One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

The moment King Nathan stepped out of the palace corridor, it was as if a layer of air had been sucked away from the entire square, and even the smoke from gun barrels seemed to linger in mid-air.

She wore a long, white-gold robe, its thick, flowing fabric billowing in a smooth arc across the ground. A simple, plain silk sash tied her waist, adorned with no other adornments. Her long hair cascaded down to her waist like a black waterfall, swaying gently in the evening breeze. Her face was serene and dignified, her features exquisitely detailed, like an ancient painting meticulously crafted. Her eyebrows were slightly raised, and her eyes swept over the corpses, bloodstains, and broken blades in the square, calm as a frozen pool, its depths unfathomable. Her steps were unhurried, each foot firmly planted on the center of the stone slabs, her feet landing without hesitation or tremor, as if she were traversing not the ruins ravaged by war, but the grand hall of a court assembly.

Her gaze finally settled on Elijah, her eyes filled with no anger, only a desolate emptiness after the autumn leaves had fallen.

"Elijah," she spoke, her voice low but resonant like the lingering echo of a bronze bell, silencing even the distant sporadic gunfire. "I have treated you well."

Elijah adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, the lenses reflecting the orange-red glow of the palace fire. His composed smile remained unchanged: "His Majesty has indeed treated me well. The provision of food and clothing, the trust and favor he has shown, and the position of one of the Nine Guards—all are acts of great kindness. It's just a pity that our paths diverge, and we cannot work together."

"Different paths?" King Nathan tilted his head slightly, a strand of long hair slipping from his shoulder. "Do you believe that destroying the divine tree is the right path? Do you think the lives of the thousands of people who were sheltered by the divine tree and allowed to survive and multiply on this island are not lives?"

Elijah lowered his hand from his glasses, his fingers clenching slightly until his knuckles turned white. "It's at least better than letting the tree continue to devour lives. Your Majesty, you know better than I what lies beneath its roots—the bones of those sacrificed have been piled up for thousands of years, their vengeful spirits still howling day and night beneath its roots. When you stood before the tree, couldn't you hear them?"

King Nathan's lips twitched, and his eyelids drooped slightly. The silence was excessively long, so long that the surrounding firelight flickered on and off seven or eight times on her profile.

Then she spoke, her voice weary like a dried-up riverbed: "Do you think... I wanted to do this? Do you think I didn't try to resist?"

She raised her eyes, her gaze fixed on the golden halo deep within the hall, her voice suddenly becoming so soft it was almost a soliloquy: "I was twenty-two when I ascended the throne. When the previous King Nathan handed over power before the sacred tree, he told me that the will of the sacred tree could not be defied, or the entire island would collapse into the sea. I didn't believe him. The following year, I secretly stopped the sacrifices. As a result, in the third month, the branches and leaves of the sacred tree began to wither, cracks appeared in the magical barrier on the island, and pirates and mercenaries swarmed in and slaughtered two villages."

She closed her eyes, letting out a barely audible sigh: "I watched that village burn all night long. I never dared to stop again."

Elijah paused for a moment, then said coldly, "So you'll continue sending people to their deaths?"

"I have no other choice." King Nathan's voice regained its kingly composure, but a tremor still lingered in the tone. "The Divine Tree is the foundation of this island. Without it, Nathan Island would sink, be destroyed, or be torn to pieces by powerful forces outside. I am protecting the thousands of living people."

"What difference is there between thousands of people living on an island built on bones and living in a tomb?" Elijah's voice suddenly rose a half-octave.

I said—

A foot suddenly stepped out from the side, making a rustling sound as the sole of the shoe crushed pebbles, followed by a loud voice with a drawn-out ending.

"Hey, you with the glasses!" Zhang Chulan strode between the two, still covered in dust and mud from the fight. He pointed at Elijah's nose, lightning crackling and dancing between his fingers, casting flickering light on his face. "Have you been reciting too many villain lines and convinced yourself? What's with all this 'Those who walk different paths cannot make plans together' and 'Living in the grave'? What are you reciting here? This is fighting time, can you be a little more professional? If you want to fight, draw your knives; if not, get lost. You've been babbling on and on, but you haven't managed to kill the Divine Tree!"

Elijah: "..."

His lips twitched, and his eyes behind his glasses went blank for a moment, as if his CPU had overheated and crashed for half a second.

Wang Zhenqiu covered his mouth from behind, his shoulders shaking as he suppressed a laugh. He lowered his voice and said to Lu Linglong, "Chu Lan's mouth, on the battlefield, is a debuff stronger than his lightning magic. Look, that bespectacled guy's face has turned blue."

Lu Linglong nodded in deep agreement: "I can relate. Last time in Northeast China, he confronted that Behemoth officer so badly that he almost threw his walkie-talkie on the spot."

Elijah took a deep breath, his chest heaving twice before he could suppress the urge that had risen to his throat. He adjusted his glasses, regaining his composure, but the smile on his lips was now more stiff than before: "Since you insist on interfering, don't blame me for being impolite."

