The old things I repaired have become fine

Chapter 607 So that's how it is. Is this what you hoped for, Mo Dao?
"kill!"

"kill!!!"

Shen Le instinctively swung his sword! Supporting himself on his left leg, he pushed off with his right, using his waist to rotate, and swung the long sword he held in both hands from right to left, sweeping past him in a flash—

A spray of blood gushed out instantly, obscuring the entire view. Immediately afterward, a huge black shadow fell down, and a cold light burst forth from the shadow!
"kill!"

Shen Le twisted his body again, forcefully kicked out with his left leg, turned to the right, and swung his long sword to the right again.

With a sharp clang, the cold light shattered, blood splattered, and the long sword sliced ​​through bone and flesh with a teeth-grinding sound, the vibrations transmitted directly from the hands to the spine!
Before my eyes, half of the body slowly slid off, the stench of hot, steaming internal organs mingling with the stench of blood.

Shen Le then realized what had happened. He was on the battlefield, severing a horse's leg with one stroke, then severing an enemy soldier's steel blade, body, and horse's neck with another. With a swift stroke of his broadsword, man and horse were separated!
This is the Mo Dao, the most powerful heavy sword in the Tang Dynasty, the Zhanma Dao that can split men and horses in two with its long blade!

"Hold it! Hold it!"

It seemed like a familiar voice was shouting loudly behind me:

"Hold on! Make sure you're sure you can aim before you strike! Don't rush!"

what?
Shen Le blinked and quickly looked around. All around him and behind him, the sounds of battle erupted. Warriors wielding shields and swords charged forward, engaging the fallen but still alive enemy cavalry in fierce combat.

Further back, the sound of bowstrings rang out, and a rain of arrows rose like a dark cloud, soaring overhead and hurtling towards the enemy ranks.

Amidst screams and cries of terror, some fell from their horses, but even more cavalry charged forward!

The horses' hooves kicked up dust, splashing up a stench of mud, fresh blood, and the pungent odor of horseman and rider, which swirled forward on the hot wind.

Even before the person arrived, the smell alone was enough to create an overwhelming sense of oppression, making it difficult to breathe. Shen Le could already hear a young soldier fighting alongside him, his voice trembling, murmuring:

"Hold on, hold on... Aim carefully, swing the knife..."

Look carefully before you swing! The horse-slaying sword is incredibly powerful. When wielded with all its might by a brave warrior, it is no joke that a single strike can shatter both man and horse.

However, such great power comes with the requirement of absolute timing:

A moment too early is not good. If you swing your sword a moment too early, the enemy's warhorses will not arrive yet, and you will swing your sword in vain. There will be no time to make a second strike. The next thing you will do is to be killed by the enemy.

Not a minute later! If we are even a minute later, the enemy's iron hooves and cavalry sabers will have already fallen on the heads of the Mo Dao soldiers!

Only with the utmost calmness, courage, and reaction can this fatal blow be delivered!

Those Mo Dao (陌刀) users who didn't learn this... who couldn't seize this opportunity, are all dead...

"Little guy, you can't be so nervous..." Shen Le wanted to comfort him, but knew she wouldn't have the time.

He stared intently at the charging warhorse amidst the swirling dust, his left leg straight and his right knee slightly bent.

Holding the sword with both hands, the long sword trailing to his right side, the tip of the blade lightly touching the ground, he was just waiting to seize the opportunity to swing it with all his might!
Five steps!

Four steps!

Three steps!

cut--

A four-foot-long hilt, a gleaming three-foot-long blade. The seven-foot-long sword was swung forward, and the enemy horse's leg stepped precisely into the circle of light created by the blade!

One cut, two pieces!
A long scream rang out beside him. The horses' hooves thundered as they continued their advance; clearly, the newcomer wielding the longsword had failed to achieve his goal and instead lost his life.

Instead of moving to the side to cover, Shen Le held the Dingmo sword in both hands, focusing intently on the next charging cavalryman.
All around him, footsteps and the clang of swords rang out incessantly. As the front-line Mo Dao (a type of long-handled swordsman) fell, the rear ranks held off the enemy, and others filled the gaps. As for him—

The duty of every Mo Dao (陌刀) user is to defend their own section of the territory and block the enemy coming from the front!

cut!
cut!
cut!
With each strike, he exerted all his strength, just to cut the enemy in front of him in two!

