C14 Human Slash

He swung his sword relentlessly, each strike claiming the life of at least one enemy. Chen Ming moved like a specter through the inferno.

At last, the enemy sensed that something was wrong. Ahead, a squad of over a hundred men turned and drew their longbows taut.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

A volley of Feather Arrows cut through the gale, hurtling toward Chen Ming. Their tips glinted with a deadly chill in the firelight, a veritable downpour of sword-like arrows before him.

With a mighty slash, Chen Ming's Prince Su Sword unleashed a wave of Qi, obliterating the arrows in midair. Against a cultivator's might, the struggle of mere mortals was futile.

Chen Ming had no intention of waiting for another barrage. His speed made him an elusive target for the enemy.

He charged into their ranks, the five-foot Prince Su Sword cleaving through the air. Each arc of the blade meant another enemy severed from life.

A radiant beam of sword light burst forth from the Prince Su Sword, stretching thirty feet and bisecting dozens of foes in an instant!

Gripping the Prince Su Sword, Chen Ming carved a path of carnage through blood and flame.

His relentless pursuit spanned ten miles, his figure drenched in scarlet. With a swift stroke, Chen Ming beheaded the man before him, his head tumbling, body collapsing lifelessly to the charred earth.

The blaze devoured all in its path, leaving only scorched black soil. Mounted on fierce tigers, the riders weaved through the injured enemies, reaping lives with ruthless efficiency.

The Flying Tiger Army had sustained losses, but they paled in comparison to those of the enemy.

Pursuing the glow of the flames, the Flying Tiger Army cut a swath of destruction all the way to the Mausoleum of the Prince Chiang.

There, before the Mausoleum of the Prince Chiang, they beheld their commander.

Chen Ming lifted his gaze to the Mausoleum of the Prince Chiang, unscathed by the fire that seemed to dance around it. The mausoleum was, after all, a stone edifice immune to the flames. A stone staircase of a thousand steps led to its entrance, where about three hundred enemies now stood guard at the threshold of the Mausoleum of the Prince Chiang.

Chen Ming gazed ahead at the Mausoleum of Prince Chiang, which stood unscathed as the flames swirled around it. The mausoleum, constructed of stone, was impervious to the fire. Before it lay a thousand-step staircase leading to its entrance, now crowded with roughly three hundred enemies.

Chen Ming surveyed the remaining adversaries, tallying his count at seven hundred and thirty-two. The Flying Tiger Army drew near the mausoleum, forming a protective circle behind Chen Ming. One eager general attempted to charge forward and slay the foes, but Chen Ming swiftly held him back. The soldiers paused, their eyes fixed on Chen Ming as he brandished his sword, declaring, "I've already slain seven hundred and thirty-two. Allow me to vanquish these last few and achieve the feat of one thousand!"

After dispatching over seven hundred, with a mere three hundred left, it was unthinkable to share the final stand. If he didn't see this through, the previous victories would be in vain. The Flying Tiger Army, trembling at the resolve in Chen Ming's voice, knew their Crown Prince had already claimed seven hundred and thirty-two lives.

Now, the Crown Prince sought to reach the milestone of a thousand. The soldiers stepped back, granting Chen Ming ample room to fight.

With the blood-drenched Prince Su Sword in hand, Chen Ming ascended the stone steps. As he mounted the first tier, an enemy lunged at him with a spear. Effortlessly, Chen Ming's five-foot Prince Su Sword danced, and with a casual flick, the spear clattered to the ground, staining the once-white steps with blood as the enemy collapsed.

Chen Ming pressed on, felling each new assailant with the ease of a casual stroll—every three steps, another life ended.

Bodies piled upon the stairs, some tumbling down, others slumping where they fell. As the death toll rose, fear took hold of the survivors. They realized the Chen Ming before them was an insurmountable force. Desperation set in; they sought to flee.

A bloodied smile cracked Chen Ming's lips. "Run? To where, exactly?" With a thought, the Prince Su Sword flew from his grasp, slicing through the chests of the enemies on the stairs, one after another.

