"Archer's aim!" the captain of the patrol troops ordered, and dozens of archers nocked their arrows and aimed at the approaching cavalry force.
Meanwhile, within the tightly packed group, Sol was pushed to the back by overzealous followers, burning with the fire of passion. A passion that faded the moment theirs ignited, and the once passionate general became a scheming strategist.
Riding from behind, he watched the crowd with a small smile playing on his lips.
The snapping sound of bowstrings cracked the air, and the whistling sound of arrows spread across the sky. But even now, Sol remained calm, the small smile still playing on his lips.
Heh!
With each man that fell to an arrow, Sol's smile widened. His joy doubled every time he heard their cries. Not because he resented them, but because their sacrifice felt like validation of his worth.
Their death cries were music to his ears.
Even under such conditions, his soldiers refused to break formation and continued charging forward, covering the distance between them and the final defense line at a terrifying speed. Some tried to return fire; however, under the sturdy shield wall, their attacks were useless. And under the deadly barrage of the enemy's sea of arrows, Sol's men stood no chance and kept dropping like flies.
Pa! Pa! Pa!
Ju Li was the last to fall.
Struck in the chest by three arrows, a smile bloomed on his face as he cupped his fists and looked over his shoulder.
"I will be going first…" His voice trailed off as his eyes dilated upon seeing the maddened expression on his master's face.
It was one of glee, ecstasy, and sheer madness. This was not the expression of a man who had just lost his most loyal subordinate.
"You have served your purpose. Now move!"
Sol raised his blade, hacking down at Ju Li's figure blocking his path.
Ju Li and several enemy troops were left dumbfounded as the blade fell, hacking the cavalry commander in two.
What?!
He didn't!
How could he?!
Even the enemies were shaken by Sol's cruelty, causing them to halt their attack for a moment—and that was all the time Sol needed.
As his horse crashed into the defensive wall, falling onto their spears, a thick shadow was cast over several archers stationed behind the shield wall. Their heads snapped up at the sight of one man hurling toward them like a cannonball.
LORD WANG!
BOOM!
Dragging the first head caught in his hand to the floor, Sol smashed it into a bloody paste as he landed roughly on one knee.
Gasps!
Like a wave, archers poured back, trying to get away from Sol. But their tight formation, once their strength, became a weakness, leaving them with no path of retreat.
Seeing them push against one another, a cold grin bloomed on Sol's ugly face as he sprang forward and swung.
Pffft!
Blood gushed in several directions as multiple heads were sent spinning into the air from a single sword swing. Terrified cries burst out within the enemy lines as Sol went on a killing spree.
His blade was like a beam of light, tearing through everyone and everything in sight. With a single swing, he could shatter the weapons of those who dared fight back, and with a single blow, he could split a metal shield in two.
THIS WAS WANG YAN!
Even though he was a far cry from Wang Chong in terms of physique, he was still a monster nonetheless.
"Die, you Wang pig!" someone yelled at the top of his voice.
Looking over, Sol chuckled at the sight of the patrol team captain hacking at him from horseback with a halberd.
"Scram!"
Sol's hand turned into a beam of white light and danced toward the falling halberd.
BOOM!
Several eyes widened in shock at the sight of their captain and his horse being knocked into the air, his halberd shattered into a thousand pieces.
Following this pattern, Sol demolished everyone in his path while walking toward Mount Hau. No matter how many swarmed him from all sides, his blade always found its way to their necks.
However, he was still only one man, and occasionally suffered cuts and shallow stab wounds.
Each cut and stab only made him fight fiercer, sending shivers down the spines of the men trying to kill him. If not for their fear of what might befall them should he survive, many would have already abandoned the thought of fighting him.
However, that was not the case.
Eventually, Sol's wounds began to hinder his fighting prowess.
Several minutes into the battle, his clothes were a bloody mess, soaked through with his own blood. Each step he took left a deep bloody footprint on the ground. Yet his eyes remained firm, and his heart beat with ecstasy as he walked amid hundreds of men riddled with cuts and wounds.
Surrounded by spears, none dared attack him. They only followed.
He had read about moments like this in books, comics, and even movies, but experiencing it himself was something entirely different.
The terror in their eyes.
