The one standing in Yi Dao path was Zheng Daniu.
Zheng Daniu had no martial arts to speak of. When the saber came down, he barely had time to register what was happening before the blade struck him squarely in the chest.
Clang!
The sound rang out sharp and metallic.
Zheng Daniu stumbled backward, heart leaping into his throat.
"Whoa—!"
The blow had scared him half to death. But when he looked down and realized nothing hurt—when he felt no pain at all—his panic froze, then melted.
A wide, foolish grin slowly spread across his face.
The Two-Plate Armor Gao Yiyi had forged for him was doing its job perfectly: a massive slab of iron covering his entire front, crude but brutally effective.
Yi Dao eyes widened.
He cursed inwardly and swung again, this time aiming cleanly for Zheng Daniu's neck.
Surely your damn neck isn't iron too, he thought.
But halfway through the swing, something went wrong.
His saber stopped.
Not slowed—stopped, hanging motionless in mid-air.
Yi Dao froze.
"Huh?"
He tugged.
Nothing moved.
"What…?"
There was nothing in front of him. No weapon. No obstacle. Just empty air.
So what, exactly, was holding his blade?
The answer, naturally, was Li Daoxuan.
Tianzun had always been partial. To him, the lives of his tiny people were infinitely more valuable than anyone else's. And besides—Zheng Daniu had contributed an impressive amount to his diorama income.
This particular little person was absolutely not allowed to die.
Seeing the saber flash toward Zheng Daniu's neck, Li Daoxuan calmly extended two fingers and pinched.
The blade froze.
Yi Dao strained, muscles bulging, veins standing out as he tried to wrench his saber free.
Useless.
From a distance, Gao Yiye shouted, exasperated,
"Zheng Daniu! Tianzun has frozen his blade for you! What are you grinning at like an idiot?!"
"Huh? Wh—what?" Zheng Daniu stammered.
He snapped back to reality and raised his axe.
This part, at least, he knew how to do.
For days now, he'd been chopping trees on the hillside—thick ones, stubborn ones—hauling logs back for the sculptors to carve wooden figures. In exchange, the Dao Xuan Tianzun rewarded him generously: basin after basin of Happy Fat Water.
After more than ten days of such indulgence, Zheng Daniu had grown noticeably heavier.
And stronger.
His horizontal axe swing carried terrifying force—enough that even century-old trees might consider ripping themselves out of the ground and fleeing.
The thick cowhide armor on Yi Dao body didn't stand a chance.
Thwack!
The sound was dull, heavy.
Agony exploded through Yi Dao chest and abdomen. He looked down in disbelief as the axe tore through his armor, ripping it open like rotten bark. Blood poured out in a rush.
He lifted his head, eyes unfocused, glanced vaguely toward the sky—
—and fell backward.
Zheng Daniu raised his axe and roared,
"Dao Xuan Tianzun protect us!"
Nearby villagers echoed him instinctively.
"Dao Xuan Tianzun protect us!"
"Dao Xuan Tianzun protect us!"
At the front of the battlefield, the bandit leader—the Supreme Bright King—was finally beginning to sense that something was wrong.
As leader, he had charged ahead naturally, taking the fiercest subordinates with him. When the catapults fired, the stones landed behind him.
If they didn't hit him, he wasn't afraid.
When they reached the city wall, he didn't climb it himself. He stood below, waving his ghost-head saber, urging others forward.
So the boiling oil never poured on his head.
Again, the logic held: if it didn't hit him, he wasn't afraid.
He continued shouting orders, screaming himself hoarse, urging men to mount the ladders and storm the wall.
But gradually, something felt… off.
The noise behind him was thinning.
"Huh?" he muttered. "Where's my army of twelve hundred?"
He turned around.
Behind him stood not an army—but a few dozen scattered figures.
That was all.
The catapult stones had been slamming into the bandit ranks nonstop. Just the first wave alone had sent twenty massive boulders crashing down. Morale shattered with every impact.
The bandits at the rear had long since lost the will to advance. Step by step, they retreated—then broke—then fled entirely.
And so, the bandits who reached the wall first were left alone.
One fell with each stone.
One fell with each pour of boiling oil.
One fell with each scream cut short at the end of a spear.
The Supreme Bright King stood too far forward, too deep in the chaos to notice.
Only now—when he turned his head—did reality finally catch up with him.
In that moment, he understood what "the defender has the advantage" truly meant.
This was his first siege. Everything he knew came from storytellers and street crosstalk—put up ladders, climb, win.
Reality was merciless.
A bandit leader could not command morale.
At last, panic took him.
"Retreat!" he roared. "Fall back! Retreat!"
He turned and ran.
The remaining bandits followed him without hesitation.
On the wall, Master Bai raised a hand.
"Bring me a bow!"
A retainer immediately handed him a hunting bow, already preparing a loud compliment.
Master Bai nocked an arrow, aimed carefully at the Supreme Bright King's back, and released.
Twng—
The arrow flew like a startled swan.
Whoosh.
It passed a few feet wide.
The retainer froze.
No one spoke.
Master Bai coughed lightly, his face reddening. He shoved the bow into the retainer's hands, clapped once, and declared, "I will focus on command."
Archery, one of the six gentlemanly arts, was mentally crossed off.
It didn't matter.
The bandits were retreating. Pressure on the wall vanished.
Cheers erupted.
"We won!"
"We stopped them!"
"Gao Family Village is safe!"
"Dao Xuan Tianzun protect us!"
But Master Bai's voice cut through the celebration.
"What are you cheering for?" he demanded. "The bandit chief escaped! That Supreme Bright King will hold a grudge. He may return at any time—ambush, feigned retreat—"
The villagers froze.
They understood immediately.
It wasn't the thief you feared.
It was the thief who remembered you.
Then Gao Yiye's voice rang out, clear and confident.
"Everyone, look carefully! Dao Xuan Tianzun is about to erase our future troubles."
The villagers' faces lit up.
The sky darkened.
Thunder rolled.
An invisible pressure descended as if a colossal being were pushing aside the clouds. Wind whipped outward, dust spiraling in a widening circle.
Then—
BOOM!
The earth collapsed.
Mountains shuddered.
The Supreme Bright King—and every subordinate within thirty feet—was crushed flat.
The ground caved inward, forming a gigantic handprint.
At its center lay the Supreme Bright King's remains, spread thin and silent.
No escape.