Chapter 174: Only the Qin Sword Can Break It
Tamamo no Mae swore she would take revenge. Not for some grand tragedy carved into the age, but for something far more personal.
That chaotic babble.
That single humiliating insult that had slipped through the cracks of her will and left a stain on her pride.
Too much.
Migu.
Even if she had suppressed the intrusion with her own power, that instant still carved an impression into her. Not a wound of flesh, but a brand on the mind. The kind that lingered precisely because it was ridiculous.
The fox drew a slow breath, the calm of her posture at odds with the fury behind her eyes.
Once she caught Rowe, she would teach him manners. Thoroughly.
Tamamo no Mae looked down at the world as it was now.
Her domain was neither in the present nor in any ordinary layer of reality. It was not a temple, not a bounded field anchored to land, not a hidden workshop tucked into mountains. It existed in the place where human order wrote itself.
In the pages of history.
In the gaps between recorded cause and convenient conclusion.
Just as Rowe understood where the Six Heavens Ancient Ghosts hid, the Nine Tailed Fox, stitched together from different fragments, had also buried herself within the seams of humanity.
Mei Xi. Daji. Bao Si. Huayangtian.
Fox spirits who had ignited disaster across different eras and lands. Their existence had always been entangled with humans. Not because they loved humanity, but because humanity was a stage that never stopped producing desire.
The Six Heavens Ancient Ghosts could hide.
Naturally, she could too.
From history, looking down, she could see the present.
"Now the Six Heavens Ancient Ghosts have all manifested," she murmured.
"The Kyushu barrier left by Yu the Great has also been shattered."
Her lips curved.
"Then let me accelerate the process."
She leaned forward and hovered a finger above the world below.
A buzzing resonance spread from the depths of human order into the present.
At Qin's eastern front, where it clashed with Zhao, there was a pass called Jingxing. A chain of overlapping mountains, easy to defend and difficult to take.
And at this moment, the one holding it was Zhao's famed general, Li Mu.
The one besieging it was Qin's commander in chief, Wang Jian.
The two armies had faced each other for nearly a month.
Within Qin's main camp, banners snapped in the wind and drums beat against the night. Amid strict formations, Wang Jian stood atop a watchtower and stared at the sealed gates opposite. Another failed assault had just rolled back like a broken tide, dragging casualties into the darkness.
Wang Jian did not look young. His tall frame was wrapped in thick Qin armor, long beard hanging over his chest, authority pressing outward like heat. Beside him stood a younger man with a similar face and bearing.
Wang Ben, his son.
"Father," Wang Ben said, voice tight, "in this past month we have launched no less than ten strong assaults."
"If we keep forcing it, I fear there will be no result."
And the casualties are heavy.
Wang Jian did not need the words finished. He knew.
Great Qin had emerged from Hangu Pass with its blade pointed at the Six States. Its manpower and logistics surpassed the sum of the others. Under normal circumstances, even with Jingxing's terrain and Li Mu's command, Zhao should not have repelled Qin with such losses so many times.
Yet that was the reality.
Not because Li Mu's strategy was beyond human. Wang Jian was confident he would not lose to anyone in the art of war. Not because Qin lacked morale or equipment.
This time, the failures came from something outside war.
Divine aid.
Above Jingxing, a warped and chaotic light hung in the sky. It descended like a veil over Zhao's territory.
That light endowed the defending soldiers with the resilience of an unbreakable wall. The distortion drove them like madmen. They grew stronger as they fought. Wounds that should have ended them only fed their frenzy.
It was power that felt like a god.
But it did not carry the weight of anything legitimate.
It stank of Chaos.
"I know what you want to say," Wang Jian said at last. "I have already requested aid from His Majesty. If we can secure the help of that one…"
He exhaled.
"This city can be broken."
Then his eyes hardened.
"Pass my order. Have the soldiers return to rest and maintain vigilance. Any unusual movement, report immediately."
"Yes!"
Messengers on both sides of the tower answered and galloped off.
Outside Jingxing, Qin's camps faced the pass from a distance, set in a triangular layout that controlled water sources and cut off surprise attacks. Beacon towers rose at the center, linked like eyes. Three prongs ready to tighten into a noose.
Li Mu watched the deployment from the walls and let out a slow sigh.
