The charming widow of the Marquis's mansion: The stable boy carries the flag and raises the dra

"How is this possible... how is this possible..."

The goatee's face was deathly pale, and his lips were trembling.

"Those are ten grandmasters! How could they possibly..."

He didn't finish his sentence.

A vast and heavy pressure suddenly emanated from Wang Long.

The oppressive aura arrived silently, yet it was like an invisible mountain pressing down on the entire camp.

The air seemed to freeze; all sounds were crushed in that instant, and even the wind stopped flowing.

Several princes were the first to be affected.

King Ping felt as if he had been struck hard in the chest by a giant hammer.

He coughed up a mouthful of blood and fell off the chair, crashing heavily to the ground and rolling several times before stopping.

He lay prone in the mud, his whole body trembling violently, as if he were being pressed firmly to the ground by an invisible giant hand.

The other princes were not spared either, falling off their seats one after another, looking quite disheveled.

He coughed up blood and his face was ashen white.

Someone tried to prop themselves up, but their arms trembled so badly they couldn't even support themselves on the ground and had to fall back down.

"What... what kind of aura is this...?"

The goatee's face was pressed against the cold earth, his voice hoarse and desperate.

"Even more terrifying than a Grandmaster... Could it be... could it be the legendary Sacred Realm?!"

"The Holy Land..."

King Ping's lips moved, his eyes turning completely gloomy.

"The Sword Saint behind the Great Zhao... is nothing special after all..."

He knew they were finished.

They thought they could rely on the support of the Great Zhao and the ten Grandmasters to act with impunity, but everything they relied on...

In the face of a true powerhouse, one is nothing but a joke.

Wang Long remained suspended in mid-air, looking down at the disheveled figures below, his gaze slowly sweeping across the entire camp.

His voice wasn't loud, but with the blessing of the Holy Realm's power, it clearly reached the ears of everyone within several miles of the camp.

"Ordinary soldiers who were coerced will not be killed if they surrender; I will only execute the ringleaders!"

The moment the words left his mouth, the camp erupted in chaos, like a lake that had been dredged up by a boulder.

Those soldiers who were holding their weapons and at a loss suddenly knew what to do.

Clang!

It's unclear who was the first to throw down their spear.

Immediately following, like a chain reaction, large quantities of weapons were thrown to the ground, with sounds echoing everywhere.

Thousands of soldiers knelt down in unison, their foreheads pressed to the ground, their bodies trembling.

"We surrender! We surrender!"

"My lord, spare us! We were just being coerced!"

"We were forced into this! Please, Your Excellency, have mercy!"

They were originally ordinary farmers who were forcibly conscripted by princes from various regions; they did not rebel willingly at all.

Who wants to die when they can live?

Only a few of the prince's trusted guards remained standing there, weapons in hand, their faces filled with fear and hesitation.

One of them gritted his teeth, suddenly raised his knife and charged towards Wang Long, roaring.

"Protect the Prince!"

Wang Long didn't even look down at him, but simply spoke in a low voice.

"Sword, come!"

The moment he finished speaking, the righteous energy of heaven and earth seemed to resonate with him.

Golden literary energy surged from his body, soaring into the sky and condensing into countless three-foot-long literary energy swords in mid-air.

The sword's blade was as clear as crystal, radiating a warm and pure golden light, densely packed and obscuring the sky.

It hovered above the camp like a golden rain of swords.

Those trusted guards who rushed up didn't even have time to cry out before they were pierced by dozens of swords imbued with literary energy.

Blood gushed out, their bodies froze on the spot, and then they fell down one after another.

King Ping lay on the ground, and before he could even beg for mercy, a long sword imbued with literary energy pierced his back.

His body stiffened abruptly, his eyes widened, and his mouth opened, but he could no longer utter a sound.

The goatee, the burly prince, and the other participants were all killed as golden sword light swept over them like harvesting wheat.

In the blink of an eye, they were completely wiped out.

Corpses lay scattered on the ground, their blood seeping into the soil and staining the ground dark red.

The remaining soldiers lay on the ground, trembling like leaves, not daring to lift their heads.

Some people fainted from fright, while others curled up on the ground with their eyes tightly closed, as if the terrifying scenes would disappear if they didn't look.

Wang Long withdrew his gaze, glanced at the kneeling soldiers below, and spoke in a calm but authoritative tone.

"Each of you should elect a leader and return to stabilize the area. If any further unrest occurs, I will not hesitate to take drastic measures!"

After saying that, he stopped looking at anyone below and took Ye Niannu's hand.

With a flicker, he transformed into a golden streak of light and flew away into the distance.

Ye Niannu's clothes were lifted by the wind he created, and she glanced back down with a smile on her lips.

Without saying a word, she disappeared into the horizon with him.

In the camp, thousands of soldiers remained lying on the ground, and no one dared to move for a long time.

Only after the two streaks of light completely disappeared into the night sky did the invisible pressure slowly dissipate.

There was wind in the air again, and there was room to breathe.

Someone cautiously raised their head, gazing in the direction where the golden light had disappeared, their voice hoarse and trembling.

"A deity...that's a deity..."

"Hurry...hurry...go back to our hometown...we'll never fight again..."

"Fortunately, the gods are kind-hearted and have forgiven us~"

Some people got up, abandoning their weapons, and staggered away from the camp.

One by one, the soldiers got up from the ground, some helping each other up.

Some, alone, dispersed into the night, no longer daring to linger.

Those who were chosen as leaders stood there, looking at each other in bewilderment.

Looking at the corpses scattered on the ground and the empty camp, they remained silent for a long time before turning around and leading their respective men in their own directions.

Wang Long's words weighed heavily on their hearts, and they dared not forget them for even a moment.

Wang Long and Ye Niannu flew side by side in the sky, the night breeze caressing their faces.

The mountains and rivers beneath our feet shimmered with a silvery-white light under the moonlight.

Ye Niannu turned her head, glanced at Wang Long, and spoke with a smile.

"My lord, you were truly impressive just now."

Wang Long smiled but didn't reply; he simply tightened his grip on her hand.

"Let's go, let's finish this quickly and go home!"

The two moved extremely fast and soon arrived high above the palace of the Great Zhao.

Wang Long looked down at the majestic palace below and said calmly.

"arrive!"

At this moment, the emperor of Zhao was hosting a banquet to celebrate his victory after victory.

The Emperor of Zhao was full of pride and believed that he could devour all the surrounding countries and accomplish a great feat for all time.

Little did they know, danger was already imminent!