Chapter 322 - 295: Bloody Battle
BANG!!!
The door was violently kicked open.
Cao Biansheng raised his shield and pushed forward as the sound of something slicing through the air whistled past his ear.
A Long Spear grazed his cheek.
He ducked his head and thrust his own spear forward.
A muffled grunt came from the other side.
He kept pushing forward, the front of his shield ringing with the CLANG of impacts.
Taking several steps, he gave a mighty shove!
As the two opponents fell to the ground, Cao Biansheng seized the opportunity and stabbed out with his Long Spear, piercing the neck of one of the fallen men.
"Die!" A nearby door suddenly flew open, and a figure holding a scimitar leaped out, slashing at Cao Biansheng’s undefended side.
𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮
Hearing the whistle of the blade, the hairs on Cao Biansheng’s body stood on end.
A blurry afterimage shot out from behind him.
"BANG!"
The man who had just leaped out was knocked back in mid-air.
He let out a pained cry.
"Be careful." Qin Ziwen retracted his Long Spear. Spears weren’t ideal in the narrow stairwell, but he was used to it, and it was still effective for thrusting attacks.
Cao Biansheng let out a sigh of relief. He took a flask from his waist, took a long drink, and after recovering some of his stamina, continued to push forward.
"What floor are we on now?" Qin Ziwen glanced outside. Looking down from here, the ground floor of Hongding Mansion was already a considerable distance below them.
"The nineteenth floor," Qin Ziwu said, wiping the sweat from his face.
At the head of the formation, one of the three Muddy Race Fishmen had already fallen.
It had fallen into a trap on the seventh floor and been pushed down the stairwell. After plummeting from that height, it went still on the spot.
"Everyone, drink up and recover your stamina!" Qin Ziwu shouted.
In the stairwell, the group took out their water bottles and drank the Healing Spring.
There’s an old saying about how an army’s spirit peaks on the first charge, wanes at the second, and is spent by the third. By all rights, fighting their way all the way up here should have left them utterly exhausted.
But with the help of the Healing Spring, the cold water, once drunk, turned into a sweet nectar that nourished their depleted stamina.
It could sustain their stamina and even slightly heal minor wounds. As long as they didn’t suffer any severe injuries, they could maintain their combat effectiveness indefinitely.
At the very front of the group, the two remaining Muddy Race Fishmen, clad in thick wooden planks, were covered in wounds. The planks were splintered and riddled with holes, and their thick hides were hacked to a pulp, with viscous, dark-green blood seeping from the gashes.
From the rear of the team, someone brought two large barrels of water and handed them to the Muddy Race Fishmen.
The Muddy Race Fishmen lifted the barrels and chugged the water down. GLUG, GLUG, GLUG.
Their breathing calmed at a visible rate, and the wounds on their bodies began to slowly heal.
Behind the door to the twentieth floor, the Blood Words members holding the line heard the order to rest from downstairs and subconsciously breathed a sigh of relief.
"Should we sneak over while they’re resting?" someone asked in a low voice.
A few people nearby were tempted.
Another person next to them lowered their voice. "We don’t have enough men, do we?"
"Who cares if we don’t have enough men? You know about Zhang Liao, right? Eight hundred against one hundred thousand. And Chen Qingzhi, seven thousand against three hundred thousand. Xie Xuan, at the Battle of Fei River, eighty thousand against eight hundred thousand. If we win, we’ll have everything."
Their eyes darted around.
The thought of that possibility tempted many of those present.
In that moment, they were reminded of the classic battles from the history books.
’Why can’t that be us?’
"Let’s catch them off guard and hit them hard to break their momentum. If we can force them to retreat, imagine how badass we’ll look."
The few of them discussed it, then pulled in another group from the back. After grabbing their weapons, they hid behind the door.
They silently counted to three.
They threw the door open and charged out all at once.
They had barely taken two steps when a piercing whistle cut through the air toward them.
THUMP. THUMP.
