You, a tyrannical ruler, roam the heavens; you cannot understand my joy.

The author's mental illness has somewhat improved, and his novel, "Wandering Among the Heavens as a Tyrant, You Don't Understand My Happiness," awaits you on Cola Novels.

In late autumn in Tibet, the sky is a near-transparent, dazzling azure, and the sun shines fiercely and relentlessly on the vast plateau.

The air was thin and cold, and the wind howled mournfully over the rocks and withered meadows.

This land, known as the "Snowy Region," is now shrouded in smoke, bloodshed, and a deeper fear.

The Lazi River Valley is a strategic location leading to several important Tantric temples.

On both sides are steep, gray-brown cliffs, and in the middle is a relatively flat valley, but at this moment it is like a battlefield.

Han Shizhong's army was arrayed at the valley entrance, their black armor and spears reflecting a cold luster under the highland sun, silent as mountains.

On the hillside opposite them, a dark mass of thousands of soldiers, dressed in crimson robes and wielding various strange weapons, or even bare-handed, stood.

Some of them looked furious, some wore mocking expressions, and many more were cruelly indifferent.

"The Song army relies on heretical and evil weapons; this is the arrival of a demonic army!"

"Today, let us deliver these Han people who have fallen into demonic possession!"

"Let them see what real power is!"

The roar of thousands of people created a sense of psychological oppression.

Among them are many true martial arts masters, agile and incredibly strong, some even rumored to have mastered hard skills like "copper skin and iron bones".

In their view, the Song army's iron pipes that spewed fire and smoke might be intimidating, but they were ultimately external objects and could not compare to them.

The previous defeats in some small-scale conflicts were attributed to being caught off guard or to Song army trickery. Today, in this open area, a decisive battle is their chance to avenge their previous defeats and demonstrate the "boundless power of Buddhism".

Han Shizhong stood at the front of the formation, coldly observing the excited and eager monk soldiers opposite him, a cruel smile curving his lips. He raised his hand.

"Shenji Battalion, front line! Load!"

"Splash—"

The well-trained musketeers quickly stepped forward, lined up in three rows, and began loading the pre-loaded paper-packaged bullets in perfect unison.

The sounds of metal scraping against metal and gunpowder being poured into the barrel were exceptionally clear in the chilling silence.

"Charge with me! Crush these demonic obstacles! Seize their evil weapons!"

He raised aloft a gilded vajra inlaid with jewels and shouted sternly.

"kill--!!!"

Thousands of warrior monks roared like wild beasts, surging down the hillside like a tidal wave bursting its banks!

They moved with incredible speed, displaying astonishing speed even on the rugged plateau terrain.

Leading the charge were mostly highly skilled and confident martial monks. They wielded heavy weapons, their faces contorted with ferocity and fanaticism, as if they had truly transformed into wrathful Vajras, ready to crush everything in their path.

Three hundred steps...

Two hundred and fifty steps...

Two hundred steps...

Han Shizhong's gaze was calm as he estimated the distance. He could see the ferocious expressions on the faces of the warrior monks charging at the forefront, and he could even hear their heavy breathing and roars.

One hundred and fifty steps!

Entering effective firing range!

"First column!" Han Shizhong swung his arm sharply. "Release it!"

"Bang! Bang bang bang bang bang—!!!"

The first row of nearly a hundred "Shenji-1" muskets simultaneously spewed out blazing flames and thick white smoke!

The deafening volley of fire echoed violently through the valley, drowning out the shouts of the monk soldiers!

The dozens of monks at the forefront were suddenly jolted to their feet as if struck head-on by an invisible giant hammer!

Their seemingly sturdy monk robes, and even some simple leather armor, were as fragile as paper in the face of lead bullets!

Blood suddenly burst open on their chests, abdomens, and foreheads, blooming in a gruesome display. The powerful kinetic energy sent them flying backward or crashing to the ground, instantly falling silent. The blood splattered onto the withered grass, spreading rapidly.

The charge halted abruptly. Many of the monks behind looked on in astonishment and confusion; they hadn't seen what was happening, only that their brave comrades in front of them had suddenly fallen in droves.

"Second column! Place it!"

"Bang bang bang bang bang-!!!"

The second round of volleys followed immediately!

Before the white smoke had even cleared, a new storm of death metal swept in!

More monks fell screaming, and their formation began to crumble. Some tried to find cover, but the valley was relatively open.

Some people shouted and tried to speed up their charge and close the distance.

"Third column! Release!"

"Bang bang bang—!!!"

Three volleys of fire, in just over ten breaths, had left the charging monk vanguard decimated, with nearly a third of them fallen!

The once surging red tide seemed to have crashed into an invisible steel dam, becoming thin and chaotic.

Lead bullets mercilessly tear flesh and break bones. No matter how high your martial arts skills or how deep your internal strength are, you will be killed with a single shot in the face of this dense rain of bullets.

