Chapter 52: Utter Collapse

Chapter 52: Utter Collapse

The land was quiet, the sky was blue, and white clouds drifted slowly.

At the head of the stone bridge.

Sun Fei stood tall like a spear. In his right hand was a golden short sword. On his left forearm was a small, translucent round shield covered in barbs. He held the head of the Three-Star Swordsman Lund in his left hand. Blood dripped steadily onto the stone bridge, leaving a trail of crimson marks…

Behind Sun Fei, blood surged like a fountain from the neck of Lund’s headless body. The long sword in the corpse’s hand clattered to the ground with a sharp ring. Then, the body that had possessed immense power just a second before slowly toppled forward limply, like rotten wood.

A Three-Star Warrior, unable to even parry a single strike? He’d been separated from his head.

Lund’s head, still held aloft, had eyes wide open. He seemed unable to comprehend what had happened. The ferocious grin on his lips was slowly freezing, and then his eyes lost their light.

In life, he was a mighty Three-Star Warrior, whom no ordinary warrior could defeat.

Dead, he was no different from a stray dog.

Standing firm, a cold sneer at the corners of his eyes, Sun Fei advanced step by step. His steps were light, but with every single pace he took forward, the Black-Armored Soldiers opposite him, already overwhelmed by shock and extreme panic, stepped back an entire ten paces in terror…

No domineering words came. No sharp glare pierced them.

Sun Fei simply walked forward, quiet and steady.

He didn’t even look at the hundreds of enemies blocking his path. His gaze looked past these Black-Armored Soldiers, who were as frightened as stray dogs, focusing instead on the dark, swirling mist at the far end of the bridge. Strong waves of magic emanated slowly from within that black vapor, intensifying the feeling of danger in his heart.

“How do I kill this Mage?”

Sun Fei rapidly pondered in his mind.

The battle moments ago, though seemingly effortless, hadn’t been easy for him.

He’d first switched to [Mage Mode], using the only three skills currently available: [Firebolt] to attract and scatter his opponent’s attention, the electric [Charged Bolt] to exploit its paralyzing effect on nerves and hinder movement, and immediately followed with the ice-based [Icebolt] to freeze the opponent’s bodily reaction. The entire sequence had been precisely calculated down to the split second, flawlessly executed, enabling him to cut down the troublesome Three-Star Swordsman Lund in one swoop.

In terms of actual strength, Sun Fei was still slightly inferior to Lund. However, the bizarre skills of the characters from the Diablo World were endless. By catching Lund completely off guard—preparing meticulously against an unsuspecting foe—Sun Fei had succeeded in challenging and defeating a Three-Star Swordsman above his level.

But the figure shrouded in the black mist at the bridgehead possessed power far surpassing Lund’s. Plus, Sun Fei had already exposed nearly all his trump cards in the previous fights. Undoubtedly, the mysterious Mage had taken note. Trying to rely solely on the special Diablo skills to plot a sneak attack again wouldn’t work now that the opponent was on guard. What’s more, faced with an absolute disparity in power, any scheming was like fishing the moon from water—a futile trick.

Thousands of thoughts raced through Sun Fei’s mind, yet his feet never stopped moving.

He slowly advanced step by step. Facing him, the Black-Armored Soldiers were like mice confronted by a lion, retreating uncontrollably step by step. Their courage to even look him in the face had evaporated. The previous series of unbelievable feats by this blood-soaked Demon God—especially the terrifying sight of him casually decapitating the Three-Star Swordsman moments ago—had utterly shattered this elite troop’s fighting spirit. They were approaching complete collapse.

Drip, drip.

Thick, scarlet blood mixed with flecks of white bone fragments slid down his deformed, battered armor. Wherever Sun Fei walked, he left a path of shocking bloodstains. He placed a foot down as if strolling along a country path, without any imposing presence. Yet the frightened Black-Armored Soldiers retreated like a receding tide, incredibly fast. Even the executioner squads chopping with steel swords behind them couldn’t halt their collapse. Some soldiers, eyes bloodshot, even chose to overwhelm and kill the executioners in their desperate rush to escape.

“Aaahhhhhhh! Archers! Shoot him dead! Shoot him dead now!”

From afar, the Silver Masked Man saw Lund, the Three-Star Swordsman, get beheaded by that [Armored Monster]. Darkness swam before his eyes as he screamed furiously. Staring at the fifteen-to-sixteen-meter gap in the bridge in the distance, the Silver Masked Man felt like crying but couldn’t, his heart turning cold. He knew, at this point, the battle could be considered over. Shampoo City had become an unconquerable fortress. For him, the Silver Masked Man, there had been a thousand, ten thousand ways to easily conquer Shampoo City. Yet, even he couldn’t understand why he had ultimately lost so disastrously. Throughout the battle, he believed his strategies were sound, never slackening, treating it with the utmost seriousness by using overwhelming force against a weaker opponent… Still, he had lost. Completely. Terribly. Losses were devastating.

