"May the Emperor's reign be blessed by heaven, ever enduring and prosperous!" "Long live the Emperor! Long live the Emperor! Long live the Emperor!" Zhang Yuanqing gazed at the streak of swordlight on the horizon, nearly overcome with joy, thinking: "You deadbeat, you've finally arrived! If you don't come, the brother you trust and rely on will be overwhelmed!" Of course, before countless defenders, he had to maintain his dignity, stepping forward with a solemn voice: "My Grand Marshal has come to reinforce the capital!" Only then did the crowd notice the swordlight, which resembled a falling star. At first, it was still distant; within just a few blinks, it surged with wind and thunder, descending upon the city walls, and only then did the sound of sonic booms, like thunder, arrive in a delayed rush. Upon closer inspection, the figure was handsome, clad in a blood-stained armor, draped in a magnificent black cloak embroidered with golden threads—majestic yet striking, striking yet resolute. It was none other than Yang Ce, the commander of Lingxia. Fu Qingyang's calm, deep gaze swept across the assembly, settling on Zhang Yuanqing. The latter immediately stepped to the city wall, standing beside Fu Qingyang, together facing the enemy above. "All our enemies in the capital have been eliminated, but Xiao Yuan, Gong Zhu, and the Qinglong Hall Master have fallen victim to the corpse spell, with their vital yang energy compromised—unable to fight anymore. They can only provide support, healing us occasionally." Zhang Yuanqing spoke in a low tone, delivering the situation with the most concise language. "I've kept the Magi Eye and Xia Hou Aotian stationed at Linxia to tie down the northern dynasty's main forces. Only eight hundred elite troops are accompanying us." Fu Qingyang's report was even more succinct. On the other hand, Tao Bao Guanghe waited a moment, seeing no more master-tier champions arriving. Finally, he turned his gaze toward Yang Ce and Zhao Shun atop the city walls—two key figures of the Southern Dynasty—his voice resonating like thunder: "Yang Ce, without the aid of the Wuyan warriors and that persistent armorer, your hour has come. Dare you fight me?" From his standing, it was clear that the red-clad woman holding the bronze pitcher was choked with cold qi, her spiritual energy flowing sluggishly; though she held the rank of a master, she was effectively a mere figurehead. The strange-looking entity in the garb of a shadow was even less of a threat—only one punch would suffice to dispatch it. As for Zhao Shun, he had already assessed his strength: he could defeat him in three moves. None of the three masters posed a serious challenge. Yang Ce, too, was no match for him—his assault on the capital was inevitable. Fu Qingyang and Zhang Yuanqing exchanged glances; the former remained composed and cold, while the latter looked resolute. The cloak flapped in the night breeze, Fu Qingyang lifted his head and coldly gazed at Tuoba Guanghe, saying, "Tuoba, you've traversed the northern and southern martial realms, defeated countless martial men, and only sought a single defeat—entering the court as a general, campaigning north and south for over a decade, yet never suffered a single setback. I'd like to know: on the battlefield, is it the master craftsman who reigns supreme, or the ancient war god who truly stands tall?" Four hundred heavily armored cavalry surged forward, their heavy hooves causing slight tremors in the ground. The warhorses of Juque were among the strongest and tallest breeds from the grasslands. The grassland tribes disliked them, as they were not swift or agile, possessing strong burst power but lacking endurance. Though excellent for charging assaults, they were unsuitable for long-distance raids or prolonged campaigns. However, by the time of the Northern Dynasties, equipped with advanced metallurgy, these horses had become the battlefield's crushing force—repeatedly charging and trampling the enemy. Facing the surging tide of steel, two thousand soldiers remained calm. The front rank of one hundred soldiers bent low and swung their battle axes precisely at the horses' legs. The warhorses cried out, fell to the ground, and the Juque soldiers on their backs rolled off. Behind them, the heavy cavalry surged forward, lightly cutting off the heads of those who had been struck in the legs. One Juque soldier, having been thrown and rolling several times, managed to rise only to be pierced through the heart by a spear from the advancing Southern Dynasty troops. The Juque army soldier snarled, then thrust his sword through the chest of the officer, spilling blood that did not drip but instead transformed into ethereal mist, entering the soldier's nasal passages as a nourishing elixir to restore his health and heal his wounds. "Poof!" From the side, a soldier materialized like a ghost, severing the head of a Juque soldier with a single stroke. Yet, as he completed the kill, he was split in two by the heavy cavalry charging from behind. The armored cavalry advanced like a sharp blade, piercing directly through the abdomen of the two thousand defenders and cleaving the formation in half. Tuoba Guang governed his troops with strict discipline and rigorous training, especially the Juque army—each soldier was carefully selected as a top-tier elite and personally trained under his guidance for ten years before achieving their current strength. Among the 500 Juque soldiers, the standard for ordinary troops was a first-tier master (Level 3). A team leader (shizhang) reached the early stage of a minor master, while a centurion (bifuchang) attained the full stage of a minor master. The commanders at the division level held the rank of Such a force, led personally by him, could penetrate a formation of ten thousand infantry or annihilate an entire state. The southern dynasty's two thousand infantry fell in thick waves. At that moment, Fu Qingyang suddenly pulled his right hand toward the distant horizon, and a deluge of flames surged forth, striking the cavalry formation of Ju Que. Instantly, explosions roared across the battlefield; armored horses were either uprooted by the shockwave or reduced to splinters, with several Ju Que soldiers falling dead on the spot. The sound of horse hooves surged like a tide, and eight hundred elite cavalry advanced, inserting themselves into the left flank of the Ju Que army. The front rank of cavalry carried one-meter-high shields, advancing with the strength of earth-moving machinery. Each shield bearer was a robust man, broad-shouldered and thick-set, with arms as thick as a woman's waist. The second rank of cavalry were strong and powerful, wielding long-handled sabers that