Chapter Fifty: Shattering the Might of a Thousand Soldiers

Shaya stood there, as if he had completely forgotten the earth-shattering blow he had just delivered. He looked down at his hands, then at the ground, strewn with broken corpses and blood soaking the earth. His gaze was dazed, uncertain... He felt himself powerless to resist, collapsed there, then that pendant...

Ah! The pendant!

He immediately grasped the stone hanging at his neck. Now, it had lost its earlier crimson glow and returned to its dull, ashen appearance. Yet, as his palm pressed against the stone, he sensed a faint, inexplicable tremor.

Just now...

What on earth had happened?

With a single thrust, these mighty knights had all been slain by him?! The fire trident was sharp to begin with, but not to such an extent. That bizarre sweep of scarlet light—when the fire trident pierced out, it was as if the enemy’s armor and weapons became mere paper, torn apart effortlessly, without the slightest resistance.

Two knights, not yet dead, rolled on the ground—one had lost half a shoulder, the other had both legs severed at the knees.

“You...” Him took a shaky breath, leaning against a horse, fixing Shaya with a deathly stare. Only two men remained at his side. Even the Night Guard, fearless as they were, faltered at such a terrifying sight. Him’s face was ashen, eyes locked on Shaya: “So this is the ‘Slaughtering Thousands’! You’ve mastered Crimson Killing Aura! I never imagined I’d meet an opponent who cultivates Crimson Killing Aura.”

Shaya’s mind was blank, unable to grasp the meaning of the words.

He looked at the fire trident in his hand, then at the carnage around him, his thoughts in chaos. Yet faintly, he began to suspect something.

Especially... Killing Aura?!

Killing Aura!!

The term was not unfamiliar to Shaya. When he first learned the martial arts, he heard tales of legendary heroes who wielded dazzling combat energy to vanquish foes. He had pestered the old man for it, but the old man had bluntly replied, “I don’t know combat energy. Any martial skill without Killing Aura is worthless.”

“I know—if we meet someone who wields Crimson Killing Aura, we’re no match regardless.” Him wheezed, but his face was grim. “But orders are orders. The Night Guard’s mission is to fulfill them.”

He forced himself upright, leaning on the horse. The two remaining knights exchanged glances, then threw aside the wounded, drew their swords, faces set in fatal resolve, and strode toward Shaya. They did not abandon the fight, but charged from both flanks.

Both blades thrust at once. Shaya swung the fire trident to parry, but the knights abandoned defense, attacking with reckless ferocity. Shaya managed to block a few blows, but he was no swordsman; the trident felt unwieldy, too small to use as an axe.

More crucially, the feeling as if possessed by a god, which had empowered him moments ago, had vanished. Now, relying only on his own reflexes and strength, he fought the two knights, deliberately taking a strike to the back. As their swords were deflected by dragon scales, Shaya drove his elbow into a knight’s chest—the man screamed, bones shattered, blood spraying. The other knight had his sword snapped by the fire trident, then his wrist severed, and Shaya kicked him to the ground.

Him, still leaning on the horse and breathing heavily, fixed Shaya with a cold stare. Injured badly, he watched his last men fall, but showed no intention to flee. Facing Shaya, he sneered, “Failure means death. Kill me.”

Shaya frowned, seized Him, and gripped his throat. “Tell me—what do you mean by ‘Slaughtering Thousands’?”

If Shaya did not know what Crimson Killing Aura was, “Slaughtering Thousands” was at least familiar—he’d heard it from the old man. The martial art taught to him was called “Slaughtering Thousands”; the name was grand, but Shaya had long suspected the old man had invented it on a whim.

Him glared at Shaya. “Slaughtering Thousands is exactly what you just did. I have trained it as well, but without Crimson Killing Aura, I could never master it. Last time, when you blocked all my sword paths, I suspected you—you truly have trained in Slaughtering Thousands, and you’re more skilled than I, able to seal all my sword paths!”

Shaya was stunned, a strange thought rising in his mind, then he let go, dropping Him to the ground.

Slaughtering Thousands.

Crimson Killing Aura...

The peerless fire trident...

And this pendant...

The old man...?

Could it be, as he boasted in life, that he really was an extraordinary figure?

