A family of loyal martyrs, starting with nine wives to continue the family line.

As Zhang Yan watched the black and red death flags fall one by one, his fingers finally tightened in his sleeve.

He already thought Wei Zhao was very strong.

A person who can kill Lu Song, suppress the ten rebel kings, and sit firmly on the throne in such a mess in the capital could never be a sickly person who was promoted by the Wei family's ancestral influence.

But he still didn't expect Wei Zhao to be this strong.

One hundred thousand.

There were 100,000 troops.

He carved a bloody path through the surging tide of his millions of followers and millions of refugees.

The cavalry remained disciplined, the heavy armor soldiers did not retreat, and the Imperial Guards charged forward with the emperor, even the surrendered soldiers seemed to have been transformed.

The most troublesome thing is that Wei Zhao was not intimidated by the Holy Fire Cult's doctrines.

He will not back down from the art of wind and cloud.

The Red-Powdered Death Squad, he did not retreat.

When the altar master died, he even had people shout it out on the spot.

Protected by the sacred flame? You'll still die even with your head shattered.

That's a really harsh statement.

Zhang Yan heard the poison even across the battlefield and saw the hesitation on the faces of the followers around him.

What are people most afraid of?

It's not death.

The letter was broken.

Zhang Yan was able to turn starving people into followers, and followers into loyal warriors, and that was not just because of food.

Food can only make people follow you for a while. God can make people kneel until death.

But Wei Zhao is tearing off his divine skin.

Tearing it apart, shot by shot.

Tear it apart, slice by slice.

Zhang Yan looked down at the altar masters below the platform who were still ringing bells, his voice not loud.

"How many death flags are left?"

The red-robed altar master's forehead was covered in sweat.

"Wise teacher, seven aspects."

It was sixteen sides just now.

In just a short while, there were only seven sides left.

Zhang Yan's eyelid twitched.

That woman, Liu Jingshuang, is too ruthless.

She didn't bother fighting the assassins at all. After realizing there was something wrong with the black and red flag, she directly led her cavalry to cut it down.

Huo Qingluan's heavily armored troops remained extremely stable, and their formation was not disrupted by the sound of the wind and shouts.

Even more deadly was Wei Zhao.

He was less than five hundred paces from the platform.

Five hundred steps.

This distance would be far even on a normal battlefield.

But when placed before an emperor like Wei Zhao, who personally led the charge, it was already so close it sent chills down one's spine.

Zhang Yan suddenly smiled.

"Emperor Xinwu."

He looked up at the white robe that was now stained with blood.

"You actually dared to come."

The red-robed altar master beside him spoke in a trembling voice.

"Master, should we retreat? If you retreat three miles, the followers can regroup. There are too many refugees; the Xinwu Army dares not kill them all, and they cannot catch up with you."

Zhang Yan turned and glanced at him.

The altar master immediately shut his mouth, his knees buckled, and he knelt on the high platform.

Retreat?

He was right.

If I retreat now, I might not necessarily lose.

The millions of followers will not immediately collapse just because a platform has been moved back.

There are still millions of refugees behind them, and grain carts, altars, secret agents, and branch altars in various places can all be used to reunite the people.

But Zhang Yan cannot back down.

We must not retreat when Wei Zhao has killed us five hundred paces away.

If the wise teacher withdraws, the sacred flame will also be extinguished.

Once the Olympic flame is extinguished, all the miracles of today will become a joke.

Those who were just shouting about the protection of the sacred fire will start asking, why is the wise teacher afraid of the new Emperor Wu?

Once this problem arises, it will be more terrifying than Wei Zhao's 100,000-strong army.

Zhang Yan was well aware of this.

Therefore, he cannot back down.

Either let Wei Zhao die within five hundred paces.

Either let Wei Zhao see with his own eyes that Zhang Yan is not alone.

"Start the incense burning."

Zhang Yan spoke.

The red-robed altar master suddenly looked up, his face first showing fear, then fanaticism.

"Master, should we really use that method?"

Zhang Yan smiled.

"What else? Wait for him to come up and chop my head off?"

The altar master scrambled to his feet, grabbed three bronze incense burners from the edge of the platform, and lit the reddish-yellow incense blocks that had been prepared inside.