"No...impossible!"

"Retreat...retreat! Retreat back to the temple and hold it!" he shouted hoarsely, his voice already distorted.

However, coming was easy, but retreating was difficult. The remaining monk soldiers were already terrified. Upon hearing the order to retreat, they abandoned their formation and turned to run, completely exposing their backs to the Song army.

"Fire freely! Close in and drive them away!" Han Shizhong coldly ordered.

The decisive battle turned into a one-sided massacre and pursuit.

.....

Several days later, the few remaining core Living Buddhas, who had suffered heavy losses and retreated to their last strongholds, lost their last shred of will to resist after learning that the Song army's "giant cannons," capable of producing thunderous roars and destroying city walls, were also on their way.

He sent a letter of surrender, expressing his willingness to lead his followers to surrender, only asking to preserve the temple and the lives of the monks.

Han Shizhong accepted the surrender and led his army into the mountain city where the temple was located.

He then dispatched his most trusted and meticulous officers, leading a small team, to conduct a thorough search of the city and several key surrounding locations.

The wait for the report was not long, but every officer who returned to report looked extremely grim, and some even vomited outside the tent.

"General..."

The deputy general entered Han Shizhong's temporary command tent, knelt on one knee, and said in a voice filled with suppressed anger and a slight tremor, "Those cellars..."

Upon hearing this, Han Shi suddenly stood up, his chest heaving violently, his eyes bloodshot, and veins bulging on his forehead.

Despite being mentally prepared, hearing such a detailed and shocking report finally caused the anger that had been building up in my chest to erupt like a volcano!

"Guards!" Han Shizhong turned around abruptly, his voice booming like thunder, echoing throughout the command tent.

"exist!"

......

Somewhere in the city, in a deep courtyard, the bleak autumn sunlight struggled to squeeze through the high walls, cutting out stripes of light and shadow that fell onto the filthy ground.

The air was filled with a musty, stale smell.

This place is not as grand as the prayer hall; it is more like a forgotten corner. The courtyard walls are high and the iron gates are heavy, and ordinary people would never approach it.

"Clang!"

The heavy iron-clad wooden door was violently forced open by soldiers using their sword sheaths and shoulders.

A group of Song soldiers, clad in black armor and with tense expressions, rushed in, only to be immediately frozen in place by the sight before them.

The courtyard wasn't large, but it felt like a microcosm of hell.

In the corner, there was a pile of junk that was hard to recognize, and several dark stains had seeped into the soil, clearly not the result of a single day's work.

The most jarring sight was the slaves in the courtyard, almost completely naked and bound by heavy iron chains.

Their skin was a deathly pale, never having seen the sun, covered in grime; their hair was matted and greasy; and their eyes were vacant, like extinguished ashes.

When the soldiers burst in, most people merely rolled their eyes blankly or shrank back in fear.

The captain leading the team was surnamed Chen, a veteran who had crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

Seeing this scene, the veins on the back of his hand gripping the knife hilt bulged.

"What are you all standing there for!"

Captain Chen's voice was hoarse and low from the effort he was putting down. He suddenly waved his hand, as if to sweep away the suffocating smell and sight, "Smash it!"

"Smash those damn chains off me!"

The soldiers snapped out of their daze, letting out low, angry grunts, and quickly dispersed.

They raised their short axes, heavy hammers, or the backs of their blades and smashed them against the rusty chains and padlocks.

"Clang! Clang clang!"

The ear-piercing sound of metal clashing violently shattered the deathly silence of the courtyard and finally awakened some numb souls.

An old man, his ankles chained, huddled in a corner, began to tremble violently.

He raised his cloudy eyes and looked at the soldiers in front of him, dressed in unfamiliar armor, their faces twisted with anger and some kind of pity he couldn't understand. His lips trembled, but he couldn't make a sound.

how many years?

three years?

Five years?

Or even longer?

He only remembered that he was a kidnapped leatherworker who had his legs broken and was thrown here because he refused to reveal his family's secret recipe for tanning leather.

With a crisp "crack!", my ankle felt lighter. That familiar, bone-chilling cold and binding sensation vanished.

The young soldier who broke the chains looked at the deep, bone-exposing wound on the skin-and-bones ankle, chafed by the iron rings. His nose stung with tears, and he spoke in a rough but soft voice:

"Old man, the lock is open."

"You...you are free."

free?

The old man repeated the two words blankly, as if he couldn't understand the most precious meaning in this ancient language.

He tentatively reached out with his almost numb hands to touch his empty ankles.

Then, he abruptly raised his head, staring intently at the soldier's young face, and looked around. More chains were being broken, and more of his comrades wore the same bewildered and shocked expressions.

"Freedom...?" he finally managed to utter, his voice dry and hoarse like a broken bellows.