When the sword returned to Chen Ming's hand, his mana was depleted, yet over a hundred foes remained. Clutching the bloodied Prince Su Sword, his grip faltered, the blade slicing through his garments. Undeterred, he tore a strip of cloth and bound his hand to the sword, resolutely continuing his advance.

As the last of the enemies on the stone steps realized that Chen Ming was relentless, they charged at him in desperation.

Brandishing the blood-soaked Prince Su Sword, Chen Ming stood resolute. Devoid of magic power, he relied solely on his body, tempered by the Ninety-nine Profound Technique, to vanquish his foes.

With each fluid motion of the Prince Su Sword, Chen Ming's adversaries fell, their chests pierced by the five-foot blade.

Exhausted from a night of relentless combat, Chen Ming's endurance was a testament to his training in the Ninety-nine Profound Technique, without which he would have faltered long before.

Teeth clenched, he continued his grim task, the Prince Su Sword an extension of his will, cutting down enemy after enemy.

At last, Chen Ming reached the final Rank One step and faced a cultivator at the fifth level of the Dao Enlightening Stage. With a swift stroke too quick for any reaction, he cleaved open the cultivator's chest, his heart split in two.

Turning, Chen Ming took his place upon the last step and sat, the Prince Su Sword propped before him as he rested.

Dawn broke, casting its light upon Chen Ming, his once white garments now a dark crimson from the bloodshed.

The Flying Tiger Army gazed upon him, a blood-drenched figure in the sunlight, an aura of fear surrounding him.

"Ding! With over a thousand slain, you have achieved the Thousand Slaughter milestone, earning five hundred Spirit Sense, one hundred Reputation, and the Killing Intent aura. Slay ten thousand for the Ten Thousand Killing achievement."

Blood from Chen Ming's countless battles rose as a red mist, swirling around him before seeping into his very being, casting him in the terrifying visage of a death deity.

Chen Ming accessed his panel:

Name: Chen Ming

Reputation: 105

Status: Intermediate Cannon Fodder

Stage: Magic Cultivator, Dao Entering Stage, Level Two. Ascetic Cultivator, Dao Entering Stage, Level One.

Constitution: Infinite Dao Body

Techniques: Dragon Elephant Power, Level Six (Cultivate to Level Nine to condense the Dao Seed). Ninety-nine Profound Technique, Level 24 (Cultivate to Level 72 to refine the Dao Seed).

Magical Arts: Prince Su Sword, condensing the Kingly Sword Heart.

Dao Seed: None

Disciple: Zhuo Qingyao

Teacher's Virtue: 50

Spirit Sense: 1,108

Aura: Killing Intent

Destiny: Perished at the hands of Armo, the Devil's Eldest Disciple, during the Devil Slaying Conference, one year after the grand era began.

Killing Intent: Capable of overwhelming and disorienting those with faltering resolve.

What a joke! I've slain a thousand, only to end up as mere cannon fodder!

Yet, it seems about right. The majority of my kills were mere mortals. Had they not been, I doubt I could have taken down so many.

"Would you like to activate the aura of Killing Intent?"

Chen Ming whispered, "Activate."

As dawn broke, the Flying Tiger Army gazed upon their leader. Thirty thousand against a hundred thousand, and they had triumphed—a resounding victory, all thanks to Chen Ming's masterful strategy and valor in combat.

The generals came to a realization; they had misjudged Chen Ming. He was no arrogant upstart, but a divine tactician and a veritable deity of slaughter on the battlefield.

The generals pounded their chests with right fists and knelt before Chen Ming, proclaiming, "Wherever the Prince's sword points, we will mark the boundaries with our blood!"

The soldiers echoed this sentiment, uniting with the generals in their reverence for Chen Ming, "Wherever the Prince's sword points, we will mark the boundaries with our blood!"

Yet Chen Ming harbored no desire to accept their fealty. "Why would I want a bunch of good-for-nothings like you? The Palace Lord of the Killing Palace still lives. Instead of kneeling, go find out where the Palace Lord has fled to. What good are you if all you do is loaf around?"