Chapter 26: Foreign Battle
The Fallen Star Sky Eye no longer retained its former eeriness. The blood-soaked ground had dried up after the destruction of the blood cherry tree, and the airborne blood residue had long been incinerated by the towering flames. This place, once a pristine paradise of blooming flowers, would likely soon regain its vibrant vitality.
The ground was now clear of debris. [Defective Goods] filled every crevice, while the bulky corpses of the Mothoan people had been cleared away. After tidying up, Liu Xiao followed the hanging basket he had used to descend, ascending slowly through the thick fog until he returned to the mountaintop.
Given his current understanding of the minor world, the only way to locate the beacon was to rely on his own two legs—the so-called "Bus No. 11." The Mirror Lake and Aden marked on the Mothoan's animal hide map, he speculated, were likely settlements.
Fortunately, there was no time limit. Having already reaped substantial benefits, he saw no need to rush.
Heading north, Liu Xiao strode boldly through the jungle. It wasn't that the Mothoan no longer posed a threat, but his current speed and agility far surpassed their ability to catch him.
Frail, Weak, Mortal, Strong—these were the four tiers of physical prowess before becoming a Walker, divided based on attribute thresholds of 25, 50, 75, and 100. By that measure, he truly belonged to the "Frail" category...
He was likely average among Earth's human males. Well, there was no denying it—Earth humans were pitifully feeble.
Pondering this philosophical quandary, Liu Xiao casually loosed an arrow.
A dark-green leopard tumbled from a nearby branch.
He raised his right hand, activating Blood Extraction.
From the leopard's pierced wound, a torrent of blood surged forth, swiftly converging into his palm and coalescing into a crimson arrow.
This blood-forged projectile could shift between soft and rigid states, its weight equal to the blood it contained.
Drawing the bowstring taut, he released it with a whoosh.
A series of thuds echoed through the wilderness.
Every tree trunk along the arrow's trajectory was pierced clean through until it embedded itself in a boulder and dissolved into a small pool of blood.
Liu Xiao couldn't be more satisfied. Blood-forged Soldiers granted him an endless supply of arrows, materialized almost instantly, drastically boosting his firing rate.
[T/N: The term 'Soldier' in Blood-forged Soldiers is metaphorical and open-ended referring to anything Liu Xiao creates]
His Spirit Sea's explosive attributes—vast reserves and rapid recovery—meant spiritual energy depletion was hardly a concern.
What a pity the Blood Demon Serken had been reduced to a lingering spirit. If his physical body had been devoured by the Pearl, then...
But then again, had Serken's body remained intact, would Liu Xiao have ever gotten this chance?
Instead of venturing west into the Smoke Marsh Wetlands marked by the Mothoan, Liu Xiao chose north—a region they had crossed out. His reasons were laughably simple: he disliked wetlands, and having already sampled Mothoan meat, he craved new flavors.
The journey was uneventful. Soon, he reached the northern edge of the fallen star sky eye's summit.
Standing at the cliff's edge, he gazed into the distance.
An unbroken expanse of forest stretched endlessly toward the horizon.
Eagle Eye!
A spectral eagle shot skyward from Liu Xiao's head, soaring into the clouds.
If this mountain isn't tall enough, I'll borrow the clouds' height!
Through the eagle's eyes, he glimpsed the forest's end: a gray-yellow desert. The boundary between forest and desert likely held something, though the angle obscured details. At least he now knew the terrain ahead.
Back on Earth, Liu Xiao had visited the arid northwest. He'd always appreciated wind-sculpted desolation—nothing could ambush you from nowhere.
Maybe the Mothoan hated dry places and crossed it out...
On Earth, spontaneous travel had been a luxury. Here, it was routine.
Descending swiftly, Liu Xiao darted through the woods like a leopard—no, faster and more agile.
The forest blurred past. Strange creatures scattered in panic. Occasionally, he paused to inspect peculiar flora, though his Appraisal Mastery remained rudimentary, reliant on accumulated knowledge. Instant expertise would trivialize this real world.