could cleave both man and horse in a single stroke. The third rank consisted of cavalry displaying restlessness and vigor, armed with ordinary battle axes. The fourth rank consisted of sword-and-bow archers who, standing up on their stirrups with synchronized, precise movements, drew and loosed their arrows—each striking true, hitting the necks of horses and the throats of heavily armored cavalry with flawless accuracy. As the shielded cavalry surged forward, they knocked the heavily armored cavalry of Juque into disarray, some even falling to the ground with their horses. Then, the powerful squad of sabre-cutters broke through, delivering decisive blows that severed both man and horse at the very moment of impact. Throughout this sequence, the archers at the rear continuously drew and fired, providing steady support to their comrades. Once the sabre-cutters had exhausted their momentum, the third rank of fire engineers renewed the assault, launching a relentless wave of fire that reinforced the attack on the disorganized Juque forces. The fighting became fierce and intense. Fu Qingyang observed the battlefield with a composed, stern expression. With sudden, rapid flicks of his fingers and then swift pulls, he orchestrated the movements of two thousand infantry and eight hundred cavalry—dividing and reuniting at will, targeting the enemy's vulnerable points, feigning attacks to draw attention, and thereby securing cover for his allies launching strikes Yan Shi's control of the soldiers' figures is divided into deep and shallow manipulation. Deep manipulation involves transforming the "soldier figures" into emotionless, insensate units, then transmitting his own power through "threads" to these figures. With one person, he commands an army of thousands, much like two thousand soldiers from the Southern Dynasties. Shallow manipulation, on the other hand, involves merely conveying commands via threads, while the figures retain control over their own bodies. This method is typically used when all the figures are spiritual travelers from the realm of the Spirit. It allows the figures to fully unleash their own combat capabilities—such as with an army of eight hundred cavalry. "Commander Yang, your control of the figures is rather ordinary. Let our troops show him what we're truly capable of," said a fog master from Ju Que Army, who deeply inhaled and exhaled in a powerful stream of white mist, which quickly spread out. The fog masters of Ju Que Army followed suit, each swallowing clouds and spewing mist, and soon a thick veil of fog completely covered the open fields beyond the city, fully concealing both armies. Fu Qingyang's perception ability was no longer effective. Footsteps, the clashing of lances, the sound of sharp blades cutting through bodies—echoed through the mist. The garrison on the city walls crouched against the parapets, eyes wide open, striving to make out the battlefield, yet the thick fog obscured everything. They could only hear the sounds, not see the figures. Fu Qingyang felt the silk threads at his fingertips one by one snapping, each one severing the connection of a "soldier-spirit." In that brief minute, six hundred threads broke—six hundred soldiers fell, and the number kept rising. The soldier-spirits, though not quite the shadow-bodied immortals of Xiu Youshen, could not share vision. The dense fog blocked their sight, dampening the scouts' keen perception. Fu Qingyang now felt as though his eyes had been closed. With this situation continuing, defeat was inevitable. Beyond the thick mist, Tao Bao Guang smiled, his voice resonant and strong: "Yang Ce, our general hasn't even stepped forward yet. Now you know who's truly ruling the battlefield?" Tuo Ba Guanghe's expression changed instantly; thunder rolled in his ears, his heart pounded, and his limbs trembled. Though he had fought across battlefields for years, having slain countless lives, he now felt an unspoken fear. His gaze pierced through the thick mist, following the sound, and he saw Zhao Shun standing before a large drum wrapped in deep green animal hide, holding a slender, white thigh bone and striking it with determined force. "Dong, dongdong, dongdongdong…" The drumbeats grew denser, faster. Each strike felt like a heavy hammer pounding directly upon his heart, stirring his blood and impeding his spiritual energy. From within the mist, a figure emerged—mounted cavalry of Ju Que Army. Then another, then a third, then a fourth—more and more troops surged forth, scattering in panic, their faces twisted with fear. "Beyond your body's three feet of snow, who else could wear white robes and match your grace?" Zhang Yuanqing laughed heartily. "General Yang, I shall personally beat the drum for you. You need only to summon your flying swords and strike down the enemy commanders." "This is Zhang Yuanqing's most precious piece. The Kuibao Drum was captured during the battle in which the third elder of the Southern School was defeated—it's an elite artifact that activates during the main phase. According to Xiahou Aotian, who learned this from the Elder in his ring, the Kuibao Drum originally had eighty faces, crafted by the Heavenly Nine-Heaven Consort for Huangdi. When struck, it could shake the ground for five hundred li, and with repeated strikes, extend that reach to three thousand six hundred li, completely shattering the enemy's morale and causing them to collapse like mountains. The Elder also told Xiahou Aotian that the Heavenly Nine-Heaven Consort is a semi-divine scholar, and serves as the ancestral figure for all the scholars and alchemists among them. The drum's power is immense, yet its demands are extremely rigorous: the person striking it must remain fully focused, unable to use any skills or artifacts, and must possess a sufficiently strong spiritual body to withstand the counter-effects of the drum. Thus, during the original battle, it was the third elder of the Southern School—the master of illusion magic—whose powerful spiritual body allowed him to endure the drum's effects, placing him among When the Grand Master was engaged, this piece of equipment held little significance. On one hand, the Grand Master was nearly immortal, and the drum's assault could not kill him. On the other hand, our main forces were still insufficient; if the Grand Master were further restrained by the Kuibi drum, the younger officers—especially Xiao Yuan and the others—would be unable to hold their own against him, and they would also be unable to use the Kuibi drum. Fu Qingyang’s ever-stable, ice-cold expression finally broke into a smile. Below the city, Lady Yin Yao removed her little red hat and joyfully gathered the corpses of the Juque army.