75: From Chapter 75 onwards, I'll call you Brother Yun.

Zhou Yun.

He was Zhou Yun.

The one with the worst grades in the entire class for three years of high school.

The one who didn't dare to talk back even when mocked to his Face by Wang Shuai.

The one who could only stare helplessly when his running shoes were stolen by him during the sports meet, to the point of almost crying.

A pushover.

A loser!

Useless in every way, except for being a little handsome!

And he, City Lord Zhang Hao—had to kneel before this person?

An instinctive rage surged from his chest.

He raised his head and met Zhou Yun's gaze.

His eyes held lingering traces of unwillingness, resentment, and a defiance that went bone-deep.

But—it lasted only a second.

Zhou Yun's eyes made him shudder.

There was nothing in those eyes.

No anger, no disgust, no hatred.

Nothing at all.

It was as if he were looking at a dead man.

City Lord Zhang Hao's anger was instantly extinguished.

He darted his eyes around quickly.

Looking left—corpses littered the ground.

Looking right—dozens of headless bodies of City Guards.

Behind him—five thousand Flower City soldiers, their cold gazes stabbing into his back like knives.

He sobered up immediately.

The situation was overwhelming.

Now, Zhou Yun held the upper hand.

And...

He scanned his surroundings—no mobile phones, no internet, not a single classmate from the group chat in sight.

No audience.

Then there was nothing to be ashamed of.

If I have to kneel, I'll kneel.

Better to survive first.

With that, a smile quickly plastered onto City Lord Zhang Hao's Face.

The smile was abrupt.

One second he was full of humiliation, the next he put on an expression that said, "Let's talk this over."

As fast as turning a page.

"Zhou Yun."

He called out, his tone trying hard to sound relaxed and casual, as if two old classmates had run into each other on the street.

"I think that's enough, don't you?"

He smiled, his voice tinged with a hint of ingratiation.

"You won, so you won! I don't want the city anymore, you can just take it!"

"We were classmates for three years, after all, right? We're bound to run into each other eventually."

He licked his dry lips, carefully observing Zhou Yun's expression.

He couldn't tell anything.

He continued:

"How about this—what do you want? As long as Han City has it, you can take it. Supplies, equipment, food—whatever you want!"

"Consider it my compensation to you. How about it?"

Zhou Yun said nothing.

City Lord Zhang Hao's heart skipped a beat.

He gritted his teeth and played his final trump card.

"If you're still not satisfied with that—"

He took a deep breath, his smile becoming even more sycophantic.

"I'll call you 'Brother Yun' from now on."

"From today on, I'll be your underling, and you'll be my big brother!"

"Whatever you say, I'll do."

"Is that okay?"

After speaking, he looked at Zhou Yun with full anticipation.

In his mind, Zhou Yun was just a pushover.

Give him a step down, and he'll take it.

Give him some Face, and he'll accept it.

He had always been that kind of person.

All three years of high school, he had always been like that.

So, City Lord Zhang Hao waited for him to nod.

Waited for him to sigh.

Waited for him to say, "Forget it."

...But what he waited for—was a sword.

He didn't even see when that sword was drawn.

He only saw a flash of light.

A cold light, shimmering with faint moonlight.

Platinum-grade—[ascending moon shadow].

That divine weapon, born from a trillion-fold critical hit, was now held in Zhou Yun's hand.

The blade was long and slender, glowing with a cold silver radiance throughout.

Like a crescent moon that had fallen into the mortal world.

The light swept across City Lord Zhang Hao's eyes.

His pupils constricted violently.

His mouth opened, wanting to say something—

A sword stroke flashed by.

No unnecessary movements.

No hesitation.

Clean. Swift.

Just like slicing through a sheet of paper.

City Lord Zhang Hao's voice stopped in his throat.

His head—parted from his body.

It spun into the air, tracing an arc.

Then— "thump, thump"—it rolled onto the ground.

That Face, still wearing a sycophantic smile, lay crooked in the dirt.

The eyes were still open. The corners of the mouth were still curled.

As if, even in death, he hadn't realized—the person before him was no longer the Zhou Yun from high school who could be manipulated by anyone.

Fresh blood gushed from the severed neck.

The headless body swayed twice, then toppled straight forward.

With a dull "thud," it kicked up a cloud of dust.

The wilderness was deathly quiet.

Even the wind held its breath.

Zhou Yun held [ascending moon shadow], and the blood on the blade, amidst the moonlight-like sword glow, dripped to the ground with a "drip."

Everyone was stunned.

The entire wilderness fell into a strange silence for that moment.

Everyone was digesting the same fact—Zhou Yun had killed someone.

Killed with his own hands. Not ordering someone else to kill.

It was he himself, drawing the sword, swinging the sword, beheading him in one stroke!

This City Lord who harbored great love! He—had killed a person with his own hands!!

The silence lasted only three seconds.

Then— "Good—!!!"

A violent shout erupted from someone's throat.

Immediately following, a second, a third, a tenth, a hundredth— "Good!!!" "Well killed!!!"

Five thousand Flower City soldiers roared in unison, the sound wave sweeping across the wilderness like a monstrous tidal wave.

"Well killed—!!!"

The three hundred soldiers kneeling beside the corpses of their loved ones cried and shouted, the emotion in their hearts like an ocean, nourishing their almost withered bodies.

The shouts shook the sky. The earth trembled.

But two people did not make a sound.

Wan'er stood in place, her gaze not looking at City Lord Zhang Hao's corpse, nor at the cheering crowd.

Her line of sight—fell on Zhou Yun's right hand.

So did Strategist Zhu Ge. He sat in his wheelchair, his eyelids half-lowered, his gaze also fixed on the same place.

Zhou Yun's right hand. That hand holding [ascending moon shadow].

The blood on the blade had not yet dried, dripping down drop by drop, landing on the ground and creating tiny dark red spots.

And that hand—was shaking.

Not slightly shaking. It was violently, uncontrollably shaking, from his fingers to his wrist to his entire arm.

The five fingers gripping the hilt, knuckles white, veins bulging—not because of exertion, but because he couldn't control it no matter what.

The sword stroke he had just swung was so crisp, so swift, without a shred of hesitation.

But at this moment—his hand betrayed him.

City Lord Zhang Hao's body lay on the ground, the blood in his neck cavity gradually draining away.

Just then—a faint light floated up from his corpse.

It was the city lord seal. The city lord seal of Han City.

It turned into a tiny stream of light, drifting out from City Lord Zhang Hao's body, hovering in mid-air for a moment.

Then—it flew toward the direction of Han City. It streaked across the sky and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

"The city lord seal has returned to the city," Strategist Zhu Ge said in a low voice.

According to the siege rules, the defeated party's city lord seal should have gone into the winner's hands.

But as it was still in the seven-day appointment period for the city lord, the rules were different.

During this period, the city lord seal would not be acquired by the winning party, but would return to the city lord's mansion of the original city, waiting for the emergence of the next city lord.