The cleanup of Avenue A took three days. The concrete had to be repoured, and the melted remains of the Leviathan Ray had to be cut apart with plasma torches and hauled away by the mining spiders. The smell of ozone and burnt flesh still lingered in the air, a grim reminder of how close the enemy had come to the city center.
Jiang Chen stood in the War Room, staring at the holographic map projected on the wall. The map was no longer showing just the local valley. It showed the entire Northern Region.
And it was turning red.
"The intelligence is confirmed," Chen Wei said, his voice devoid of its usual calm. He placed a stack of blurry photographs on the table—images taken by high-altitude scout drones. "The White Cloud Sect has invoked the ancient blood-oaths. They have called the banners."
Jiang Chen picked up a photo. It showed a mountain range to the east. The valleys were filled with tents. The sky above them was choked with flying swords, spirit boats, and tamed beasts.
"Count?" Jiang Chen asked.
"Fifty thousand," Chen Wei replied. "The Alliance of Seven. Seven Great Sects, united under the banner of 'Purging the Iron Demon.' They are marching. They will be at the Black Iron Pass in two days."
Jiang Chen looked at the numbers. Fifty thousand cultivators.
Most would be Qi Condensation disciples—weak, barely stronger than athletic mortals, but capable of using talismans and basic barriers. Thousands would be Foundation Establishment experts—bulletproof to small arms, faster than horses. And leading them...
"How many Golden Cores?" Jiang Chen asked.
"Twenty," Chen Wei whispered. "And... there are rumors of a Nascent Soul ancestor observing from the rear."
A Nascent Soul. A demigod. Someone who could level a mountain with a thought.
"Our ammunition reserves?"
"We have two million rounds of 7.62mm," Captain Han reported from the side. "Five thousand artillery shells. Two hundred napalm canisters."
"It's not enough," Jiang Chen said, dropping the photo. "50,000 targets. Even if every bullet hits, the sheer mass of their Qi will overwhelm the kill zones. We can't shoot them one by one."
He walked to the window, looking out at the smoking factories of Beiluo. He needed a force multiplier. He needed something that didn't just kill the enemy, but broke their minds.
"System," Jiang Chen muttered. "The Atomic payload?"
[Enrichment at 42%. Warhead unstable. Deployment not recommended.]
"Too slow," Jiang Chen hissed. He looked at the Tier 2 tree again. He needed volume. He needed saturation.
His eyes landed on a blueprint he had skipped earlier in favor of precision weapons.
[Blueprint: BM-13 "Katyusha" Rocket Artillery.][Cost: Low (Stamped Steel, Low-Grade Explosives).][Doctrine: "Grid Erasure".]
"Han," Jiang Chen turned around. "Stop producing rifles. Retool the automotive lines. We are building trucks. And welding launch rails to the back of them."
"Launch rails, Sir? For the planes?"
"No," Jiang Chen smiled, a cold, industrial smile. "For the organ music."
Two days later, the Black Iron Pass was silent. It was a narrow valley, the only viable route for a massive army to approach Beiluo.
The Alliance of Seven arrived like a tide. The ground rumbled under the feet of fifty thousand cultivators. Their banners snapped in the wind, emblazoned with dragons, tigers, and swords. The air shimmered with the collective pressure of their Qi, a force so potent it caused the snow to melt before they even stepped on it.
At the front floated Patriarch Yun Long of the White Cloud Sect. Beside him were six other Sect Leaders, each radiating the terrifying aura of the Golden Core Peak stage.
"So this is the pass," the Sect Leader of the Mountain Crushing Sect rumbled, his skin like granite. "Where is the demon? Where are his metal puppets?"
"He is hiding," Yun Long said, his face grim. "He knows he cannot fight the heavens."
Yun Long looked up at the ridges lining the valley. They were empty. No walls. No turrets. Just snow and rock.
"He has abandoned the outer defense," a female Sect Leader from the Green Wood Sect noted. "He plans to siege in his city."
"Then we shall march to his gates and tear them down," Yun Long commanded. "All disciples! Advance! The first to enter the city gets a Spirit Tool!"
The army surged forward. Fifty thousand voices roared. They filled the valley floor, a dense sea of robes and armor. They were confident. They were the masters of the world. What could a mortal do against the combined might of seven sects?
Five miles away, hidden behind a false ridge line, Jiang Chen sat in the lead vehicle of a new convoy.
There were fifty trucks. They were ugly, boxy M35s. But on the bed of each truck was a strange, angled rack holding sixteen metal tubes.
The Katyusha Battery.
"Targeting data," Jiang Chen spoke into the radio.
"Drone confirms density at 90%," the spotter reported. "They are packed in the valley like sardines, Administrator. Coordinates locked. Grid 44 to 48."
