Zhenkan once more!

At the same time, the Cultivators under his command exerted their strength in unison, unleashing brilliant and lethal Spells, and weapons flashing with cold light, pouring down like a torrential rain toward Eighteenth Prince Wu Zhenkan and the battle formation behind him!

They vowed to turn this area into scorched earth!

"Well come!"

Eighteenth Prince Wu Zhenkan's eyes narrowed. Far from being afraid, an even more intense Battle Intent burned in his eyes!

He let out a long whistle, his blood-gold longsword slicing through the sky. The sword light was like the Nine Heavens' Milky Way pouring down, instantly weaving into a net!

This time, the sword formation was no longer purely about slaughter.

As the sword net flowed, it gained a sense of protection as heavy as a mountain, acting like a wall of bronze and iron that firmly blocked all attacks! Any stray attacks were extinguished into nothingness by a casual slash of his sword, steadily protecting everyone behind him!

As for him, he was like a bolt of blood-colored lightning. His footwork was mysterious and unpredictable as he wove through the flames and sword light, carrying an unrivaled momentum as he collided head-on with Fentian!

Sword Qi crisscrossed, tearing the sky apart!

Flames scorched the sky, devouring everything!

The battle between the two top Prodigies escalated once again, becoming even more tragic and heart-stopping than before! Every collision caused the earth to tremble and the mountains and rivers to shake, while the surrounding space twisted and deformed, as if even heaven and earth could not withstand this power!

The golden sword light and crimson flames intertwined in mid-air, erupting with world-destroying energy fluctuations. Waves of air spread out in layers, turning distant rocks and trees into dust, and even staining the heaven and earth a deep crimson!

With Eighteenth Prince Wu Zhenkan as an impenetrable shield in front, the pressure on Qin Lie, Second Prince Wu Yuanchen, and the others suddenly decreased.

They were able to catch their breath and focus more on maintaining the battle formation, continuously channeling spiritual power. At the same time, they remained vigilant of their surroundings, clearing out sporadic enemies attempting to sneak attacks. Whenever a flaw appeared, they struck in unison, their long spears and swords falling to deliver a fatal blow to the Cultivators under Fentian's command!

The battle situation was undergoing a subtle reversal.

The originally one-sided decline was being clawed back, bit by bit.

A glimmer of victory quietly bloomed in the darkness of blood and fire.

In another corner of the battlefield, the scene was equally tragic.

Liushui Qingshang was dressed in white as pristine as snow. As his sleeves fluttered, his sword light was as agile as flowing water, sometimes gentle as a spring breeze brushing against a willow, and other times sharp as a cold blade breaking ice.

Opposite him, Li Chengsi was clad in a purple robe stained with blood, his face cold and stern, his aura as deep and heavy as an abyss. Every gesture carried the unique majesty and ruthlessness of a royal kinsman.

Both were at the Half-Step Nascent Soul stage, their strength evenly matched. Sword lights and palm winds intertwined, and every exchange resulted in a draw; neither could easily gain the upper hand.

This battle was not as earth-shattering as that between Fentian and Eighteenth Prince Wu Zhenkan, but it was more dangerous and treacherous—each move hid a killing intent, and the slightest carelessness would mean total destruction.

Jian Tanghuang was deeply surrounded.

Dressed in red as fiery as flames, she wove through the crowd, her sword light like a phoenix dancing in the Nine Heavens, sharp and brilliant. Senior Young Master Yu Qingxuan had long since been heavily injured and fallen to the ground, gasping for breath, unable to withstand a single blow from her.

But the hundreds of Cultivators brought by Senior Young Master Yu Qingxuan surged forward like a tide, densely packed and endless to kill.

Even though Chu Zhanxiao and Tuoba Ye were clearing the way beside her, fighting to the death and doing their best to relieve the pressure for her, the heavily injured Chu Zhanxiao was already at the end of his rope.

He was drenched in blood, his left arm hanging limply, clearly crippled. His right hand tightly gripped his lightning spear, and every slash was extremely laborious. Beads of sweat as large as beans rolled down his forehead, his chest heaved violently, and he gasped for breath, his face pale as paper.

Yet he still gritted his teeth and persisted, refusing to retreat even half a step.

"These Tai Miao Ancestral Witches scoundrels... how can there be more of them the more we fight..."

He roared hoarsely, his voice hiding unwillingness, exhaustion, and even more, a stubbornness that would never bow in death.

Tuoba Ye was like a violent Vicious Beast, wielding a giant axe; every slash could fell a swathe of enemies.

The wounds on his body were shocking, dripping with blood, yet his Battle Intent remained high, using his flesh and blood to hold up a space for Jian Tanghuang to catch her breath.

"Bang!"

A dull, loud noise shook up the dust, and gravel rolled down with a rustle.

Chu Zhanxiao threw a punch, carrying the remaining lightning spiritual power like a thunderclap breaking through the air, forcefully blasting the two Imperial Ancestral Temple Cultivators in front of him away!

The two slammed into the group of Cultivators behind them, the crisp sound of bones breaking ringing out endlessly. Fresh blood sprayed from their mouths like a fountain, and by the time they hit the ground, they were already dead. Their corpses piled up softly on the ground, becoming a wall of flesh and blood that obstructed subsequent attacks.

Chu Zhanxiao staggered to steady himself, his chest heaving violently. He wheezed incessantly like an old, broken bellows, each breath pulling at the excruciating pain in his internal organs.

Half of his clothes were soaked through with blood overflowing from the corner of his mouth, and dark red blood dripped down his clothes, gathering into a small pool of viscous bloody mud at his feet.

He could not spare the effort to wipe the foam of blood from the corner of his mouth, his gaze locked fixedly on that figure deeply surrounded by hundreds of Imperial Ancestral Temple Cultivators.

In those bloodshot eyes, unconcealable anxiety and heartache surged, like a raging fire burning his internal organs.

In the heavy encirclement, Jian Tanghuang's white clothes had long since been soaked through with blood.

The mottled bloodstains were like red plum blossoms suddenly blooming in the snow, shocking to the eye, yet carrying a tragic, extreme beauty.

But the longsword in her hand remained as sharp as frost.

Cold, icy light flowed along the sword's blade. Every swing carried the sharp sound of breaking through the air, so fierce it seemed capable of slicing the air, and even the surrounding light was drawn by this sword aura, shimmering with fine, cold glimmers.