"Wang Jian," he muttered. "A general of this era."
He turned to his men.
"Hold the pass to the death. Give Qin no opportunity."
Then, after a pause, he added something that sounded almost like resignation.
"Order the soldiers to stockpile more earth and cultivate land within the city."
He had prepared for a long standoff.
But four hundred years of warfare had taught him a brutal lesson. Zhao's national strength was depleted. It could not endure a siege that lasted forever.
So he prepared to make the army feed itself.
Half farming, half soldiering.
That night, countless fires burned in both camps. From a distance they looked like scattered stars, hazy and cold.
In Qin's central command tent, Wang Jian still studied the map.
As he weighed routes and timings, a soldier entered.
"Reporting to the general. Someone has arrived from within the pass and wishes to see you."
Wang Jian lifted his head sharply.
"Who?"
The soldier hesitated.
"He claims to be Monarch."
Monarch.
Everyone in Great Qin knew what that meant now. The Great Monarch. The Heavens of Qin.
Wang Jian's expression changed.
"Invite him in at once."
Before his words finished, a calm voice came from outside the tent.
"General, there is no need to rush. I am already here."
A figure entered.
Wide robe. A sword on his back.
Rowe.
Lights burned bright within the tent, yet he made the space feel larger than it was, as if the canvas of the world had been pulled taut behind him.
Rowe looked at Wang Jian.
"General. Do you have a strategy to defeat the enemy?"
The Six Heavens Ancient Ghost embedded in Zhao's human order had already manifested in the sky. Rowe could see its outline in the distortion above the pass.
But to reach the interface where it truly existed, he still needed to break through using human order.
He needed Qin's blade.
That was why he had come.
And not alone into Zhao.
Wang Jian drew a slow breath, forcing his heartbeat into obedience.
"I did not before. But with the Monarch here, I do now."
Rowe laughed, short and clean.
"No. You do not."
Wang Jian froze, then gave a bitter smile.
"Indeed. I do not. But…"
"Nor do you need to," Rowe said. "Since I am here, overwhelming force will suffice."
Then Rowe asked, abruptly.
"Can you fight at night?"
Wang Jian answered with a harsh, eager laugh.
"Why not?"
He turned.
"Men. Fetch armor. Light the fires. Attack the city."
Even in deep night, a front line camp never truly slept. At the commander's order, the central camp snapped awake.
Soldiers donned helmets and armor. Spears and qin swords were raised. Ranks formed in moments. Torches converged into a river of light that cut through the dark.
Wang Jian clasped his hands to Rowe, then stepped out.
Rowe left the formation alone.
A subtle shift, like a page turning.
In the next moment, he stood on the highest peak overlooking Jingxing, quietly waiting for Qin's charge.
Night was vast. Mountains rose and fell like dragon spines.
Rowe watched Qin and Zhao below. His mind remained calm, yet emotion rose anyway.
He had participated in wars between nations before. In Mesopotamia, he had been the sage of Uruk, the one who moved pieces before others realized they were on a board.
He had even interfered in the Trojan War as a god.
Yet neither stirred him the way this did.
Because those had been legend.
Myth.
Now it was history.
The movement from myth into history made everything sharper.
Rowe watched, and the sword on his back hummed in its sheath.
Below, the fires in Qin's camp surged forward under Wang Jian's command. Halberds, swords, and blades flashed with cold light in the darkness.
"The Great General has commanded."
"Attack the city."
"Attack the city."
Orderlies galloped through the lines. Officers gathered their troops and pushed forward.
Wang Jian stood atop a war chariot.
It was a tower on wheels, pushed by men. From there he could see the whole battlefield. Cavalry on both sides served as messengers, allowing him to adjust the flow constantly.
The Qin formation gathered like a long river.
Wang Jian drew his sword.
"Charge!"
Orderlies scattered, shouting.
"General's order. Charge."
"General's order. Charge."
"General's order. Charge."
The words rose and fell and spread into the dark.
On the opposite wall, Li Mu had already prepared.
"Archers. Catapults. Ready at all times," he ordered, voice steady.
"When the enemy is within a hundred paces, launch stones. Within fifty paces, release a volley of ten thousand arrows."
The night battle began.
From Rowe's perspective, it was fire rushing into fire, two masses of light colliding and blooming into violent sparks.