Jiang Chen looked at the monitor. He saw the heat signatures of the Golden Core leaders at the front. He couldn't kill them with this. But the forty-nine thousand disciples behind them?
"The Cultivation World believes in individual strength," Jiang Chen said to Han, who was holding the firing mechanism. "They believe one sword can break ten thousand. We are about to teach them the Industrial Truth."
"Which is, Sir?"
"That quantity," Jiang Chen nodded, "has a quality all its own. Fire."
Han threw the switch.
SWOOSH. SWOOSH. SWOOSH. SWOOSH.
The sound was unlike gunfire. It was a terrifying, mournful wail.
Fifty trucks. Sixteen rockets each. 800 rockets launched in a single volley.
The sky over the Black Iron Pass turned dark as trails of smoke arched over the mountains.
In the valley, the Mountain Crushing Sect Leader looked up.
"Do you hear that?"
A strange howling noise was getting louder. Like a thousand wolves screaming at once.
"Wind spirits?" the Green Wood Leader asked.
Then, the clouds broke.
Eight hundred fire-tipped spears descended from the heavens.
"Defense!" Yun Long screamed, his eyes bulging. "Shields!"
The Golden Core leaders reacted instantly, throwing up massive, shimmering domes of energy. They covered themselves and their elite disciples.
But the army was spread out over three miles.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!
The rockets slammed into the valley floor.
Each warhead carried 20kg of high explosives. They didn't aim. They didn't snipe. They simply erased grid squares.
The explosions merged into a single, continuous roar that drowned out all thought. The shockwaves bounced off the canyon walls, magnifying the force.
Rock shattered. Bodies vaporized. The Qi Condensation disciples didn't even have time to scream; their fragile barriers popped like soap bubbles, and then they were gone, turned into red mist mixed with dirt.
The Foundation Establishment experts tried to fly, to run, but the shrapnel filled the air. There was nowhere to dodge. The air itself turned into a weapon of concussion.
For twenty seconds, the "Stalin's Organ" played its song.
Then, silence.
Smoke completely filled the valley.
Patriarch Yun Long coughed, his golden barrier flickering. He lowered the shield.
"Report!" he croaked. "Status!"
The wind blew the smoke away.
Yun Long fell to his knees.
The valley floor was gone. It was a moonscape of craters and churned earth.
Of the fifty thousand disciples... perhaps ten thousand remained.
The rear guard, who hadn't entered the kill zone, stood frozen in terror, staring at the carnage. The vanguard, protected by the Golden Core leaders, survived. But the middle—the bulk of the army, the future of the Seven Sects—was simply... deleted.
"Forty thousand..." the Green Wood Leader wept, looking at the shredded remains of her sect's disciples. "In moments... forty thousand souls..."
"Demon," the Mountain Crushing Leader whispered, his granite skin trembling. "He is not a man. He is a calamity."
High above on the ridge, Jiang Chen lowered his binoculars.
"Reload," he ordered coldly. "They are still standing."
"Sir," Han swallowed, looking at the destruction. "They are routing. Look."
The survivors were breaking. The Golden Core leaders were trying to rally them, but the fear was absolute. You could fight a sword. You couldn't fight the sky falling.
Suddenly, the pressure in the valley changed.
The smoke stopped swirling. The screams faded.
A presence descended. It felt heavy, like the gravity had increased tenfold.
From the rear of the broken Alliance army, a palanquin floated forward. It wasn't carried by men. It floated on a cloud of blood-red mist.
The curtain parted.
An old man stepped out. He looked frail, wearing simple hemp robes. He had no weapon. But his eyes were like two black holes.
Grand Ancestor Xue of the Blood Soul Sect. Nascent Soul Stage.
He looked at the craters. He looked at the pasted remains of his descendants.
He didn't scream. He didn't rage.
He looked up, directly at the ridge where Jiang Chen was hiding five miles away.
He saw him.
"Interesting," the Ancestor's voice spoke, appearing directly inside Jiang Chen's brain, bypassing the radio, bypassing the helmet. "You rely on tools. Let us see if your tools can stop a Soul."
The Ancestor raised one finger.
Five miles away, the truck Jiang Chen was sitting in crumpled.
The steel frame imploded as if crushed by a giant invisible hand.
"Administrator!" Han screamed, diving out of the way.
Jiang Chen activated his Titan Mark II Suit's emergency shielding, barely rolling out of the vehicle before it was compressed into a cube of scrap metal.
He stood up in the snow, breathless.
The Ancestor was five miles away. He hadn't used a projectile. He hadn't used a beam. He had simply exerted his will on the reality of the truck.
"Nascent Soul," Jiang Chen whispered, sweat pouring down his back. "Reality manipulation."
The rockets were useless. The artillery was useless. If that old man walked to the city, he would just disassemble the walls atom by atom.