Watching that figure slowly advancing step by step across the broken bridge, unopposed, the Silver Masked Man suddenly jolted. It seemed then that he finally realized what he’d neglected in this battle—he had never imagined the enemy King could grow so outrageously fast. Yesterday, he’d barely managed to repel Lund. But today? He tore back and forth among a thousand elite soldiers, unmatched, slicing off Lund’s head with a casual wave.

One single day. From One-Star strength to Three-Star?

This unforeseen variable, unimaginable to everyone, had become the decisive Farad tipping the entire battle. It made all of the Silver Masked Man’s previous meticulous strategies effectively aid the enemy… Otherwise, why would he ever have deployed the Black Armored Army’s formation on such a narrow, elongated stone bridge?

But how was this possible?

Could it be… that guy advanced two levels in a single day?

The pupils in the Silver Masked Man’s eyes contracted sharply. He was stunned by his own conjecture. If true… what kind of monstrous being was that guy? Was he the God of War reincarnated?

“No! Such a person absolutely cannot remain in this world! Otherwise…”

A cold sweat covered the Silver Masked Man from head to toe as he imagined the bloody storms this enemy would unleash if allowed to mature. Unprecedented fear surged into his heart. He could no longer care about the hooded figure’s earlier demand for a live captive. He screamed frantically, his voice shrill with terror, issuing commands to the heavy archer battalion in the distance: “Relay my orders! Armor-Piercing Heavy Arrows! Fire! Fire at that guy! Quick… quicker! Now! Immediately!”

Swift, sssssssswift—!

Perhaps this was the single military order the Silver Masked Man issued today that was promptly obeyed and achieved its purpose. With his command, countless bowstrings vibrated violently through the air, leaving afterimages. Amidst the faint trembling sound, black Armor-Piercing Heavy Arrows tipped with white fletching shot forth. They whistled sharply through the air like a swarm of hungry, bloodsucking leeches, laughing ferociously as they blotted out the sky, casting dark shadows over the broken bridge.

“Damn it!”

Seeing this, the cloaked figure hidden within the black mist at the bridgehead cursed in anger and frustration. He wanted to capture the target alive to unravel the secret of freely changing between different forces. But after this wave of bloodthirsty Armor-Piercing Heavy Arrows, even if the guy was made of solid iron, he probably wouldn’t survive.

On the broken bridge.

Sun Fei abruptly looked up. He saw the sky-obscuring arrow rain descending—the call of the God of Death… The enemy was firing indiscriminately, regardless of their own soldiers caught within!

In the heart of the crisis, he only had time to instinctively raise the [Soul Emblem Small Round Shield] to protect his handsome face. Then came a cacophony like countless heavy hammers pounding his body—

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

—along with sharp waves of intense pain…

Simultaneously, agonized screams erupted across the bridge.

Countless Black-Armored Soldiers, pierced by their allies’ heavy arrows, wailed as they crashed to the ground. Like saplings felled by a lumberjack’s axe, they fell one after another without any struggle. Blood sprayed wildly; cries of pain filled the sky. The bloodthirsty arrows pierced soldiers’ eyes, thighs, skulls, chests, feet… A few grievously wounded, not yet dead, screamed and cried, crawling towards the shore, dragging long trails of blood beneath them.

The entire broken bridge instantly became a veritable hell of Asura.

In the distance, on a hill south of the far shore, the Silver Masked Man stood watching tensely. He ignored the anguished cries, curses, and pleas of his soldiers writhing in blood, as though completely blind to them. Only that single figure held the entire focus of his gaze.

However, what filled him with renewed shock and fury was the sight, after the first wave of Armor-Piercing Heavy Arrows blanketed the bridge—the figure there, armor completely stained crimson with gore—was still thrashing wildly! Still swinging that short sword and round shield! He didn’t seem mortally wounded at all!

“Archers! Don’t stop! Keep firing!”

Swift, sssssssswift—!

The arrow rain swallowed the heavens. Amidst the oppressive black haze, specks of cold light dotted the sky, as beautiful as stars on a solitary night, yet accompanied by soul-jarring shrieks as they continued their deadly flight towards the bridge.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

The Armor-Piercing Heavy Arrows mercilessly harvested all life within their zone. Arrowheads tore viciously into everything they could, gouging out terrifyingly large potholes in the stone bridge surface.

The deadly projectiles followed relentlessly, whistling down again and again.

Soon, no living soul remained on the broken bridge. Soldiers who had been writhing and crying out moments before were now beyond death. Each body was densely studded with white-feathered arrows, looking like human-sized porcupines.