But he knew what truly collided.
People.
The Qin soldiers raised long spears and advanced step by step.
Arrows struck from afar. Men fell. The gaps were filled instantly. The formation did not break. It pressed forward like storm clouds against a wall.
"Qin crossbows, advance," Wang Jian ordered.
Huge crossbow chariots were pushed forward, heavy weapons capable of breaking gates.
Boom.
Crossbow strings snapped. Massive bolts flew and slammed into the city tower from afar.
Stone rattled down. Zhao soldiers were crushed beneath the impact.
Shields rose around Li Mu, but he shoved them aside.
"Archers."
"Catapults."
"Fire."
The commander's presence on the wall drove morale like a whip. Under crossbow cover, Qin's vanguard reached the base.
Ladders thudded against stone. They swayed as men climbed under a storm of rocks and arrows.
Some ladders were smashed in half, men crushed with them.
Others reached the midpoint and stabbed upward with long spears, only to be met by thrusts from above.
The first man to reach the wall was young. He laughed as if the act itself was victory.
A second later, swords stabbed him from every side.
He fell.
After him came a second.
A third.
Qin soldiers kept dying, and more kept climbing.
Qin did not fear death.
Death meant land for descendants. A future preserved.
They only feared dying in humiliation.
Dying without meaning.
A century of reforms had forged Qin into a single will.
Yet as Wang Jian watched Qin reach the wall again, his brow tightened.
This was not the first time they had touched the top.
They had reached it before.
They had failed every time.
Reaching the wall was not an end.
It was only the beginning.
At the gate, Li Mu drew his sword and shouted.
"Where is my Zhao cavalry?"
"Zhao cavalry, here!"
"Here!"
A roar answered.
Above Zhao, distorted light and shadow thickened. From within that chaos, countless silhouettes poured out.
Zhao had once been mighty. King Wuling's reforms, the Hufu Qishe warriors, had shocked the world.
Now that glory was gone.
Yet at this moment, Li Mu called the past out of history itself.
Warriors from old pages.
They were frantic, chaotic, lacking the spirit they once carried.
But they were strong.
Elite.
Each capable of cutting down dozens.
Li Mu released them as his trump card. Qin had pressed most of its force forward. He intended to use this cavalry to encircle and annihilate Qin here.
Unwilling or not, for home and nation, Li Mu would abandon everything.
This was the meaning of a general.
"Kill," Li Mu ordered.
Wang Jian's gaze darkened. He was already prepared and had left routes for withdrawal. A commander did not gamble with soldiers.
Even knowing Great Qin's Heavens stood behind them, ready to strike, Wang Jian would not place all hope on a god.
Qin could die.
But Qin must die for a worthy cause.
At that moment, Rowe finally moved.
He saw Qin's momentum surge like a rainbow, slicing forward like the edge of a blade.
He saw Zhao's walls hold like a shield.
He understood.
He had guessed correctly.
"Only the qin sword can break the Heaven of Zhao."
Only this sword, forged from the nation's might, from unity between soldiers and civilians, inscribed with a hundred years of Qin's hard years.
If that was the case, then there was no need for ornament.
"Lend me the qin sword."
Light appeared in the sky like sudden sunrise behind the Qin Army. It was the sky of Guanzhong. The sun of Great Qin.
Rowe borrowed a sword from the Qin Army.
Every Qin soldier felt the sword at his waist tremble.
Wang Jian looked down at the edge in his hand, dazed for a heartbeat.
Before he could respond, a voice thundered behind him, answering on his behalf.
"My Great Qin's sword can be lent to the Heavens."
"For Great Qin, break this powerful enemy."
Black banners fluttered, marked with the character Wang, approaching from the rear.
A war chariot rolled forward.
On it stood Ying Zheng of Qin.
"My King," Wang Jian breathed, stunned, then bowed instantly.
The King of Qin had come to the battlefield in person.
Royal order. The qin sword could be lent.
High above, Rowe raised a hand.
The swords in Qin soldiers' hands remained in their grasp, but a point of sharp will rose upward from every blade.
Rowe borrowed an invisible sword.
Not the iron, but the concept of Qin's sharpness.
A sword forged from the human order of Great Qin.
He would use it to strike Zhao.
To break the Heavens.
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