Chapter 72: Battlefield! The Front Lines?

Just as the members of the Dragon Team were bantering and chatting, a sudden ripple spread across the reflective glass behind them.

The team captain was the first to turn around. He saw an unidentifiable mass shoot out of the glass, shrieking as it flew.

With a heavy thud, a person appeared on the ground, curled up, tears glistening in his eyes. He kept mumbling, “Damn, I’m so dizzy, so dizzy…”

Before the Dragon Team members could react, the glass began to ripple again. Xie Guotao stepped out, his face grim.

He glanced back at the enormous glass, shaking his head. Travelling between two worlds was not particularly dangerous, but within the passage, spatial forces buffeted and pressed against the body relentlessly—inside, one’s senses spun as if caught in a storm. Even as a Grandmaster of the Seventh Rank, he could barely withstand it.

Turning, Xie Guotao spotted Yang Fan on the ground, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes.

“Useless wretch!” he muttered under his breath, not bothering with the surrounding guards as he strode over and hoisted Yang Fan up by the collar.

“Damn! Am I flying?” Yang Fan cried, still dazed.

The guards nearby burst into roaring laughter. Xie Guotao’s face darkened further. How humiliating! He quickly marched off, dragging Yang Fan along.

The passage stood atop a mountain; at its base sprawled a string of military camps. After explaining his identity, Xie Guotao commandeered a vehicle, tossed Yang Fan carelessly onto the seat, and left—he could not bear to remain a minute longer. The embarrassment was too much. He had entered and exited ruins countless times, never this mortified.

Yang Fan lay sprawled in the back seat, his stomach churning miserably. After a while, he recovered, struggling upright and gazing out the window.

Mountains. Forests. The scenery was pleasant—his first impression. Then he noticed how desolate it was, devoid of human presence.

“Brother Xie, where are we going?” Yang Fan finally asked the man in the front seat.

“To the front lines. And in the ruins, don’t call me Brother Xie, address me as Grandmaster Xie.”

“Grandmaster Xie? Stop fooling around!” Yang Fan sniffed, thinking Xie Guotao was joking with him.

“Wait…” He felt as though he had forgotten something. Slapping his forehead, he suddenly shouted, “Front lines? Did you say we’re going to the front lines?”

Xie Guotao didn’t even turn his head, replying irritably, “Yes, the front lines. And could you stop making such a fuss? You’re embarrassing yourself. You’re a third-rank warrior now—don’t you think it’s beneath you to be so jumpy all the time?”

“The front lines… the front lines…” Yang Fan murmured over and over, paying no attention to anything else Xie Guotao said, or perhaps he hadn’t heard at all.

Xie Guotao ignored him, driving on in silence. Two hours later, when they reached a small town, the car finally sputtered to a halt. As soon as Xie Guotao got out, someone came to receive him.

Yang Fan staggered out as well, looking at the sparse buildings and the dim sky overhead, feeling utterly defeated.

“I’m finished. Completely finished,” he muttered, standing there.

After exchanging a few words with a soldier, Xie Guotao turned to Yang Fan. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing.”

“If it’s nothing, then let’s get moving.”

“Where to?”

“The front lines.”

“Can we not go to the front?”

“The battlefield, then. Is that any better?”

“Let’s stick with the front lines,” Yang Fan replied helplessly. Xie Guotao wore the same look of resignation.

Then, with one hand, Xie Guotao lifted Yang Fan off the ground.

“Seriously, enough is enough! Damn it, are you addicted to carrying me around like this?” Yang Fan cursed. In just a few hours, this guy had picked him up countless times—this was going too far. By his own standards, he was at least a third-rank warrior. Wasn’t this humiliating? Or rather, wasn’t it humiliating for him?

Xie Guotao shot him a glance, ignoring the outburst, and soared into the sky.

A fierce wind battered Yang Fan’s face. About to speak, Yang Fan instinctively clamped his mouth shut, forcing his eyes open to see the ground shifting rapidly far below. The speed left him in awe.

He’d only ever seen the academy’s top students fly like this at the opening ceremony; never did he expect to experience it himself so soon. Though, being flung through the air didn’t really count as flying, did it?

As they sped through the sky, Xie Guotao occasionally glanced at Yang Fan, shaking his head each time.

Finally, Yang Fan couldn’t hold back. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a sound, a blast of icy wind streamed in, whistling through him in indescribable ways. He snapped his mouth shut, not daring to say another word.