Shen Le couldn't remember how many times he swung his sword, nor how many enemies he killed. He only knew that the enemies seemed endless, charging forward wave after wave, leaving him almost breathless.
Previously, the cavalrymen were wrapped in sheepskin coats and wielded ironwood clubs. Gradually, cavalrymen wearing leather armor and carrying scimitars appeared.

Finally, when he was panting heavily, his arms were sore and he could no longer feel his legs, a dark cloud suddenly appeared on the horizon in the distance, right in front of him:
Those were fully armored cavalrymen, clad in iron armor, with armored horses and wielding heavy black maces!

Iron Pagoda!
Shen Le couldn't tell whether his spirits lifted or his legs went weak. The enemy's elite forces had been deployed!
The enemy's main force has been mobilized!

If we can hold on through this, we'll win!

Can I weather this storm...?

Shen Le had no idea of ​​the answer. He took a deep breath, then a deep breath, but felt that the heat in his body was barely there, as if it had been completely exhausted.

Looking down again, he saw that the long sword in his hand was covered in bloodstains, which flowed down in streams and even penetrated deeply into the blade.

Shen Le's heart sank. He knelt down, placed the blade against his thigh, and pulled up his military robe to wipe it. After a few haphazard wipes, the mottled marks on the blade gradually became visible.

The blade, which was three feet long, had two chipped edges, a dent, and a very ominous crack.

Although it was thin and narrow, and didn't extend very far inward, Shen Le knew that if this crack were subjected to another strong impact, it would definitely break apart.

However, what came from the front was the Iron Pagoda, the Iron Pagoda dressed in full armor and whose horses were also fully armored!
The fate of the nation rests on this battle...

A deep breathing filled the air, accompanied by the soft rustling of leaves on the armor plates. The battle-hardened veterans seized this rare opportunity to adjust their strength and relax their muscles.

Suddenly, a slightly hoarse voice, like a duck's quack, shouted defiantly:

"Let me play! Let me play! Why am I being replaced? I can play too!"

"Young man, let this old man handle this." His voice, though restrained, was steady and powerful, carrying the weariness characteristic of old age, yet not decaying.
"You're young, observe and learn more, so you can hold out longer in the future... Step back! Give me the knife!"

The sound of iron boots clattering over the sand echoed as they slowly advanced. Shen Le followed the sound and looked to his left rear, immediately seeing an old soldier, sword in hand, walking step by step towards the front of the formation.

He walked very slowly, as if he wanted to use every bit of his strength in the moment he swung his knife, and he was even reluctant to use it to make himself walk a little faster.

The hand gripping the knife handle had loose skin covered with dense, yellowish-brown age spots, and a shocking wound stretched from the back of the hand all the way into the sleeve.

Beneath the iron helmet, white hair fluttered.

Shen Le felt a pang of sorrow and looked down at her hands. Her own hands, or rather, the hands of this body, had loose skin, and the muscles beneath were thin and shriveled.

Even the slightest movement of the arms or legs reveals a shockingly low level of muscle mass in this body.
How could such a body, with so little muscle, wield a long-handled sword and repeatedly slay enemies on the battlefield?

Shen Le didn't know. He only knew that he had to swing his blade one more time and kill another enemy—

Let's get through this battle!
MD!

So what if I die? I'll just restart!

The ancestors of yesteryear, the owners of this armor, the owners of this long sword, were all able to fight on the battlefield until their last breath!
He's a junior who won't even really die; he's just playing on the test server. Why can't he?

A deep, resonant drumbeat suddenly rang out. First it was intense, then slow, and finally, facing the enemy's already charging cavalry, the drumbeats, one after another, were so slow they were heart-wrenching.

To the beat of the drums, the Mo Dao warriors raised their longswords and advanced in unison, their snow-white blades forming an iron wall across the battlefield.

"kill!"

"kill!"

"kill!"