He raised his right hand, his thumb and middle finger touching.

A crisp snap of fingers echoed across the square.

The next moment, the shadows around the palace began to stir simultaneously—behemoth's soldiers and cyborgs emerged like ants rising from the ground from behind the pillars of the side aisles, from gaps in the collapsed wall, and from the low bushes in the garden. Their boots crushed the grass sprouts in the cracks of the cobblestones, the butts of their rifles clinked against their belt buckles, and their footsteps blended into a muffled, throbbing sound, instantly enveloping the entire square in three layers.

"Holy crap!" Zhang Chulan jumped three feet high, almost tripping over the surging crowd. "Where did all those people hide? I couldn't see a single one!"

"Ambush." ​​Nie Lingfeng had already taken two steps back, standing back to back with Zhang Chulan, his tone as calm as if he were talking about the weather. "They were in position when Elijah held us off, waiting for everyone to gather in the center of the square before they appeared to surround us."

"That bastard's heart is black," Zhang Chulan cursed, but a grin spread across his face, and his eyes lit up. "So what do we do now?"

Nie Lingfeng gently handed Xiaoyun from his arms to Chen Duo, his fingertips touching the child's fluffy hair: "Duo'er, you protect Xiaoyun, you don't need to join the battle."

Chen Duo took the child, holding her securely in her arms, and nodded: "Understood. I won't let anyone touch her."

Xiao Yun perched on Chen Duo's shoulder, her two round, bright eyes curiously scanning the fierce-looking Behemoth soldiers around her. Far from being afraid, she pointed her chubby little hand at the nearest cyborg and giggled, "Fight! Fight! Fight! Uncle and Auntie, fight the bad guys! That big guy is so clumsy, he's wearing his boots on backwards!"

The cyborg being pointed at subconsciously glanced down at his feet—the boots were clearly the right left and right. When he looked up again, his expression was one of confusion and a bit of grievance.

Nie Lingfeng's lips relaxed slightly. He reached out and gently pressed down on Xiao Yun's head, then turned around to face the surging, dark tide. He slowly drew his Snow Drinking Blade from his waist. The blade emitted a long, clear hum as it left its sheath, the cold light on the surface flowing like water, reflecting the contours of half of his profile.

"Gentlemen," he began calmly, his voice low but clear enough to reach everyone's ears, "let's fight."

The moment he finished speaking, the stone slab beneath his feet cracked, and he transformed into a streak of silver-white light, piercing straight into the enemy ranks!

"Holy crap, Brother Nie is charging! Brothers, follow me!" Zhang Chulan roared at the top of his lungs, and blue and white arcs of electricity exploded around his body. The lightning enveloped his entire body into a jumping humanoid ball of electricity. He pushed off with his toes and shot out, only half a step slower than Nie Lingfeng!

"Wind God Leg!" Lu Linglong shouted, her figure spinning lightly as she leaped two meters into the air. Her right leg stretched into a straight arc in mid-air, and a swirling airflow gathered at her toes, slamming down on the top of a cyborg's head with a sharp whistling sound! The cyborg didn't have time to raise his arm to block, and was swept away by the kick, crashing into the ranks of three soldiers behind him, falling flat on his face!

"Yin Five Thunders - Northern Azure Pool!" Zhang Lingyu formed hand seals, and black lightning energy poured from his palms like viscous mud, spreading along the ground. Several cyborgs at the forefront sank into the mud, finding their feet firmly bound by the sticky black lightning energy. The more they struggled, the deeper they sank. The black energy climbed up their ankles, draining their strength, leaving them like withered trees rooted in a swamp, unable to move.

"Love Massage - Special Service Edition!" Wang Zhenqiu's figure flashed left and right in the crowd, making strange noises to provide himself with sound effects. In his hands, the three-section staff sometimes swept the legs with a hard stick, sometimes wrapped the neck with a soft chain, and the angle of each strike was extremely tricky. A cyborg raised his gun and aimed at his back, but the next second the side of his neck was precisely struck by the end of the staff, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the ground, even with a mouthful of saliva still in his mouth.

Feng Baobao didn't shout out any move names, nor did she take any unnecessary steps. She silently drew the katana she had seized from the ninja; the blade was narrow and long, its edge polished to a gleaming shine. Then she stepped into the crowd.

One step. The blade rises. A Behemoth soldier's gun barrel snaps in two, the broken iron pipe spinning and embedding itself in the shoulder armor of his comrade beside him. Two steps. The blade falls. The knees of two cyborgs burst simultaneously, one on each side, collapsing to the ground, struggling to rise. Three steps. She sidesteps a bullet, the blade slicing upwards along its trajectory, cleanly tearing the shooter's sleeve from his thumb to his elbow, his assault rifle slipping from his hand, his fingers still twitching. Her movements are as concise as shelling beans, without a single unnecessary flourish, each strike precisely hitting the edge of a vital point—not killing, but rendering each victim utterly incapable of fighting. She moves expressionlessly through the enemy ranks, a thin mist of blood settling on her shoulders, like a silent drizzle.