Forty Millenniums of Cultivation

“... so many people? ”

Looking at a pair of eyes with different colors, the light called "Expectations” shines like thousands of hot hands, to hold him high in the altar, Gus Bai Xing set, for the rest of the world.

Just three months ago, he was just an anonymous generation in a small town in the north, bullied and despised, a piece of cardboard dancing with the wind, born somehow and fighting for somehow.

And now, there are so many people out there who truly believe that he is the “Son” who can save the world, the savior who can lead them in their search for survival and combat meaning.

And he, as they so clearly expect, what kind of mission does he have, and where does he go?

Gus grabbed his lips and swallowed the confusion and helpless bitter smile into his stomach.

With his arms swinging, the teenager's face was decisive and he led the many steamers who had lost their way by deceiving themselves to move on.

Closer, closer, closer to the main battlefield.

This is borne out by the increasingly intense roar of the earth and the increasingly bloody smell in the air.

The main battlefield is only one step away from them. At this distance, the enemies and both of us are fighting like demonic voices, causing breathlessness, numb scalp and tight fists.

And the stacked, bloody smell is so intense that it gathers in a red gauze, making it like a fallen demon, inch by inch.

More and more fragmented bodies have emerged in the foreground.

And distorted deformation, burning war machines for bears.

Fist temple priests or dignified or sophisticated robes, trampled in mud by a pair of iron feet, along with the flesh and blood of the priests, were trampled into a bunch of purple red meat cakes.

Humans' broken bones stabbed the steam boiler into the hive of a hundred holes of sores, originally high and sharp whistles, because of the air leakage, they could only whimper with a ghost wolf howling.

Iron Fist and Steam Army, enemies who lived a long time ago, used every means to put each other to death - cutting axes, steaming, even fingering, biting each other with teeth, tearing each other's throats, drinking each other's blood until death engulfed each other's throats, and together they went to hell where none existed.

And after death, the corpses they wrapped around seemed as if they were still dying, a couple of double martyrs, even burned by the flames into a bunch of inseparable and strange statues.

The closer you go, the denser the twisted and strange statues, and the softer the earth at everyone's feet - this is literally the "Bloody Sea of the Dead Mountain," stepping on one foot, soaked in blood without the ankle of the rotten mud, and even feeling the sharp and finely broken bones beneath the rotten mud.

Gus has the most vision.

There's a valley ahead.

Early yesterday morning, an Iron Fist unit was ambushed by steam troops as they crossed the valley, causing heavy losses.

And in order to save the besieged remnants, the railway fighters, like angry wasps, approached the valley in an attempt to swallow the ambushers.

Nor did the ambushers hesitate to summon the reinforcements weakly, finally triggering a chain reaction and eliciting the main forces of both sides.

A small valley naturally cannot accommodate a duel between the two main forces.

After a heavy day and night battle, the main battlefield has been transferred to the plains north of the valley.

This valley, almost flooded with blood and remains, has been ignored by both sides.

Andrei on Gus's side, he's got a lot of combat experience.

Instead of rushing through the valley, the veterans of Gus, Grey and Andrei climbed the hills on both sides to see what was happening on the main battlefield north of the valley.

Though Gus has prepared himself.

But when he really stood on the hill, looking out over the battlefield, he was still deeply shocked, long overdue.

In front of him were dozens of miles of bloody battlefield.

After intense battles day and night, constant probing, penetration, propulsion and crushing, both sides lost clear boundaries and smooth command, resulting in canine teeth staggered and dead entanglement.

It's like seriously injuring two heads, but more ferocious, shooting out all the animals of hunting instinct, tearing each other's guts out in the most primitive and violent way.

Such a war has no rules and no sense of beauty.

It makes no sense to think of anything related to “glory”, “glory”, “the will of God" … or words like that.

Ugly, on the contrary.

On a battlefield that was cut to pieces, Gus saw hundreds of steam troops carrying crossbows, carrying flamethrowers, blaming them for pounding at several boxing temple priests.

These boxing temple priests, though divided and surrounded, appear fearless, as if they were rocks surrounded by tide.

They were surrounded by inviolable golden flashes, as if they were truly blessed by boxing gods, every punch, every foot, blasted across a thousand armies, blasted mad steam troops into blood water and meatcakes.

Like no matter how many tidal shocks, it's impossible to wash down the reef.

But the temple priest is not a real reef after all.

Not to mention the insane will of the steamers, like a fiery flame that melts steel.

Not metaphorically, but literally - dozens of fanatical believers lit the flame oil in the cylinder, and even turned themselves into torches burned by bear bears, approaching the temple priest in this way, more believers concentrated on crossbows, steam guns and flamethrowers, sweeping across their heads and heads, finally smashing the line and will of the temple priest, turning themselves and their opponents into a sparkling spark in the bloody sea of the dead mountains.

On the other front, Gus saw an ugly war machine like Castle Black Iron.

They are like an upgraded version of the steam cannon that Gus saw in Qianyuan City, with rusty iron sheets simply and roughly connected together by countless rivets, powered by a steam furnace that leaks and "squeaks”.

Due to insufficient combustion, the war machinery surrounded by intense black smoke, as if it were a black-sprayed dragon.

Such a simple design and assembly process, without compromising its power, every sound of steam cannon will kill a flesh-flying road ahead, the low-strength ordinary Iron Fist Army can not hold the power of a cannon, before the division, the five dirty six hearts become a blistering blood, even the powerful boxing temple priest, is often bombarded by heavy artillery, fractured, paralyzed to the ground, can only watch the tracks of war machinery, the mountains fall over the sea, crushed them and their faith, all crushed into mud.