Forty Millenniums of Cultivation

Traces of large-scale steam troop movements, so-called "pull and move”, cannot be unmastered by the Temple of Fist.

The main force of the Iron Fist Army was already searching for a strategic showdown with the Steam Army, which no longer concealed its true strength. Dozens of troops and hundreds of fist temple priests, like a flock of angry wasps, approached the village where Gus was.

On a hundred miles of strategic ground, the two elites have been entwined by death, performing a narrow road to meet the brave winner to the death.

And more troops are coming from all sides, enriching their own fugitive teams.

It was like a monster with dozens of heads on each side, opening hundreds of blood basins and biting each other tightly. This side was already covered with scales and blood, but the other side was still expanding and growing, and staring at each other without turning a blind eye, ready to give each other a fatal blow.

A bloody storm has broken out on a 100-mile front.

The small village where Gus lived, like the heart of a storm, maintained a fragile calm.

Speaking of which, he was responsible for the duel between the two sides.

But in fact, he was like an unprecedented fuse to the Big Bang, and without him, the explosion was just a matter of time.

Therefore, after the two main forces did collide so hard, the commanders of each other focused all their attention on the other, forgetting his existence.

In particular, the commander of the Southern Steam Army neither wants the so-called "Son” to gain more influence to the point of affecting his position, nor does he want the "Son” to be captured and killed by the enemy, causing a devastating blow to morale.

The so-called "Son”, like a mascot, is best kept in the safer rear.

Yes, over the next few days, Gus's body has recovered, but he has not been able to get to the front line of the most intense fight, not even to meet the Southern Steam Army senior and commander.

One of the most frequently seen was the wounded from the front line, as well as the elderly and weak women and children who were responsible for caring for the wounded.

The steam army treated his village as a field hospital.

Of course, the world of boxing gods has just developed into the budding phase of the steam age, the concept of so-called "field hospital” is actually extremely imperfect. For the wounded with broken bones and even blurred flesh, there is not a very good way to treat it. Aside from applying and wrapping it with placebo-like herbs, we can only expect him as a "Son”, which can bring the miracle of becoming more and more ineffective.

Unfortunately, miracles are things that cannot be replicated.

A few sleepless days and nights, Gus stayed with those wounded who were bleeding like bets or even adults and prayed and healed them clumsily.

But the only thing he could do was listen to each other's moaning faintly before he died, and then watch the wounded spit out a dim blood bubble, one after the other, until the last.

Though their enemies tend to punch with bare hands.

But the brutally trained Iron Fist Army, whose body is like steel, double-fisted more like a siege hammer and heavy artillery, when dancing wildly, has a power of tens of millions of kilograms, which is literally “Die if you touch it, and die if you rub it”.

Rather than sending the wounded from such iron fist bombardments to the rear for medical treatment, they would rather not die tragically on the front line, lest morale be undermined.

Though not many wounded were saved, no one blamed Gus for not doing his best.

Everyone remains convinced of his “Son” identity and even rumours that if he dies in Gus' prayer, his soul can follow the steam upright to true heaven.

As a result, more Gus was needed, and many more were seriously injured and caught up in death obsessive wounds, and could not wait to die in Gus' prayers.

There are also elderly and weak women and children who care for the wounded - there are no full-time doctors and nurses at all in the field hospitals of the world of boxing gods, who care for the wounded, rather than civilians affected by the war and displaced.

Many of the children's parents are steam-religious fanatics, who may have been turned into a beach of mud by the enemy's indiscriminate bombardment of iron fists in a fiercely fearless attack.

Such a child, all of whom became Gus's loyalty and fanatically worshipped him, was like an indelible little tail, following Gus day and night.

And Gus also heard stories from countless mechanical and steam fanatics among the wounded and fanatical little admirers.

Actually, it's not unusual.

It's just how the temple of boxing can conquer the bulge, making people unable to survive, and it's also a hard fight against various and mechanical and steam-related inventions. Ultimately, officials force people to do the opposite.

But these have happened countless times, and countless stories will happen in the future, coming out of a blood-sprayed mouth, sprayed out of a pair of innocent eyes, written with only a twisted, shivering hand, and the shock to Gus is particularly strong.

It's a deformed world.

Gus never realized this more profoundly before he watched hundreds of people die in the midst of a thorny, blurred and brutal form.

Thousands of bugs, die without rigidity, even if this place is called a "strategic duel”, the steam army really won, does not mean that the entire armies of the Iron Fist Army have collapsed and the rule of the Temple of Fist has completely collapsed.

The steam army will consolidate the rule of the South at best, and then the world of boxing will enter a state of confrontation between the North and the South.

Over the next hundred years or even a thousand years, countless corpses will continue to ravage and bloody pestle, turning this world into Hell of Shura.

Even though mechanics and steam teachings have completely defeated the temple of boxing, bringing the whole world into the steam age, Gus has learned that steam civilization is not the highest form of civilization, and that one day new forces will rise and sweep the power of steam into the garbage heap of history in a depleted and decaying manner.

And how many innocent people will die in the process?

Gus doesn't know.

He's very tangled.

Holding the cooling hands of the wounded soldiers - many of them much older than him, greener faces extraordinarily pale under the backdrop of red blood, listening to them mumble the names of their father, mother and beloved girl, Gus really, really can't stop treating them like living, fleshy people.

But he, too, must not accept that Gus watches the world of boxing gods plunge into centuries or even millennial blood wars, so that those who live with flesh and blood, like him, become a meaningless casualty figure in Hell Shura.

“Wouldn't it be nice if there was a perfect paradise where everyone could be transferred into a carefree, forgetful life? ”

Late in the night, when he curled tirelessly around the corner of the bed to take a nap, this ghost thought emerged uncontrollably.