It wasn't just Da Niu. The two men facing Jiang Yunhan were in trouble, too — both S-rank talent holders: one a brute of strength, the other a blur of speed.
Their reputations were different, but both could be deadly. Still, Jiang Yunhan fought like a guerrilla: hit-and-run tactics that rendered their specialized strengths useless. Even when they landed blows, a green light flashed around him and he bounced back like a war god reborn.
Chen Xiao ignored the five S-rank fighters and strode straight for the main body of the enemy force. "Leave the five to those two," he said, nodding toward Jiang Yunhan and the little monk.
Jiang Yunhan blinked, incredulous. Did Chen Xiao really mean it? Let him contend with five S-ranks?
Before anyone could object, two of the S-ranks lunged in a surprise attack. Jiang Yunhan cried out and staggered back, forced to recalculate. In his head he did the math: these five were S-rank, but low-tier — no Lü Xingji, no Liu Chang'an. He and the little monk could handle them. "You take two, I'll take three," he barked, dividing the fight and choosing to push himself beyond his limits.
Chen Xiao became a black flash charging into the fray.
"Charge!" Xu Yun roared to his men. "Teach him what power means!"
The main body surged forward, confidence high: dozens of A-rank fighters, scores of B and C holders. Even with a peerless SSS fighter, they believed the numbers would overwhelm anyone.
Chen Xiao gripped the Water Longsword. The blade gave off a pale blue sheen. He moved through the ranks like a startled swan and a swimming dragon merged — graceful, lethal. Each arc of his blade bloomed into a water-lily-shaped curtain, crystalline streaks cutting the air. Weapons shattered to powder wherever the light cleaved.
All Things Water, unleashed, proved devastatingly versatile — offensive and defensive all at once. Chen Xiao cut a swath through the enemy: fast, clean kills; parries that rendered incoming blows meaningless. The crowd's morale collapsed in minutes.
"What the hell is that?" someone spat. "We can't even hit him — that water screen is blocking everything!"
"Lao Wu went down with one strike and didn't even bleed. This is unreal!"
Xu Yun watched his well-trained force crumble. Panic sharpened in his eyes. In a desperate bid to turn the tide he barked an order: "Gunner team, open fire!"
At the rear of their ranks a line of assault rifles replied — a shower of bullets, modern technology's answer to Chen Xiao's blade. The scene flipped instantaneously: a hail of lead, soldiers falling, the tide seeming to return.
For a heartbeat the three friends were vulnerable. Jiang Yunhan darted to shield Jiang Chuxue; the little monk's eyes widened at the sound of automatic fire — a primal human panic rising in him.
Then a vast water curtain soared into the sky.
It painted a shimmering dome across the battlefield. Bullets ricocheted off, raising only tiny splashes — unable to penetrate. Chen Xiao had poured virtually all of All Things Water into a single defensive wall.
"Water Prison," he said, voice flat and steady.
Around them people stared, mouths open. "Is this still the real world?" a man whispered. "Even an AK can't pierce that?"
Chen Xiao scanned the field and, with cold efficiency, found another target. He moved like a precise instrument, catching foes the way a calculator lands exact figures.
Someone nearby muttered incredulously, "Damn, are you a living calculator? That accuracy…"
Chen Xiao's blade flashed. He reached out and clipped another man with the flat of his sword — not to kill, but to neutralize with precision. The skirmish turned into a rout. In mere moments Chen Xiao had carved through thirty-plus enemies; an earbud chimed as a number flashed — evolution points skyrocketing into the thousands. 6,100. The figure made nearby fighters' jaws drop.
Xu Yun's expression blackened. His carefully built base, his assembled A-rank core — all were bleeding fast. The five S-rank lieutenants were tangled by Jiang Yunhan and the little monk; the bulk of his force was being shredded. The warehouse's supposed domination looked fragile.
In mounting desperation, Xu Yun sent more troops forward, but the tide had already broken. The attackers faltered; fear spread like a contagion.
Chen Xiao fought with calm precision — every strike economical, every movement designed to finish an opponent with minimal waste. He felt no glee, only the cold clarity of someone who had made this style of combat his instrument.
The little monk, recovering from a stray blow that had spun him through the air, steadied himself and braced anew. His face hardened. "I'll get serious," he said, voice small but resolute.
Jiang Yunhan, embarrassed and awed in equal measure, watched Chen Xiao like a man peering at an idol. He had always considered himself a top-end genius in this broken world — and yet, before Chen Xiao, he felt like a child.
The attackers' morale collapsed. Men who had swaggered moments ago now stared with hollowed eyes. Where did such power come from? Was this cultivation? Sorcery? An artifact? Whatever it was, it wasn't the same plane they'd been fighting on.
Xu Yun, at last, lifted his voice and ordered a flank — a volley meant to punish, to scatter. But Chen Xiao's Water Prison held. Bullets thudded harmlessly against the shimmering shield.
An alarmed cry rose from the enemy ranks as several of their number fell to Chen Xiao's blade with horrifying speed. "Fire! Keep shooting!" someone screamed, but their roars lost power as the water continued to protect.
Then Xu Yun's own trump card roared to life — but not until after Chen Xiao had already forced the field. At the very tail of the hundred-strong line a unit of gunmen opened up, bullets punching into walls and men alike. Lined with modern firepower, they should have turned the fight.
Instead, they watched in disbelief as bullets met the water dome and fizzed into harmless ripples. That same water then turned into a cage, wrapping around groups of attackers like a net. The little monk's eyes widened. The scene — hellish, surreal — filled everyone's chest with dread.
"You…" someone said, voice shaking. "He used everything of All Things Water… on them."
Chen Xiao had done the hardest thing he knew: he had used the fullest extent of his power to shield allies, then chosen to fight head-on afterward. That was his domain — close, brutal combat — and where he shone the brightest.
He surged forward like a blade incarnate. Soldiers were cut down in a series of harsh, precise movements; men who'd boasted of invincibility crumpled under the onslaught. Time and again Chen Xiao struck the critical point, a flurry of small, devastating blows that left no time for recovery. Men who had never known defeat felt it now, as their muscles went slack and their will broke.
One after another, Chen Xiao seized foes with iron accuracy, neutralizing them and then moving on. He became the eye of a storm: every swing, every step, a controlled annihilation.
As the smoke cleared and the dust settled, the survivors — Xu Yun among them — looked upon the battlefield and found themselves utterly outmatched. Their A-rank holdouts were decimated, their S-ranks tied up or fallen, and the rest scattered.
Jiang Chuxue watched him with worshipful eyes; Jiang Yunhan's pride had been eaten away by awe. The little monk, now steady and fierce, had a new gleam — admiration mixed with a hungry determination.
Xu Yun, beaten but still breathing, realized the cost of his arrogance. He had thrown a hundred men at one man and lost everything. His voice was a hollow thing now. "He… is he even human?" he muttered.
Chen Xiao stood in the wreckage of the fight, the long sword dripping and the water curtain slowly dissipating into a mist. He looked like a man who'd done what had to be done and was already moving beyond it — unreadable, exacting, lethal.
The field around them was silent but for the ragged breaths of the living. Whatever Xu Yun had meant to control here, he had fatally misjudged. The grain warehouse's little empire had been cut down to size in a single, terrible hour.
Chen Xiao's eyes flicked to Jiang Chuxue and the others. No words were needed. They had been protected, for now. The warning hung in the ash-laced air: cross them again, and there would be no mercy.
—