The hesitation despite the overwhelming difference in numbers.
He was living the final moments of legends, about to be claimed by a warrior's death that would make his peers turn green with envy.
If only I had long hair and black robes, that would have made this moment perfect.
Sol looked toward the massive golden bell in the distance.
From here, it was much more detailed and magnificent.
"Well, I'll take this beautiful view as compensation."
Sol sighed inwardly. The second trial had no guide or specific task, so he followed his heart and did the best he could in every situation he found himself in. He had come so close to succeeding, yet it seemed he just wasn't sufficient.
U'tha.
Sol mumbled with a small smile.
Would it know I'm dead?
He couldn't help but wonder.
Just when things were at their worst, Sol had forced fate to align with his will. He had been given the chance to become an ascendant and even gained the support of a spirit patron without expending any effort.
Yet he failed to take advantage of it.
He could only blame himself.
Standing amidst hundreds of soldiers in a small pool of his own blood, Sol's grip on his sword never loosened. Neither did the smile on his face fade.
"Come on, lads. Let's dance till our hearts give out!"
From there, the world became a blur—filled with the clash of steel, the grunts of struggling men, and the death cries of those unfortunate enough to find themselves on the other side of Sol's blade.
Swarmed from left and right, he fought until the world turned dark and the earth went silent.
For the first time in a long while, he found peace.
Am I dead?
I could get used to this silence. It's not that bad, if you think about it.
Sol's memories slowly fluttered open, revealing what seemed like a dazzling sight from high atop a mountain. Thick vegetation sprawled across the highlands and hills of the region.
Wh… what is this…
His consciousness was dragged back into darkness before he could make sense of the scenery.
The world turned dark and peaceful once again—for a very long time.
Aah!
A soft groan escaped his lips as sharp pain flared in his abdomen. Instinctively, he grabbed his wound and slowly opened his eyes, only to shield them with his palm from the blinding sunlight.
Seconds later, his eyes adjusted, and he quickly noticed he was lying on a futon mattress, his body wrapped in bandages.
Judging from the pain and the bindings, Sol knew he was still in Wang Yan's body.
Meaning…
I survived?
Hehehe… the game continues then…
He giggled inwardly before coughing up blood, just as an inner disciple rushed into the room to attend to him.
Judging by his full head of hair, it was clear he was only a disciple. Yet even at his young age, he was skilled in medicine.
He opened the dressing, cleaned the wound, and rewrapped it with fresh cloth.
Once finished, he left the room and soon returned with a bowl of warm, dark-brown liquid.
It was obviously medicine.
Without hesitation, Sol drank the entire bowl, only to squeeze his face and hiss at the intense bitterness.
The boy laughed at his expression and slipped a red date into Sol's open mouth.
"You really are as brave as the stories say."
The boy's eyes sparkled with excitement, like a child meeting his favorite hero.
It took Sol a moment to realize the boy was referring to his last stand against the patrol team.
"Story? Tell me the story."
He chuckled, intrigued—only to be left dumbfounded by the outrageous version the boy told.
According to him, the deaths of previous messengers at the hands of Jin soldiers had not gone unnoticed. Shi Ming had stationed more warrior monks at defensive posts across the mountain.
That night, rebel forces—many larger than Sol's—attempted to reach the mountain's base. None could compare to his group, despite having the fewest men.
The boy recounted a guard's excitement at watching Sol's group smash through patrol teams one after another. Warrior monks were trained in martial arts, not warfare—two very different things.
That was why they dared not face the Jin Empire directly. The outcome was certain.
It was no surprise they were impressed when they finally met someone capable of commanding troops like a true general.
The boy continued, describing an increasingly exaggerated account of Sol's ride up the mountain. He claimed Sol led every charge and that each sword swing sent ten men flying.
But the exaggeration became absurd during the last stand.
Some claimed Sol fought ten thousand alone and killed five thousand by himself. Others said he lost consciousness while standing, and no one dared approach him—buying enough time for reinforcements to arrive.
He survived because his enemies were afraid of him.
Hearing this, Sol nearly spat blood in shock.
At last, he understood how outrageous legends and myths were born.
People of this era were so bored, they would invent anything to entertain themselves.