In the blink of an eye, the enemy arrived!
The surging iron cavalry charged forward. Perhaps intimidated by the fighting spirit of the Mo Dao Army, they slowed their pace slightly, or perhaps not—Shen Le didn't notice these things.

He simply stared intently at the approaching horses, adjusted his breathing, and silently counted the distance. Five steps, four steps, three steps—

Crouch down, half-kneel, exert force, swing the knife!!!

The blade flashed, tracing a bright semicircle. The warhorse neighed in agony; even a fully armored horse couldn't withstand a single blow to its shin, and the galloping steed crashed to the ground.

The rider on horseback was also well-trained. Despite the shock, he remained calm, threw off the stirrups, and used the momentum of the horse falling to raise the mace high and strike down with all his might!
"Die!!!"

You have a crooked horse, I have a mace; you have a spiked club, I have a skullcap—at the critical moment, Shen Le, for some reason, remembered this inappropriate joke.

Using the momentum of his swinging knife, he quickly rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding being hit by the iron mace with his skull.
Instead, while lying on the ground, he raised his longsword high with both hands and fought back with all his might!
"when!!!"

With a sharp crack, a flash of white light appeared. The three-foot blade snapped in two, one piece flying far away and embedding itself in a distant enemy with a muffled thud.

Shen Le's hands trembled violently. Before he could even mutter, "This knife's poor quality, it definitely broke," he leaped up, gripping the broken half of the blade, and engaged his enemy in combat.

The broken sword was indeed struggling against the fully armored, hammer-wielding warrior. Shen Le had to defend against the opponent's powerful hammer swings, but dared not use the broken half of his sword to block, fearing that the broken sword would be hit again. Before long, he was struggling to defend himself.

If the other party hadn't been wearing heavy armor and wasn't so agile, he probably would have been hit on the head with an iron mace and fallen to the ground on the spot...

After exchanging seven or eight moves, Shen Le was panting heavily and almost stumbled and fell.

Suddenly, a surge of heat rushed to both hands, and the broken sword in their hands abruptly grew back, transforming into a brand-new, bright, complete Mo Dao (a type of long-handled sword).

No, it's not just brand new and bright. The weight of this Mo Dao, the silk threads that have just been wrapped around it, and the sharp edge of the blade—it's the Mo Dao that he just finished forging himself!

The blade is made of spring steel, and the cutting edge is made of artillery shell steel and turbine steel. Specially crafted with modern technology and imbued with the spirit of the Tang Dynasty army, this is the Super Mo Dao! Shen Le suddenly felt a surge of strength. As if he had just been pulled into a memory, he braced himself with his left leg, pushed off with his right, gripped the hilt tightly with both hands, and spun around, swinging the sword—

cut!
With a single, sweeping stroke, the blade cut through everything in its path. The dark, heavy iron mace, the tightly fitted, heavy armor, and the body beneath it were all severed in two!

The power of the single strike almost severed even the sound. For a moment, the small battlefield fell silent, save for the mournful neighing of the horse with its broken leg, snorting and desperately nudging its master's upper body with its head.

There was also a soft, bubbling sound, accompanied by heaps of internal organs constantly gushing out of the Iron Pagoda's abdominal cavity, limp and piled up on the ground...

When you look at the long sword again, the extra section, the silk thread that had just been wrapped around the handle, and even the fresh bloodstain on the blade have all disappeared.

He still held a broken knife in his hand, which trembled slightly, and blood kept dripping from the tip of the blade.

The armored enemy soldier in front of them wasn't cut in two; blood was gurgling and gushing out from the gaps in his visor.

Looking around, the battlefield was littered with fallen soldiers, groaning incessantly. The enemy had retreated, leaving only a few dozen white-haired Tang soldiers, staggering across the battlefield, searching for corpses one by one.

If you find someone you know, check if they are breathing. If they are, try your best to save them.
If you flip over an enemy, regardless of whether they're alive or not, finish them off first...

"I see……"

Shen Le slowly lowered his head, looking again at the broken knife in his hand. His fingertips carefully traced the blade, feeling its uneven surface and the cracked, flaked edge.
"You also wish... that it had been a fine sword... a sword that couldn't be cut no matter how you cut it, a sword that was incredibly sharp and could easily cut an enemy in two..."

