He has been reincarnated through countless worlds, adorned with billions of mythological terms!

Seeing this, Tieshan took a deep breath.

The battlefield has entered a phase of attrition warfare.

Fourth-tier warriors and parish garrison troops were wearing each other down on the front lines, while fifth-tier warriors and holy light mechs were locked in fierce combat on the flanks. The artillery emplacements on the city walls were exchanging fire with the warships in the sky—this war had completely turned into a contest of wills and resource reserves between the two sides.

In this competition, Youdu's only disadvantage is its population.

The total number of warriors fighting in the Udon battle was 24,000, while even though the True Bishop's forces had lost tens of thousands in the early stages of the attack, there were still more than 900,000 reserve troops in the rear that had not yet been deployed to the battlefield.

We must add fuel to the fire in this battle.

Tieshan gripped the axe handle tightly and turned to look at the twenty quiet figures standing behind him.

"Sixth Rank, engage."

Twenty sixth-level martial artists opened their eyes simultaneously.

Tieshan, who was standing at the very front, simply bent his knees slightly and disappeared from the city wall. His movement was so fast that the naked eye of an ordinary person could not detect it at all.

In the next instant, his imposing figure appeared directly in front of a Holy Light mech that was approaching the city wall.

Before the mech pilot could even sound an alarm, a human, barely taller than the mech's knees, suddenly appeared outside the cockpit.

Tieshan didn't use an axe; he simply raised his right fist and slammed it into the mech's energy shield.

The shield shattered.

The holy light shield, strong enough to withstand the simultaneous firing of ten energy turrets, exploded like a soap bubble under Tie Shan's punch, scattering golden energy fragments everywhere.

The fist didn't stop; it continued forward, smashing into the breastplate.

The breastplate dented and shattered, then was blasted into countless fragments by the power of blood and qi contained in the fist.

The entire eight-meter-tall Holy Light Mech was reduced to a pile of rubble by this punch.

This scene was witnessed by the entire battlefield.

In the True Bishop's command post, in front of the holographic projection screen, the battlefield cardinal in a red robe suddenly widened his eyes, and the holy book in his hand fell to the ground with a thud.

The Templar Knights' frontline commander was also stunned. His knights were still waiting for his orders, but he opened his mouth and couldn't utter a single word.

Even the parish garrison soldiers who were charging forward subconsciously slowed down—because what they saw was far more than just Iron Mountain.

Twenty sixth-level martial artists launched their attacks almost simultaneously.

An old man, shirtless, charged alone into the densest infantry formation on the north side.

He had no weapon, or rather, he was a weapon in himself.

Every punch and kick carried an ancient, almost savage, power. Wherever his fist swept, Templar Knights and their horses were thrown over, the shields of the parish garrison were shattered into dust, and even the mechs blessed by holy light were forced to retreat under his fists.

He alone carved out a vacuum zone of a kilometer in diameter within the white formation.

What's even more disheartening are the two seemingly youngest sixth-tier martial artists.

They were a brother and sister; the brother was in his early twenties and the sister had just turned eighteen. They were native to Youdu City and were the most talented martial artists of their generation.

The two leaped off the city wall from the left and right, throwing punches simultaneously in mid-air. The two blood-red fist energies converged and merged in mid-air, actually forming a giant blood-red tornado with a diameter of several hundred meters.

Where the tornado passed, the ground was scraped bare, and the mechs that were caught in it were like being put into a meat grinder. The armor plates were peeled off and shredded layer by layer, and what came out from the other end of the tornado was only the twisted and deformed metal skeleton.

Thirty mechs, three thousand Templar Knights, and hundreds of siege weapons were all swallowed up by the tornado.

At a more distant observation point, the wasteland merchant's hands trembled as he held the observation equipment.

He had been in the industry for twenty-five years, witnessed countless wars, recorded the direct clashes between the Black Tide and the True Bishop, and filmed large-scale battles between wasteland city-states, but he had never personally seen a warrior of this caliber crush everything on the battlefield.

He frantically adjusted the focus while reporting everything he saw into the intercom, his voice filled with barely suppressed excitement.

The members of the Dark Technology Society maintained their professional composure.

The badges on their shoulders gleamed a dark blue in the sunlight, and the middle-aged man leading them held a portable energy detector, the constantly changing numbers on the screen causing his eyebrows to involuntarily lift.

The energy reading had exceeded the limit three times, forcing him to switch to a larger range. He remained silent for a long time before the new reading, finally uttering only two words:

"Outrageous."

Meanwhile, on the edge of the massive rift valley to the south, a little girl in a black dress had somehow ended up sitting on the cliff edge, her legs dangling gently over the abyss.

She gazed at the twenty figures charging through the white sea of ​​people on the distant battlefield, her face showing little surprise, only a calm assessment:

"Tsk tsk, is this technique really that powerful? Ten years, without sacrificing one's lifespan or potential, and still maintaining such formidable combat strength, and with so much more?"

She paused, a hint of sourness in her voice, "This cultivation technique would cost billions to acquire in the Paradise of Reincarnation, wouldn't it? Giving it to these natives like this, isn't that such a waste?"