A herd of ox-like beasts grazed ahead. Mid-sprint, Liu Xiao fired three arrows. Six massive creatures collapsed. Blood pooled around them, morphing into shimmering crimson armor that radiated sanguine light.
Without breaking stride, he continued as if casually greeting passersby.
Clad in blood armor, the surrounding wildlife suffered. Blood arrows fired relentlessly—he refused to waste travel time, knowing Archery Mastery couldn't be leveled through shortcuts.
Sprinting through the forest, he aimed at moving targets. Fleeting crimson streaks pierced the foliage. Birds, beasts, insects—anything unlucky enough to cross his path—fell to his arrows.
He grasped the role of Burst Attributes. Explosive power amplified arrow velocity and lethality, while granting sudden accelerations.
Leaping 10 meters into the air, he landed lightly on a branch. Using its spring, he soared forward, loosing an arrow mid-flight—though his aim faltered, unaccustomed to the motion.
He'd only seen such parkour in ninja anime. Now, he performed it effortlessly.
The "arms-flailing sprint" pose, however, was idiotic and impractical—he dismissed it as biomechanically unsound.
Pausing beside a blue-blooded leopard corpse, Liu Xiao attempted blood extraction. The blue blood turned red upon contact. So much for azure armor.
He rested briefly, having covered dozens of kilometers.
A campfire crackled. He roasted the leopard whole.
Aroma wafted. Vines crept toward the scent, only to be hacked apart.
Devouring the meat, the Pearl's spirit stirred, absorbing the beast's essence to incrementally bolster his strength.
His Fortitude and Strength remained low but acceptable—he was an archer, not a frontline brawler. With enough feasting, he'd catch up.
When [Strength +1] flashed, he stopped eating. A bloated stomach and sprinting? A recipe for vomiting.
Burying the fire, he resumed his northern trek. Running and shooting made time fly.
As gray-yellow hues pierced the tree line, the forest's end arrived.
A system notification followed:
[Entered Galebreak Canyon. This region is currently a War Zone.]
Oh?
A War Zone?
The phrase sparked a mix of tension and excitement in Liu Xiao.
Releasing Eagle Eye, he surveyed the battlefield from above.
The gray-yellow desert showed no immediate signs of conflict. From his vantage, a colossal fissure snaked across the boundary between forest and wasteland, splitting the two landscapes—the Galebreak Canyon.
Stepping out of the forest, Liu Xiao stood atop the canyon's northern cliff.
The wind howled like wailing ghosts. This place should be called "Spectral Wail," not Galebreak.
The canyon's depth was immeasurable, vanishing into the horizon. Its width spanned a kilometer. Both cliffs bristled with flute-shaped organisms—tails anchored to rock, bodies swaying in the wind. Their collective wails filled the air.
Within the canyon—damn!
Two armies faced off. To the east: an endless black tide of insects. Two types dominated—Stagspurs, wolf-sized six-legged creatures with scissor-like heads and massive pincers, and Putrid Yama, gargantuan maggot-like broodmothers. Each Yama commanded hundreds of thousands of Stagspurs.
A kilometer of empty ground separated the forces. Liu Xiao's perch—300 meters above the canyon floor, centered between both sides—offered a perfect view.
The Kaldori held the windward position, awaiting the insect onslaught.
Tension thickened. War loomed.
Meanwhile, Liu Xiao sat cross-legged, gnawing on a roasted leopard leg.
Popcorn acquired. Snacks ready. Let the epic blockbuster begin.
Yet even after finishing his meal, the insect horde remained motionless.
The sole audience member grew impatient.
Have these two factions been stalemating for days? On Earth, we'd demand refunds!
Gritting his teeth, Liu Xiao nocked an arrow and loosed it at the nearest Putrid Yama.
A crimson streak cut through the canyon. Though gales deflected its path, the arrow struck the bloated maggot's flesh. Minimal damage, but enough.
A shrill scream erupted.
The injured Yama thrashed violently. Its Stagspurs stirred—either interpreting this as a Kaldori provocation or deciding to attack regardless.
Heh.
Liu Xiao smirked and sat back.
Showtime.