So, what happened to you after that?
Shen Le searched the battlefield, retrieved the other half of the broken sword, and slowly returned to the city. Upon arriving at the supply depot, he was immediately doused with a bucket of cold water:
"Nothing."

"What's missing?"

"We've run out of replacement Mo Dao (a type of long-handled sword)." The quartermaster, bald with only a few sparse white hairs fluttering in the wind, spread his hands:
"Kuri has no more knives! No more Mo Dao! These precious items require a master craftsman and several apprentices to forge even one!"

You destroyed fifty or sixty Mo Dao swords in just one battle, where would you find any more?!

Shen Le stood there for a moment, dragging the broken sword, then slowly turned around. This kind of high-strength, heavy steel sword represented the pinnacle of cold weapons at the time, and naturally, also the pinnacle of cold weapon manufacturing technology.

Even so, the four towns of Anxi were located in remote areas with sparse populations, and the large-scale equipping of them with Mo Dao (陌刀) mostly relied on weapons allocated by the Central Plains.

Now, transportation between the four towns of Anxi and Chang'an has been cut off for decades...

"The city is filled with white-haired heroes, yet they die without abandoning their Mo Dao (a type of long-handled sword)." Ha, ha... But who could have imagined that before the city even fell, the Mo Dao would already be gone...

He dragged his feet, each step slower than the last, as he walked out of the quartermaster's quarters. After turning two or three corners, he arrived at the blacksmith's shop, where he saw a bustling crowd of soldiers jostling for space.
"This knife is dull, can you fix it for me?"

"This knife is chipped. Help me add some iron and forge it again!"

"This knife bent..."

Shen Le waited patiently for a long time before finally getting a turn with an experienced craftsman, handing him the two broken pieces of his knife. The craftsman glanced at them and immediately shook his head.

"It can't be fixed."

"What?"

"This knife is beyond repair. Even if we weld it back together, it will still break again with a single cut, which would only cost you your life—take it apart, modify it, and make it into a different kind of knife!"

Even though he was mentally prepared, Shen Le was still stirred by these words and instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword. This was a Mo Dao!

This is a Mo Dao!

A peerless weapon on the battlefield!

Couldn't we have saved it one more time?

He gritted his teeth, turned around and ran back to his lodgings, frantically rummaging through the box. After a while, he found a leather belt with the gold buckle on it scattered and half of it missing.

He pried off half of a gold belt buckle, hesitated for a moment, then pried off another one, and ran back to the blacksmith's shop with this precious gold artifact:
"Here you go! I have more if it's not enough! Please fix it for me—please!"

"Let's dismantle it." A heavy hand suddenly pressed down on my shoulder. Beside me, seven or eight soldiers and craftsmen had already bowed their heads in salute.
"General!"

“I know you’re in a difficult position, and I know you’re reluctant to part with the weapons that are so vital to your life. But Ah Li, our weapons are running low, getting fewer and fewer, and replenishing them is becoming increasingly difficult…”

The visitor was none other than the garrison commander of Khotan, the same general who had previously sent him to Chang'an to report to the emperor.

At this moment, his speech was slow and deliberate, with the characteristic slowness of an old man, but his eyes remained clear:
“We must cherish every arrowhead, every piece of iron. Let’s dismantle it; we can make two smaller knives, or some spearheads…”

Even without him saying it, Shen Le could tell that if this battered broken sword were to be repurposed into a horizontal or broadsword, the design would be incompatible and it wouldn't be so easy to modify.

It's actually easier to make spearheads—

“Smelting and forging are both quick. The simplest way is to smash the steel knife into pieces and embed them one by one into the top of the wooden stick, which will at least make a spear.”

Shen Le sighed deeply. He reluctantly handed over the broken sword, watching as the old craftsman swung his hammer and smashed it into seventeen or eighteen pieces with a few thuds.

The apprentices gathered around, picking up the fragments with their hands and feet, selecting those with suitable shapes to embed directly into the top of the wooden stick, and remelting those with unsuitable shapes.