Smoke quickly rose.

not much.

There are only three strands.

But after the three wisps of smoke rose, they were not dispersed by the chaotic winds of the battlefield; instead, they pressed against the high platform and spread out to both sides.

Wei Zhao had just knocked away a suicide soldier who lunged at him when his eyelid suddenly twitched.

"stop."

The Imperial Guard captain beside him immediately drew his sword.

"Protect His Majesty! Halt at the front!"

The ten thousand men suddenly withdrew from the formation.

That stop was very close.

The enemy was still pressing forward from behind, and more Red-Eyed Death Soldiers were rushing up from the front. If the Imperial Guards hadn't already been killed halfway by Wei Zhao himself, they would have been in chaos long ago, given their behavior when they first surrendered.

Wei Zhao stared at the high platform in the distance.

Zhang Yan didn't run away.

Not only did they not run away, they also lit incense.

it is good.

This old man still has a trump card up his sleeve.

Wei Zhao hated this kind of person the most.

You might call him a fraud, but he is indeed deceiving ordinary people.

But his scams also included drugs, wind, bells, flags, and assassins, making him seem less like a pure con artist.

Even if you say he really knows magic, Wei Zhao doesn't believe it.

In a low-level martial arts world, the most you can do is use lightness skills, internal energy, poisons, mechanisms, and illusions.

If he were to actually conjure soldiers from beans, then this book wouldn't need to conquer the world; it could just become a disciple and cultivate immortality.

The problem is, the people believe it.

The soldiers might also believe it.

Therefore, Wei Zhao had to keep a close eye on every detail.

Smoke, flags, bells, and human figures.

He needs to figure this out clearly. If he can't, he'll just kill Zhang Yan first. Dead people are the easiest to break spells with.

"Zhao Qiniang".

Zhao Qiniang rode closer, her face even paler than before.

"Your subject is here."

"What is this now?"

Zhao Qiniang stared at the three wisps of smoke, her throat bobbing.

I've never seen it.

Wei Zhao's lips twitched.

"Aren't you from the White Lotus Sect?"

Zhao Qiniang gritted her teeth.

"The White Lotus Sect at most pretends to be a saint in a dream and uses some sleeping potions. Zhang Yan's methods are too evil."

Wei Zhao cursed inwardly.

Okay, even professionals haven't seen it before.

Then we absolutely cannot let him finish his performance.

"crossbowman."

Wei Zhao raised his spear.

"Shoot at the high platform."

The Imperial Guard crossbowmen immediately raised their arms.

Whoosh whoosh!

A volley of crossbow bolts flew toward the yellow cloth platform.

But just as the crossbow bolts reached thirty paces from the high platform, several red-robed members of the altar suddenly raised their shields and rushed forward, using their bodies and shields to block the rain of arrows.

Some people had arrows piercing their throats, yet they remained kneeling, holding their shields above their heads.

Zhang Yan stood behind, not even blinking.

Wei Zhao's anger flared up.

That old bastard really treats human life like firewood.

Bundle after bundle, they added the fuel to the fire.

Just then, three wisps of smoke on the high platform suddenly exploded.

It's not the kind of explosion that happens with gunpowder.

The smoke suddenly dispersed to both sides, and where Zhang Yan had been standing on the yellow cloth platform, two identical figures slowly appeared.

One on the left.

The one on the right.

Zhang Yan is still in the middle.

The three people, dressed in red and yellow Taoist robes and wearing wooden crowns, had identical eyebrows, eyes, figures, and even the same gesture of raising their hands.

The battlefield fell silent for a moment.

Then the Holy Fire Cult erupted in chaos.

"The wise teacher has manifested his divine power!"

"One Qi transforms into Three Pure Ones!"

"The sacred flame will never be extinguished! The wise teacher will never die!"

"Does the new Emperor Wu see this? The wise teacher is a celestial being! A celestial being!"

The shouts came in waves.

The followers, who had been shaken by the killing of their leader and the breaking of their command flag, regained their fervor.

Someone raised a knife, ignoring the wound on their hand, and rushed forward while crying.

Wei Zhao stared at the three Zhang Yans on the high platform, and paused for a moment.

What's going on?

magic?

Or is it magic?

Three identical Zhang Yans?