When the ten Grantee Longswords flew out, a sharp whistling sound cut through the air. It wasn't just one sound, but ten perfectly overlapping whistles.
Before the three bone lizards could even finish their pounce, the sword tips had already pierced through the gaps in their skulls.
Green blood sprayed onto the asphalt, steam rising along with a pungent, fishy stench.
Luo Yang didn't stop.
The ten longswords fanned out around him, weaving through an overturned bus, gliding past broken lampposts, and skimming the ground beneath the mutant beasts' bellies. A second later, they arched into the air, precisely embedding themselves into the spines of other creatures.
Sword light interlaced in a deadly dance. Before the countdown of Weapon's End, Ember's Birth could expire, every Level 1 and Level 2 mutant beast within a hundred-meter radius had been wiped clean.
The tide of mutant beasts that had been pressing against the defensive line was forcibly sheared in half.
Severed limbs, broken horns, and shattered carapaces carpeted the street. Blood flowed along the curbs into the gutters, swirling with glass shards and ash.
The last Level 2 bone lizard was pinned to a wall by two crossing longswords, the structure groaning under the impact.
A second later, all ten longswords lost their luster simultaneously. The blades began to crumble from the tips, turning into grayish-white powder that was swept into the smoke by the hot wind.
Luo Yang watched the drifting ash, his eyes flickering slightly.
“Tsk, another ten gone.”
The surviving Punishers behind him were speechless.
Moments ago, they had been throwing their lives away to hold this line. In the next breath, the mutant beasts before them had been cleanly carved up by this refined-looking young man in glasses.
One man sat on the ground, clutching his broken ribs, his lips turning purple. He wanted to say thank you, but a mouthful of blood came out as a cough the moment he opened his mouth.
Meanwhile, Luo Yang’s mental power remained spread out.
Further away, several stronger presences paused for a moment.
Those were Level 3 mutant beasts.
They had clearly sensed the sudden surge of bloodlust and the lethal efficiency of those ten flying swords over the past thirty seconds.
Instead of continuing their advance toward Changhong Avenue, the Level 3 mutant beasts turned and retreated rapidly into the shadows between the abandoned commercial streets and residential buildings.
“Trying to go around?”
“They realized this line is too hard to bite, so they’re looking for a softer one.”
Luo Yang looked toward the south. Distant flames flickered between the buildings, and the sound of explosions grew increasingly muffled. “Smart. Just not smart enough.”
Within the range of his mental power, at least three human defensive positions were clearly visible.
A temporary rescue corridor to the east, a hospital transfer point to the north, and an old elevated highway entrance further south.
Every point was under fire, and every point was short-handed.
Luo Yang wasn't a space-type Punisher; he didn't have Ying Xiu's ability to warp at will, nor could he split himself into three to cover different locations.
An eight-kilometer perception range sounded vast, but in the reality of urban guerrilla warfare—with building obstructions, underground passages, and mutant beast magnetic interference—it was a constant struggle.
He could only choose one.
Luo Yang looked down at Chu Zimo, who had passed out behind the low wall.
The boy’s face was terrifyingly pale, his forehead drenched in sweat. Yan Zhi crouched beside him, poking his shoulder with a finger.
“He seems to be asleep.”
“More or less.”
Luo Yang pulled out his phone and dialed the Ability Bureau’s battlefield emergency channel.
“Intersection of Changhong Avenue, sending coordinates now. We have over a dozen severely injured Punishers here and a student unconscious from blood energy exhaustion. Send an ambulance immediately.”
The other end was chaotic, shouts mixed with static.
“Copy that! Changhong Avenue... wait, who is this?”
“Luo Yang.”
The line went quiet for half a second.
“Expert Luo? Understood! We’ll dispatch a vehicle immediately! Can you still hold your position?”
Luo Yang glanced at the now-empty intersection.
“No need to hold this spot anymore. Just come pick up the people. Remember to bring stretchers—plenty of them. Also, send Chu Zimo to the academy’s affiliated hospital first. His family might be at Yujing Garden; check on that for him later.”