One after another, several of them were skewered by bolts from One-Handed Crossbows.
They died faster than they charged.
They tumbled down the stairs, collapsing in a heap.
Cao Biansheng lowered his One-Handed Crossbow, a cold sneer on his face. ’As if we wouldn’t be prepared for that.’
’We ran into a bunch of naive idiots like this back when we rested on the tenth floor. Perfect for racking up my kill count for the Slaughterer quest.’
Cao Biansheng stopped the others. "Leave the rest to me."
With that, he charged up with his shield and a short knife. Clad in Iron Armor, his fighting style was ferocious. As long as his opponents’ weapons didn’t strike a vital spot, they mostly bounced off him harmlessly.
In the blink of an eye, he had cut down several people in the stairwell.
The remaining members upstairs panicked and hastily shut the heavy iron door.
Once their stamina was restored, the group continued their bloody ascent.
Twentieth floor, twenty-first floor, twenty-second floor...
The stairs seemed endless.
The battle cries grew louder with each floor, and blood stained the stairwell red.
Blood dripped down through the cracks in the stairs, forming viscous little puddles below.
The sound of a heavy object crashing came from ahead. The enemy had set a tripwire trap. A Muddy Race Fishman failed to dodge in time and was struck, nearly getting knocked over the railing.
Several nearby Blood Words members let out savage roars and swarmed forward, piling onto the Muddy Race Fishman to weigh it down.
The Muddy Race Fishman let out a final roar and, taking the men on its chest with it, plunged over the railing from the twenty-eighth floor.
The moment it fell, the Muddy Race Fishman turned its head to look at Qin Ziwu. "AWOO AWOO AWOO." (Fish, delicious.)
CRASH!
A heavy thud echoed from far below. Both sides were now seeing red.
Du Yu, wielding his dual blades, carved a bloody path forward.
Cao Biansheng followed close behind, exploiting every opening. He never missed a chance to claim a kill, silently counting each one in his head.
After the team charged up to the thirtieth floor, their supply of the Healing Spring began to run low.
Cao Biansheng felt as if his arms were filled with lead. He had never felt that swinging his knife could be so difficult.
The battle was draining too much of his stamina and energy.
"Here." A hand reached out from behind him. Qin Ziwen was handing him a bottle of water.
Cao Biansheng licked his chapped lips, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes.
"President, you drink it. I still have some."
"Like hell you do. Your bottle’s empty. Our supplies have arrived."
As soon as he finished speaking, the cry of a Beaked Eagle came from outside a room to the side.
A dark silhouette blotted out the moonlight as it spread its giant wings.
In its talons, it clutched a large, sealed barrel in each foot.
Qin Ziwen walked over and took the two large barrels of Healing Spring.
He shouted, "Maintain defensive positions! Line up for resupply in an orderly fashion."
After delivering the barrels, the Beaked Eagle flew down and quickly returned, this time carrying a sheet-metal medical kit.
Inside were medical supplies like alcohol, bandages, and painkillers.
After a brief respite to regroup, the team continued their charge up the floors.
Downstairs, Yang Long, who was in charge of cleaning up the battlefield, was shocked. "Are they all made of iron? Don’t they ever get tired!?"
Erhu rubbed his arms. "Brother Long, we’re getting tired just from moving supplies."
The sounds of battle echoed from above once again.
Yang Long was silent for a moment, then gritted his teeth. "Let’s go! Keep following them! And the wounded who just retreated from the front lines—make sure every single one of them is taken care of. Don’t let anything go wrong on my watch!"
The battle cries spread upward, floor by floor.
Cao Biansheng swung his shield, straddling a man on the ground and smashing it down—once, twice—until the head beneath him shattered like a watermelon. "Ninety-eight."
He lifted his head. His face was covered in blood, his eyelashes matted with dried scabs, and his eyes were completely bloodshot.
"Two more. I just need two more!"
"We’ve made it to the top floor," Qin Ziwu said, panting heavily as he walked over from the end of the hallway, knife in hand.
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