Chapter 87: Living Better?

War is forever a subject people shy away from mentioning.

Refusing North City and Breaking North City faced each other across the distance. Five days had passed, yet the veil of darkness still shrouded the outskirts of Refusing North City, thirty miles beyond its walls.

These five days brought ceaseless news from all corners. The overseas situation remained unclear, but word from the four cities of China spread, even if in fragments.

The stalemate at Refusing North City was considered the best among the four. Li Tian, wielding his blade alone, made his mark with the spirit of “I laugh at the heavens with my sword, my loyalty unwavering as the mountains,” single-handedly defeating three formidable foes. The three eleventh-grade masters opposite him were battered into submission, not daring to leave their city, forced only to watch from afar.

Yet Yang Fan knew that Li Tian had suffered grave wounds.

Li Tian spent these days in the command center, recovering. The web of scars across his chest, shattered like glass, made Yang Fan avert his gaze. Huang Yuetian’s arrow had indeed left a deep mark on Li Tian.

As for Dragon City, the news was grim. When Dongfang Kui, an eleventh-grade master, arrived, Dragon City had already fallen; the enemy from the Dark Realm had breached the gates, and under the leadership of two eleventh-grade masters and twenty tenth-grade warriors, began a massacre.

Dongfang Kui, arriving with reinforcements, found the city’s guardian, Cao Yongqiang, a tenth-grade master, already dead. Dongfang Kui erupted in fury, fighting recklessly, unleashing the full strength of his Dragon Fist, exchanging wound for wound, and ultimately wounding both enemy eleventh-grade masters, forcing them to flee. The reinforcements, enraged by the carnage they witnessed, drove the Dark Realm forces out, outnumbered yet victorious.

But such fury came at a cost. Dongfang Kui was gravely injured; of the eight tenth-grade warriors he brought, only three remained, and eleven ninth-grade warriors had fallen. The losses among those below the eighth grade were even greater.

It was said Dragon City had become a living hell, its great obsidian walls now stained red with blood.

Xia Qiuming, originally guarding the rear, went to Dragon City to relieve Dongfang Kui.

As for Dawn City, rumors had it that the battle still raged, six days without respite, though fortunately casualties were not severe. Han Daohong had arrived in time, preventing the enemy’s eleventh-grade masters from wreaking havoc.

The three eleventh-grade masters facing Dawn City from Breaking Bright City seemed reluctant to fight. Their legions below suffered countless losses, but not a single master of ninth grade or higher had appeared from the city.

...

Yang Fan paced atop a section of Refusing North City’s wall.

He gazed at the ground outside, washed by two days of rain and three days of scorching sun, feeling a surreal sense of unreality.

Half a year ago, he was but an orphan emerging from a welfare home; now, half a year later, he stood at the frontline defending humanity from foreign invaders.

Such an experience is never easy to accept, no matter who it befalls.

He halted, closed his eyes, and placed a hand over his chest, where his heart beat wildly.

After a long moment, Yang Fan opened his eyes.

He murmured, “It’s easy to live with your eyes closed. Living with your eyes open is much harder. But since I’ve made my choice, I’ll see it through. At least, I have hope to fight...”

Words meant only for his own ears, spoken from his own lips.

As if to bolster himself, Yang Fan stamped his foot and ran his hand over his long blade.

“You’ve been leaving the squad a lot these days, and that’s not good. We may not be soldiers, but these are extraordinary times. I still need you to follow military orders!” came a clear voice from behind him.

Turning, Yang Fan saw Li Xianyi, sword slung over his back, approaching.

“I understand, I won’t do it again,” Yang Fan replied, watching Li Xianyi draw closer.

Li Xianyi came to stand beside him, and together they looked toward the distant curtain of darkness.

Li Xianyi spoke. “Yang Fan, do you know where humanity’s hope lies?”

Yang Fan glanced at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Li Xianyi hesitated, then continued, “I mean, do you think this war will ever truly end?”

Yang Fan frowned. That question haunted every person fighting in this conflict.

The Dark Realm’s strength was evident in their roster of masters—far superior to Earth’s.

The Earth’s defenses had not yet fallen, due in part to its ever-evolving technological weaponry, but more importantly, because the Dark Realm’s unity faltered. Their abundance of powerful individuals bred strife; the more people, the more complications, each pursuing their own interests, wary of being schemed against. Thus, their power was divided and diluted.

Yang Fan considered for a moment, then answered, “What was the cause of this war between realms?”

Li Xianyi replied, “One side’s greed—or perhaps both sides were greedy. I don’t actually know the specifics. We’re the younger generation; we know little about how it all began. But I believe every conflict starts with greed.”

Yang Fan nodded in agreement. There is no love or hate without cause; tracing any dispute to its origin, it is almost always greed.

On this point, Yang Fan dared not claim humanity as the sole victim. For cultivators, warriors, and soldiers today, when the relic passage linked the two realms, who was the first to invade is truly unknown.

There are always those who think themselves special, always someone eager to be the first to try.

Yang Fan gathered his thoughts and continued, “War brought about by greed—no matter whose greed—no longer matters. Both sides have lost so much; countless lives lost, immense resources spent, neither side can afford to stop.

This war is unique: it’s a battle between worlds, a war of races. Though we and those from the Dark Realm look alike, share traits, we know we are not people of the same world.

When a racial war erupts, to end it either one side must vanish entirely, or there must be overwhelming external force—so powerful that neither side dares resist. Otherwise, it cannot end.

As things stand, we are not in a favorable position. If one side is fated to be destroyed, ours is more likely. Technological weapons only cover half the relic’s territory; we are forced into defense, and our number of powerful individuals is far fewer. It’s a difficult situation.

In short, to end this war, either one side must utterly destroy the other or at least render them incapable of resistance. Or, the passage between realms must suddenly disappear, severing all contact. If our worlds never meet again, the war will naturally cease.”

Li Xianyi nodded. Such answers linger in many hearts.

The difference in races, in worlds, means reconciliation is impossible. Blood spilled and lives lost have doomed the two worlds to endless strife.

To know these truths in your heart is one thing; to speak them aloud is another.

Many know, but few dare voice it.

...

Hu Dao and the squad were sitting atop the city wall, eating heartily from their meal boxes. Not far away, Yang Fan and Li Xianyi walked together.

Hu Dao called out, “Hurry up, you two! Today’s meal is pretty good—first-grade Teng pig meat, come eat!”

He cleared space for Yang Fan and Li Xianyi.

Yang Fan looked at his comrades—his brothers-in-arms—and felt his resolve strengthen.

He would live, must live. But if, in living, he could help, protect, and defend more people, was that not living even better?

In that moment, Yang Fan had his answer.