“Understood!”
The call ended.
Luo Yang bent down to check on the few Punishers who were still breathing, using his blood energy to temporarily seal a hole in one unlucky man’s chest.
The man’s face twisted in agony, but he didn't forget to curse: “Easy there, brother. I wasn't going to die, but this pain might finish me off.”
“If it hurts, it means you’re still kicking,” Luo Yang said, retracting his hand. “Don’t move. Help is on the way.”
“Where are you going?”
“Elsewhere.”
The man blinked and tried to push himself up, only to be shoved back down by a comrade.
“Your chest is a goddamn wind tunnel. Stay still.”
Yan Zhi had already stood up, still clutching her half-bottle of cola. The bottle had softened from the battlefield’s heat, and most of the carbonation was gone.
“Are we leaving?”
“Yeah. We need to get the car back.”
Luo Yang looked in the direction of the off-road vehicle he had requisitioned earlier. “This street is a mess. The car is still back at the cordon. We need to move fast.”
The two hurried back through blood and rubble. A hot wind blew through the street, carrying the acrid stench of scorched rubber and mutant beast fluids.
Cries for help drifted from the distance, punctuated by sirens and artillery fire. Yan Zhi stepped on a piece of broken glass, her sole making a faint crunch. She looked down briefly before continuing to tug on the corner of Luo Yang’s shirt.
“Will that person named Chu Zimo die?”
“No,” Luo Yang said. “He just squeezed himself dry. After a long sleep and a few bags of supplemental fluids, he’ll probably wake up and go looking for his parents.”
“He was very scared.”
“That’s normal,” Luo Yang said as he pulled open the door of the off-road vehicle. “It’s more worrying when someone isn't afraid in a situation like this.”
Yan Zhi sat in the passenger seat and thought about it seriously.
“Are you afraid?”
Luo Yang started the car. The dashboard lit up, and the engine let out a low growl.
“...I’m afraid of being poor.”
Yan Zhi blinked.
“Oh.”
The off-road vehicle burst out from the gap near the cordon, its tires crunching over shell casings and gravel on the road.
Luo Yang pushed his mental power to its limit, quickly determining the movement path of those Level 3 mutant beasts.
They weren't pushing deeper into Yujing Garden; instead, they were circling toward the South Viaduct.
That was the primary route for the evacuation convoys. If it was breached, several temporary resettlement routes behind it would be cut off.
“That’s the place.”
Luo Yang slammed his foot on the gas.
The car surged forward. The cola in Yan Zhi’s arms sloshed, a few drops splashing onto the back of her hand.
She leaned down to lick them off, looking genuinely regretful about the loss.
Less than five minutes into the drive, a supply convoy suddenly appeared at an intersection ahead.
Six military trucks and two armored escort vehicles, their bodies covered in fireproof tarpaulins and marked with the A74 Army Group insignia.
A few soldiers were quickly checking the tires on the roadside, the air thick with the smell of diesel and hot metal.
The lead officer was a captain in his thirties, his face smeared with soot and an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.
Seeing an Ability Bureau vehicle charging toward them, he immediately signaled for it to stop.
“Area ahead is restricted! What unit are you with?”
Luo Yang braked to a halt, blue smoke rising as the tires screeched against the pavement.
He rolled down the window and got straight to the point.
“What are you carrying?”
The captain was taken aback.
“We’re transporting supplies. Weapons, ammunition, medical kits, and defensive line replacements. Who are you, anyway?”
“Perfect.” Luo Yang pushed the door open and stepped out. “I need weapons.”
“Huh?” The captain nearly bit through his cigarette. “You need what?”
“Grantee Longswords. I know you have them—give me as many as you can. Do you have any second-tier weapons? If so, I’ll take some of those too.”
“Bill it however you want—to the Ability Bureau or the military. They can argue about it later. Just give me the gear now.”