Shen Le stood there staring blankly for a while, then suddenly an idea struck her. She bent down and picked up a few fragments:

"Even so, I really can't bear to part with it... Master craftsman, could you please glue these fragments together, so I can at least keep something to remember it by?"

This is not difficult, and no craftsman would refuse a veteran's request at this time.

With a few quick splashes of borax and solder, Shen Le produced a strangely shaped piece of iron:
Holding it in his hands, examining it from left to right, it clearly resembled the strange piece of iron he had taken from the spearhead...

"So that's how you got here..."

Shen Le sighed softly. He returned to his quarters, wrapped in the iron, and closed his eyes to rest. It felt as if he had slept, yet also as if he hadn't slept at all; in a daze, the war drums sounded again—

Before he even opened his eyes, he instinctively sprang to his feet and reached out to grope. Don your armor, and ascend the city walls!

Reaching the top of the city wall, all that stretched out was darkness, extending to the horizon. Shen Le, gripping the wall, looked up and couldn't help but feel a chill run down his spine:

"In that previous battle, we..."

Was it all for nothing?
We killed so many people, we even broke the long-handled sword, and we ourselves sacrificed so many soldiers...

Why are there still so many enemy troops, completely obscuring our view? It feels like even if we can withstand the siege, we can't possibly repel their massive army time and time again!

The drums beat and the horns blared. A motley troop of horses and camels moved slowly forward, restraining large groups of people dressed in hemp clothing, each wielding a wooden stick, as they marched onward.
"Kaicheng!"

"Surrender immediately!"

"Look at you veterans, your hair is all white, and you're still trembling and guarding this place. What's so great about guarding it!"

"Quickly surrender! While you still have a breath left, each of you should take a wife and have a baby. At least when you die, there will be incense to burn!"

Shen Le could barely understand those few sentences. He understood almost nothing after that; all he could hear were the chirping of cuckoos, all in the accent of a Hu person.

A snapping sound came from beside him; it was a fellow soldier, his face ashen, breaking off a piece of dry earth from the city wall.
"They are Han Chinese..."

"They are all Han Chinese..."

The comrade's voice trembled, a mixture of anger and sorrow. Shen Le looked away, letting out a silent sigh:
The Han people learned the language of the barbarians, yet they cursed the Han people from the city walls...

With the Silk Road and the Hehuang region cut off, a large area between the Four Garrisons of Anxi and the Central Plains was long ruled by the Tibetans and Uyghurs.

These foreign tribes oppressed the Han people, even forbidding them from learning their own language and forcing them to learn foreign languages...

Over time, many young Han Chinese have even forgotten their own writing system and where they came from...

"What can we do now that things have come to this?" He adjusted his armor, tightened his grip on the spear, loosened it, tightened it again, and loosened it again.

"We can only hold on for one day at a time, one year at a time... We will not fail the Great Tang Dynasty..."

"Yes, we will never fail the Tang Dynasty, nor the Emperor!"

I don't care whether the emperor betrays me or not; I'm just here to experience it for myself. But I also want to fight them to the bitter end.

Shen Le silently grumbled, preparing to fight to the last breath. This round of fighting was over; the enemy was driven back.
Next month, bandits will come again, robbing herdsmen and killing soldiers;
Winter finally came and all was quiet. After a peaceful summer, when the autumn was high and the horses were fat, the Tibetans launched another major attack...

Shen Le even felt a little numb, not knowing how long this memory would last, or whether it would be the end of everything when she died with the city.

However, after countless battles, with the number of veteran soldiers in the city dwindling and the number of enemies increasing, he was finally summoned to the council hall by the general one day:
"Ah Li, I have a heavy responsibility for you." The same words, the same gaze—only the general had aged, and the body currently bearing Shen Le's spirit had also aged.

"Can I trust you?"

"Please give your instructions, General!"

Shen Le lowered his head, clenched his fist, and tapped his chest with his hand. The general nodded slightly.
"I'm afraid Khotan City can't be held. Either this month or next month, I estimate it won't last much longer. But we can't let the Grand Protectorate be completely unprepared—"

He looked at Shen Le with eager anticipation:

"Ah Li, could you please deliver this message to the Grand Protector for me?"

(End of this chapter)