A faint smile appeared on Xie Guotao’s lips. He sped up even more, flying into the distance as Yang Fan glared at him with deep resentment.

…

On a vast plain, two armies clashed in a tide of blood and flesh.

“Charge, brothers! Kill them all!”

“Attack!”

“Open fire!”

The staccato of gunfire echoed across the field.

“Push through! Slaughter every last one!”

It was a meat grinder. This scene played out in many places across the wide plain.

Behind the plain stood a mighty city. The walls weren’t particularly tall, but the city covered a vast area, sprawling across the rear of the plain.

On the city wall, Yang Fan stood beside Xie Guotao, his face pale. From this vantage, he could see the battlefield clearly—flesh and bone colliding, bodies torn apart, humans holding back the onslaught with bullets and steel while the enemy advanced with towering shields.

All of it unfolded before his very eyes.

“So this is war?” Yang Fan whispered.

“This barely counts as war,” Xie Guotao replied quietly, his own mood somber as he turned to glance at Yang Fan.

“Barely counts… if this is only barely war, then what does a real battlefield look like?” Yang Fan’s pale face was etched with disbelief.

“A real battlefield is something you can’t even approach, not yet. Don’t worry about that now. You’ve seen enough—how do you feel?” Xie Guotao’s voice was heavy as he looked out over the carnage.

Yang Fan pressed his lips together, lowering his head in silence.

“You don’t want to say? Or does it not move you at all?” Xie Guotao pressed.

Yang Fan raised his head to stare into the distance, then dropped it again, speaking softly.

“I always thought I was strong. Back during the entrance trials, when I killed those beasts, I believed I was tough… Then I started taking missions, killing criminals—I thought I’d grown stronger. Even when I faced those two peak third-rank beasts, I didn’t think I’d falter.

But now I suddenly realize I’m actually scared. To be honest, I know myself well—I am afraid of dying. No, I’m terrified of it. When I took missions, I rarely chose those at my own level, let alone ones far above it.

But I never thought there was anything wrong with that. I grew up in an orphanage for eighteen years, never had much excitement, only a constant fear of life. When I left, the director told me to live well—I thought I should listen to her. In fact, I wanted that too.

When I entered the academy, it was like stepping into a new world—classmates, mentors, teachers, friends. Suddenly I had everything. That happiness—I wanted to hold onto it, to keep it.

I don’t want to lose it, so I fear death even more. I never felt I had anything to protect—no family, nothing tying me down.

When I heard I was coming to the ruins, I was truly scared. I always knew what the ruins were, and what could happen there. That’s why I resisted, and I still do, even now. Maybe my words will upset some people, but I really didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to see any of this.”

When he finished, Yang Fan hung his head even lower, his shoulders trembling.

Xie Guotao looked at the youth beside him, nearly as tall as himself, and sighed. This was the sorrow of their era—who didn’t long for a peaceful, ordinary life?

But there were always things beyond one’s control, challenges one could not avoid.

After a moment’s silence, Xie Guotao placed a hand on Yang Fan’s shoulder.

“Look at the battlefield ahead. Look at those fighting there.”

Yang Fan lifted his head, his gaze drifting across the distance to a patch of the battlefield.

“See? Most of them are ordinary people—ordinary soldiers.”

Yang Fan’s pale face filled with shock. With swollen, red-rimmed eyes, he turned to Xie Guotao. “Ordinary people? How can that be? Where are the cultivators, the Awakened? Why aren’t they fighting?”

Xie Guotao’s body trembled at the question.

“Because we’re not strong enough. We don’t have as many cultivators as the Dark Realm. Our top forces aren’t as numerous. We have fewer resources for cultivation.

We can resist the Dark Realm’s invasion partly because of our modern weapons, and partly because of the sacrifices of our strongest warriors. Without sacrifice, there can be no peace. Wars aren’t ended with a few words—especially not a war between races. It won’t stop until one side is utterly destroyed.

Most of those ordinary soldiers are your age, but they lack the talent for cultivation, or the resources. All they can do is stand on the line between our world and theirs, with nothing but frail human bodies. We simply don’t have enough cultivators to help them.

If we send in too many cultivators, the enemy will just reinforce their own. When that happens, the battles become truly catastrophic.”

His eyes darkened, one fist clenched at his side, the other hand trembling on Yang Fan’s shoulder.

Yang Fan looked at the Grandmaster beside him and felt something shift deep inside.

Was the man at his side strong? Strong enough—a Grandmaster of the Seventh Rank.

And yet, in this moment, even his eyes seemed to glisten red.