He spoke with such natural authority, it was as if he were buying a couple of bottles of water at a convenience store.
The captain’s head throbbed at the man’s sheer audacity.
“Brother, do you have any idea where this cargo is headed? The front lines! Every bit of it is for the front! You think you can just take it? Where’s your paperwork? Your requisition order? Who’s signing for this?”
Luo Yang unbuckled Night Owl-Slash from his waist and tossed it onto the hood of the car.
The black scabbard hit the metal with a heavy thud.
“Is this enough?”
The captain’s gaze fell on the blade, and his anger instantly stalled.
The Night Owl series.
It was mass-produced, but it was the latest model—only a few select squads in the entire army had been issued them.
Even his supply unit was only responsible for transporting them; they didn't have the clearance to carry them.
Anyone walking around with a Night Owl was either an elite groomed by the military or a monster from some special squad.
Looking at Luo Yang’s excessively young face and the scent of gunpowder and blood clinging to him, the captain swallowed his questions.
It pained him, but he felt he should hand over the supplies.
“...How much do you need?”
Luo Yang opened his space ring, his tone as casual as if he were ordering from a menu.
“Start with a hundred and twenty Grantee Longswords.”
“How many?!”
“A hundred and twenty,” Luo Yang said, glancing at him. “Can’t hear me? Is the artillery too loud?”
A soldier nearby couldn't help but mutter, “Is this guy using swords to pave a floor?”
The captain shot him a glare.
“Shut up and start unloading!”
The soldiers moved quickly, dragging black weapon crates off the trucks.
The latches were flipped, revealing rows of Grantee Longswords. Their silver blades reflected the flickering streetlights and distant fires.
Luo Yang stood by, a flick of his finger lifting bundles of swords as if by invisible hands, guiding them into his space ring.
One crate, two crates, three crates.
The captain’s expression grew increasingly pained.
“Is that enough?”
“Not yet.” Luo Yang didn't even look up. “Forty Armor-piercing Daggers and thirty Cloud-piercing Spears.”
“Armor-piercing Daggers and Cloud-piercing Spears are second-tier weapons! The melee teams on the defensive line are waiting for those!”
“Will they even survive long enough to see the supplies?” Luo Yang countered.
The captain opened his mouth but found no words.
A distant explosion shook the ground, making the truck tarpaulins flutter. The smell of blood in the air grew heavier. He cursed under his breath and waved to his men.
“Give them to him! Move! Don’t waste time!”
The Armor-piercing Daggers, Cloud-piercing Spears, and their replacement tips were all unloaded. Luo Yang took them all.
The interior of the space ring was packed tight; he could even feel the spatial fluctuations from the weapons pressing against each other.
Nearly two hundred pieces.
This ring, which had cost him half a year’s salary, was being pushed to its limit for the first time.
Luo Yang tucked the last two Cloud-piercing Spears away and buckled Night Owl-Slash back onto his waist.
“Thanks.”
The captain looked at his now significantly lightened inventory list, his face practically screaming, 'You’d better be worth this price.'
“Brother, can I get a name?”
Luo Yang was already back in the driver’s seat.
“Luo Yang.”
The captain’s expression shifted again upon hearing the name.
He seemed to have heard it before.
Yuanxing City, Luo Yang—the external expert who had supposedly fought alongside the Blade Squad to clear the core area of a Rift.
“If you’re done taking my stuff, get moving. The situation at the South Viaduct is looking grim.”
Luo Yang stepped on the gas, and the off-road vehicle roared away.
“That’s exactly where I’m headed.”
The taillights streaked like two red lines through the dust and smoke.
Yan Zhi sat in the passenger seat, clutching her empty cola bottle and looking at him.
“You took a lot of swords.”
“Yeah.”
“Will you return them?”
Luo Yang looked at the South Viaduct ahead, which was bathed in a fiery red glow. The plain glass lenses of his spectacles reflected the surging black shadows in the distance.
“Yeah.”
He paused.
“I’ll return a ground full of ash.”
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