The kobolds feared neither death nor sacrifice. Their numbers were so vast, it was terrifying. A mere ten thousand casualties had not shaken their determination to wipe out Yi Tianxing's army. On the contrary, their murderous intent had only intensified. Before even engaging in direct combat, they had already lost more than ten thousand clansmen—an unprecedented humiliation.
Since such an opponent had already become their enemy, there was only one response: annihilate them completely with the most direct and thunderous means. Leave no survivors. Any loose ends would become a terrible future threat. For that reason alone, this human army had to be destroyed.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Runic bombs exploded without pause.
Each detonation sent several—sometimes dozens—of kobolds flying, their bodies torn apart or gravely injured. Some were crushed under the trampling of their own kind, reduced to pulp beneath the stampede.
A path forward paved in blood and bone.
The air grew thick with the stench of blood, the scent drifting into the sky. A blood mist began to coalesce into a crimson cloud overhead—a blood cloud, formed from the soaring bloodlust and slaughter.
Within that cloud, one could almost make out ferocious, contorted faces flashing in and out, howling in rage and death.
"Only kobolds would dare something like this—advancing over a trail of corpses. The casualties are too severe. The human traps truly are terrifying. With the swamp behind them, there's no retreat—only forward. But ahead lies a minefield of rune bombs—a death zone."
"That gauntlet has now ended. With human cunning, they would never place rune bombs close to their own position. Too close an explosion would harm their own troops. What comes next will be direct combat."
In the shadows, many races grew tense.
Those traps were brutal, yes, but they didn't represent the true combat strength of the human army. Their real strength would be revealed in battle. Tools alone couldn't guarantee victory; what mattered most was one's personal cultivation and strength. That was something no one could take away.
At critical moments, cultivation was the only true reliance.
"Kill them! Avenge our fallen brothers!"
"Slaughter the humans! Tear them to pieces! Eat their flesh, drink their blood! Laying traps like cowards—despicable vermin!"
Having crossed the death zone, the kobolds erupted with savagery. Faces twisted, eyes bloodshot, they charged forward with bizarre weapons: spiked hammers, hooked axes, iron picks.
They moved with frightening speed, killing intent bursting from them like lava.
To the kobolds, the humans weren't just enemies—they were mortal foes who had to die.
"Divine Machine Battalion, prepare! Load your bolts! Target: kobolds. Open fire at will!!"
Yang Yanping's eyes narrowed as he gave the command.
The Divine Machine Battalion soldiers were deeply familiar with their Divine Machine Crossbows and its various tactics. During training, they had drilled through countless scenarios, capable of adapting to sudden changes in battle with calm precision.
In a flash, their crossbows were loaded and aimed at the oncoming kobolds.
"Tristar Arrow Formation! Triple-stage fire! Free-fire mode!!"
Seeing the enemy enter range, Yang Yanping gave the order without hesitation.
Tristar Arrow Formation (三才箭阵)
A triad-based shooting tactic, the formation was simple yet devastating. Three crossbowmen would form a triangle. In combat:
First soldier opens fire — rapid burst of ten bolts.
Immediately after, the second replaces him and fires.
Then the third steps up, while the first reloads.
This created a seamless rotating barrage, invented by Yang Yanping after studying countless military manuals—designed specifically for the Divine Machine Battalion. Once engaged, it enabled uninterrupted, continuous firing.
So long as bolts were plentiful, they could keep this up for hours.
They were living artillery platforms.
Whoosh whoosh whoosh!!
Without pause, the Divine Machine Battalion unleashed their assault.
Crossbows rose. Internal true qi surged into the crossbows as fingers squeezed the triggers—sharp, piercing howls sliced through the air. Bolts shot out like streaks of light, tearing through the battlefield.
Within a single breath, tens of thousands of bolts fired forth, raining down on the charging kobolds.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
The kobolds weren't clumsy; in fact, they were quite agile. Some attempted to dodge—but the speed of the bolts, powered by Gale Force runes, exceeded even bullets. The only sound was the crisp piercing of flesh.
Some kobolds were blown into the air, nailed to the ground mid-leap.
Whoosh whoosh whoosh!!
Burst fire. Again and again.
Each soldier could unleash ten bolts in a single burst. Then the rotation continued.
A storm of arrows without end.
Death spread like wildfire across the battlefield.The kobold bodies fell like wheat beneath a scythe.Their flesh, no matter how tough, was shredded.Headshots killed instantly.Even non-lethal wounds led to crippling injuries.
In such a battlefield, survival was a distant dream.
The entire valley had become a slaughterhouse.
"What a terrifying formation! Three per group, and yet it achieves non-stop firing. No gaps. No time to counterattack!"
"And those Divine Machine Crossbows—ours have fewer bolts and shorter range. The ones the humans are using are clearly superior."
"What's even worse is their endless supply of bolts! It's like they're actual turrets. That kind of power… impossible to approach. You'd need piles of corpses just to reach them."
The surrounding foreign races were secretly stunned. Just watching the arrow storm made their scalps tingle. The humans' Divine Machine Crossbows seemed far superior to the ones sold to outsiders.
They understood why.
No race would sell their best weapons. Just like the great nations in the past—they only sold old, obsolete arms. The latest, most powerful gear always remained internal. It was a matter of national foundation.
No one in their right mind would give away their strongest cards.
The humans clearly had more advanced Divine Machine Crossbows, and only sold the outdated versions to others.
It was understandable—but deeply unsettling.
The arrow storm was savage.
But the kobolds were veteran warriors. Though stunned at first, they quickly adapted. Some grabbed the corpses of their comrades and held them as shields, advancing under the rain of arrows. Even if a bolt pierced the corpse and struck them, the damage was greatly reduced.
Once one did it, the rest followed.
There was no shame in using a fallen comrade as a shield. On the contrary, they considered it natural—honorable, even. If they had died, they would have gladly let their own body be used the same way.
This tactic dramatically reduced casualties.
"Arc shots!"
Yang Yanping's eyes narrowed again. A new order followed.
Direct fire was no longer enough. The kobolds were using shields. The answer—arc shots.
Whoosh whoosh whoosh!!
The bolts now shot upward, reaching high before descending in graceful parabolic arcs, raining death from above.
"Argh!!""Impossible! They're shooting from above?! Run!"
Arc shots were hard to master. Wind and trajectory made them unpredictable. But with such a dense enemy horde, no accuracy was needed—seven or eight out of ten would hit.
Like a rain of death, the bolts descended from the sky.