The Silver Masked Man’s eyes remained fixed on the figure at the bridgehead.

Finally, the scene he desperately craved unfolded—that demon-like silhouette stopped its frantic thrashing. His body was completely covered in arrows. From a distance, he resembled a standing white porcupine. A loud metallic clang echoed as his short sword and shield clattered to the ground and vanished. Then… the figure… at last toppled forward, seemingly resisting even in death.

“He’s dead! Hahahaha! Finally dead… he’s finally dead!”

The Silver Masked Man trembled, overcome by hysterical laughter. He doubled over laughing, tears streaming down his face—whether of joy or sorrow was unclear. Finally, he collapsed to his knees on the ground, his laughter turning into harsh, rasping sobs… until his laughter became outright weeping.

He clawed at the green grass on the hill, tears overflowing uncontrollably from beneath the silver mask.

He was finally dead.

That guy was finally dead.

But his elite Black Armored Army of three thousand was also finished. Not only had he suffered devastating losses, but the surviving soldiers were thoroughly demoralized—each one scared witless, probably never to pick up a weapon for battle again. What drove him close to madness when thinking about it was the loss of over half his personal escort of One-Star Black Knights and the death of the Three-Star Warrior, Lund.

The Silver Masked Man had been nearly driven mad by that Demon God-like figure.

On the battlefield, watching that figure finally crumple, the Black-Armored Soldiers gasped, clutching their throats as if the grip of the God of Death had abruptly released them. It was as if a colossal mountain pressing on their hearts had been removed. The shadow of death finally vanished. Some soldiers, minds breaking under the strain, actually started laughing while tears streamed down their faces.

Before this, they could never have imagined that a single man, just one person, could push an army to such a point of utter collapse.

The hooded figure at the bridgehead, seething with anger, had to forcefully restrain himself from marching over to confront the Silver Masked Man when he saw his state of collapse. His expression shifted through several shades of rage before settling. He finally turned and commanded the nearby soldiers, who stood frozen and stupid: “You few! Carry that guy’s corpse to my tent.”

The Mage’s authoritative tone shook the near-catatonic soldiers back to awareness. Several stronger ones immediately scrambled to heave the porcupine-like corpse bristling with heavy arrows off the ground. They lugged the body, dripping blood, and followed after the hooded man.

The corpse was immensely heavy. Combined with the shattered steel armor and embedded arrows, it weighed close to three hundred pounds. The Black-Armored Soldiers strained under its weight, sweating profusely. They couldn’t even bring themselves to glance at the body. An aura of unrelieved murderous intent still radiated from it, seeming ready to shatter their very souls. Soldiers followed the hooded man with utmost trepidation.

“You may go. Whatever happens, no one is to disturb me.”

Upon reaching a sinister black tent, the hooded man quietly commanded the soldiers to place the corpse dead center in the tent. His voice was raw. The soldiers scrambled out of the tent as if fleeing death itself. Inside, the air was thick with damp, moldy decay and the faint, underlying stench of corpses. Sharp, strange tools and various jars littered the space, resembling a butcher’s shop. No one in the Black Armored Army would willingly spend an extra second inside this tent.

The hooded man secured the tent flap. Still not satisfied, he meticulously set up several small defensive Magic Arrays at the entrance. A flickering blue flame then shot from his hand, igniting a hanging brazier inside the tent. The blue flame cast eerie, shifting light, filling the tent with a bone-chilling coldness—an atmosphere straight from the depths of Hell.

“Kekekekeke…”

The hooded man’s laughter screeched like a night owl. His eyes gleamed with manic light as they fixed upon the corpse lying on the floor before him.

“A pity,” he rasped, his voice thick with regret but also greed, “to not have captured him alive… Nevertheless, fortunate that I am versed in the magic of the Undead. Perhaps dissecting this lad… shall reveal the secrets of transforming powers from differing attributes? Kekekeke!” His voice became a ragged whisper. “Master that… and I might smash the bottleneck that trapped me for years! Ascend to a Five-Star Mage! Further still? Breaking through Stellar Level to become a Moon-level Expert… it could be within reach! Kekekekeke!”

His breath hitched with excitement, all constraint gone. He bent over the corpse immediately, eager, his gnarled, skeletal fingers reaching clumsily for the buckles of the shredded armor—ready to pry, cut, discover…

However… just as he fumbled the corpse onto its back… just as his finger, twitching with anticipation, brushed the first fastener… the laughter snuffed out. His frozen grin vanished. Dread—utterly new, inexpressibly pure terror—shattered across his face.

Not even his cold, calculative mind was immune to it.

Not because he was inherently cowardly.

Any human being would react the same way – suddenly seeing a corpse, declared dead, erupt into a blood-smeared grin aimed directly at you… anyone’s sanity would fracture instantly. The hooded man’s body reacted.