Dust clouds billowed as countless Stagspurs surged toward the Kaldori lines. Mindless of death, they obeyed their broodmother's command. Six legs churned sand, pincers snapping.
The Kaldori held formation, unshaken. A scout clinging to the cliffside shouted distance markers—inaudible over the din.
At 500 meters, tens of thousands of Kaldori archers drew bows. Front rows aimed straight, rear ranks angled skyward.
Silent from this height, Liu Xiao watched arrow clouds arc gracefully before raining down on the charging horde.
Instantly, Stagspurs beneath him fell—pinned, writhing, trampled by their kin into green sludge.
A second volley followed. Another wave collapsed.
Liu Xiao marveled at the Kaldori's discipline. Each archer stood immobile, firing in synchronized salvos. No wasted shots.
Area denial trumps precision in mass warfare.
By the third volley, Stagspur corpses formed speed bumps, hindering the advance.
Liu Xiao timed the intervals—two seconds per volley. Damn, these Kaldori are born archers.
Undeterred, Stagspurs scaled the cliffs in a three-dimensional assault.
Who knew bugs could think to move vertically?
At 300 meters, Kaldori frontline archers switched to precision shots. Cliff-climbing Stagspurs dodged the arrow storms.
200 meters. The Kaldori formation shifted. Rear ranks retreated while tens of thousands charged forward—bows in hand, quivers empty.
Liu Xiao realized their purpose.
They're sacrificing themselves.
To buy time and space for their kin, these warriors rushed to their deaths.
Like Liu Xiao, each Kaldori carried only 20 arrows. Once spent, they became living shields.
The humanoid wave crashed into the insect tide.
Carnage erupted. Stagspur pincers sheared through flesh. Kaldori archers behind them fired mercilessly—piercing both allies and foes.
This is a war of survival. A crucible.
Song Qingfang was right—this world was a Gu Jar, and all its inhabitants were worms fighting to the last.
The Kaldori's strength lay in discipline, archery mastery, and tactical rigor. The insects' advantage: fearless numbers, environmental adaptability, and close-quarters brutality.
Neither side guaranteed victory.
The first Kaldori suicide charge—a meat grinder tactic born of necessity. Those who survived and withdrew bore titles like Ten-Ant Slayer, preserved as elite seeds.
Liu Xiao suspected the Kaldori knew of the Origin's existence. Their standardized gear suggested either prior wartime mobilization or systemic preparation.
A society perpetually at war.
Wave after wave of Kaldori fell to pincers and friendly fire. The battlefield stewed in red and green blood.
Thanks to the Blood Pearl, even gore excites me now…
Insect losses mounted, but their advance inched forward. If they breached Kaldori lines, the archers were doomed.
Unseen by the horde, Kaldori forces retreated further back, erecting a second defensive line with waist-high stone barricades. The remaining frontline troops became sacrificial pawns.
Liu Xiao observed, absorbing lessons no university could teach.
Stagspurs finally shattered the first Kaldori formation.
Desperate archers swung bows like clubs, stabbed with arrows—futile against the vengeful horde.
Dead Kaldori lay dismembered. Had the Putrid Yama not prioritized advance, bones would've been picked clean.
The first line fell—a million Kaldori dead. Insect casualties exceeded theirs.
The Kaldori commander coldly exploited the sacrifice, raining arrows on the intermingled masses.
You ruthless bastard.
Liu Xiao simultaneously admired and reviled the decision. Would I do the same? If responsible for a race's survival… maybe.
Stagspurs now trampled over corpses toward the second line. Behind them, Putrid Yama sluggishly advanced.
Two hours in—millions dead.
Arrows fall like rain. Pincers drip with blood.
Another hour. The second Kaldori line collapsed. Insect numbers halved; another million Kaldori perished.
Then, the fatal flaw emerged.
They're running out of arrows.
An archer's tragedy—will to fight remains, but ammunition doesn't.
Supply lines strained. A two-minute lull in volleys sealed their fate.
Some arrowless Kaldori charged blindly—the first cracks in their discipline. Despair broke them.
Sigh.
Liu Xiao stood.
Since you look kinda human… fine. I'll help.