Yun Yi didn't care about anyone's gaze.

He stood atop a sea of ​​clouds ten thousand meters above the ground, his gaze piercing through the smoke and the golden light of the blazing sun, landing on the several resurrected ghosts.

Under the continuous illumination of the blazing sun, the resurrection speed of most ghosts slowed down significantly—it's normal that the yin energy needs more time to condense after it has been vaporized.

What's unusual is that some of these ghosts take longer to revive than others of their kind.

They have died hundreds of times, and each time they are resurrected, it is slower than the last.

From half a minute to a minute, from a minute to three minutes, from three minutes to five minutes—and at this moment, one of the Yin ghosts has been in the process of condensing for more than eight minutes and still has not completed its formation.

Yun Yi frowned slightly.

The only characteristic of these evil spirits from the moment they are born is that they cannot be killed.

Whether they are burned to death by holy light, vaporized by holy flames, or blasted into pieces by energy weapons, they will all re-coagulate within the area.

However, this characteristic seems to be failing in some Yin Ghosts now.

Is it the effect of the blazing sun?

No—if it were the light of the blazing sun, the resurrection speed of all the ghosts should slow down simultaneously, not just a few specific ones.

He began to carefully observe the several strangely changing ghosts, tracing their actions from the start of the war to the present: how many people they had killed, how many times they had been killed, and whether they had triggered any special conditions.

Just as he was pondering this, another event occurred on the battlefield.

A fifth-level martial artist died.

That man was Zhao Mang, one of the first batch of old brothers from Tieshan ten years ago, and also the most skilled and fierce fifth-level martial artist in Youdu who was good at head-on confrontation.

Wielding a half-man-high saber, he slew eleven Holy Light mechs, seventy-two Templar Knights, and countless diocese garrison soldiers on the battlefield.

However, while providing flanking support, he was simultaneously locked onto by the fortress-class main guns of two Holy Light warships.

The Holy Light Cannon was hundreds of times more powerful than the Holy Flame Cannon. When both cannons hit Zhao Mang at the same time, his blood armor shattered in less than three seconds, and he was engulfed by the golden holy flames.

On the battlefield, Tieshan was stunned.

He saw the golden pillar of light, the blood-red armor that lit up on Zhao Mang's body, and the moment when the last trace of blood-red light on that armor was swallowed up by the holy flames.

Tieshan's pupils suddenly contracted, the veins on his axe-wielding hand bulged, and the scars on his face turned dark red from congestion.

The older men nearby also saw it, and one of them cursed loudly, his voice trembling uncontrollably.

It's been ten years.

These old brothers, who fought side by side for ten years, went from a shelter to a city, from first-level martial artists to fifth-level martial artists, and faced countless life-or-death situations together, died in a beam of light.

Tieshan neither cried nor shouted, nor did he rush over to seek revenge.

He was silent for two seconds, then squeezed out a single word through gritted teeth:

"kill!!!"

He is the deputy city lord of Youdu and the commander-in-chief of 24,000 warriors; he cannot act impulsively.

But everyone could see that the knuckles of the hand holding the axe handle of Tieshan were white and bluish.

Yun Yi also noticed Zhao Mang's death.

The reason he paid attention was not because he had any special feelings for Zhao Mang—to be honest, most people in Youdu were just "my subordinates" to him, and he didn't have any deep personal feelings for them.

He paid attention to Zhao Mang because Zhao Mang was the first fifth-tier martial artist to die in his domain.

Those who died in the domain before were either ordinary soldiers or low-ranking officers of the Holy Church, at most a few second or third-tier Templar Knights, and all of them had been drugged. The transformed Yin Ghosts were even inferior to first-tier martial artists.

But fifth-tier warriors are different; their physical tempering, blood and qi strength, and the strength of their will remaining before death far surpass those of ordinary soldiers.

He was eager to see what would be different about the Yin Ghost that a fifth-level martial artist would transform into after death.

He didn't have to wait long.

Zhao Mang's Yin Ghost took shape three seconds after the corpse fell.

Unlike ordinary ghosts, which are grayish-white and have indistinct outlines, Zhao Mang's ghost is significantly darker in color, a dark gray that is close to iron gray, and its outline is much clearer, even revealing its facial features before birth.

Even in his ghostly form, Zhao Mang retained his last expression before death—his eyes were wide open, his lips were clenched, and his hand holding the knife remained in a slashing posture.

More importantly, the concentration of yin energy on his body far exceeds that of his kind.

If an ordinary ghost is a burning match, then Zhao Mang's ghost is a blazing torch.

Yun Yi could clearly sense that the total amount of Yin energy within this Yin ghost was at least a hundred times that of an ordinary Yin ghost.

What caught his attention even more was that, the moment Zhao Mang solidified, his gaze was not blank like that of the other Yin ghosts, but rather he stared straight in the direction of the True Bishop, his eyes filled with deep-seated hatred.

This was the first time Yun Yi had ever seen emotion in a ghost.

Before long, the ghost pounced on it, letting out a muffled yet violent roar—

"kill!!!"

"All of the True Bishop's men, die!!!"