He looked again at the scattered corpses, and at the grievously wounded knights still alive. Suddenly, Shaya felt a surge of restlessness.

This was not his first kill—the last time he met these men, he’d slain an archer with his fire trident. Growing up on Wildfire Plains, he knew the law of the land: the jungle’s rule, the strong devour the weak. To kill or not was merely the difference between strength and weakness.

Yet, just now, when the scarlet glow flashed, the overwhelming urge to slaughter that surged within him had left Shaya shaken. He did not know what had come over him; his mind twisted, rage and violence boiling, wishing to tear apart every living thing in sight.

The old man... What exactly had he taught him?

Beside him, Him struggled upright, drew a dagger from his belt, eyes blazing, and stabbed at Shaya’s leg. Shaya kicked him down. Him lay gasping, but laughed wildly, “Kill me! Kill me! If you don’t, as long as I breathe, I’ll never give up trying to kill you!”

Shaya frowned. For him now, ending this man with the fire trident would be easy, but remembering the terrifying surge of murderous intent just now, he hesitated.

“Shaya!!”

The pitiful girl had scrambled up, rushing to Shaya and clinging to him, anxiously checking him over. “Are you hurt?!”

Shaya pushed her aside. “I’m fine.”

He instinctively squeezed the pendant at his neck...

Finally, Shaya left the girl and Him behind, walking to Dodoro. “Get up!”

Dodoro stared at Shaya wide-eyed, the mage’s spirit shaken by the wild turn of events. Moments ago, seeing Shaya struck down, Dodoro thought they were all doomed, but then Shaya erupted, surviving against all odds.

“You call yourself a mage,” Shaya pointed to the pendant at his neck. “Take a look—what is this, some kind of magical item?”

Dodoro swallowed, nervously glancing at Shaya. “I...”

“Speak up!” Shaya’s face darkened. Having just slaughtered a group of formidable foes, his grim demeanor carried a frightening aura. Dodoro blanched and stammered, “Yes, it’s truly a magical gemstone—an extremely high-grade one, too. I suspect it’s imbued with some powerful magic, but... with my skills, I can’t identify what kind. Based on the gemstone’s quality, it’s certainly top-tier—that much I’m sure!”

A magical gemstone...

Shaya nodded, as if a question had been answered, but the fog in his mind only thickened.

“Shaya.” The pitiful girl came forward, noting the weight on his face, and felt a growing unease.

“I... need to go home.” Shaya suddenly raised his head, exhaling deeply. His tone became resolute, repeating, “I need to go home!”

The pitiful girl was stunned. This country bumpkin wanted to go home? What did that mean?

At that moment, from the distant wasteland came the thunder of hooves, raising clouds of dust!

Shaya, the pitiful girl, and Dodoro all turned pale, whipping their heads around. In the distance, a cavalry unit galloped toward them. Their formation was tight and swift, sunlight glinting off their armor—a fully armed human cavalry!

Shaya glanced at Him on the ground, thinking these might be his allies, but Him was just as bewildered.

The cavalry came at them like a storm, growing closer by the moment.

Shaya was about to pull the pitiful girl onto a horse and flee, but she caught sight of the cavalry’s leader, who held a lance with a blue banner affixed to its tip.

The pitiful girl’s eyes lit up at the blue banner. As the riders drew nearer and she recognized the leading knight, she grabbed Shaya: “Don’t run! They’re my brother’s men! My brother’s men!”

Him’s face turned ashen at her words.

The cavalry quickly arrived—over three hundred riders, all in light armor, bearing swords and lances. The standard attire of imperial elite light cavalry. As they reached the group, two squads broke off to flank them, forming a vigilant perimeter.

At the front rode a knight clad in ornate silver armor, engraved with beautiful patterns on the breastplate, family crests on the arm and shoulder guards, and shimmering inlays on the helmet and shoulders, making the whole suit gleam.

His steed was a rare, majestic white horse, tall and spirited, with four black hooves.

The knight rode up, suddenly reined in the horse, making it rear. He lifted his helmet, eyes fixed on the pitiful girl, and cried out with joy, “By the gods! You’re really here—I’ve finally found you!”