Chapter Fifty-Six: The Dog-Beating Staff Technique!

Hundreds of people, suddenly blocked by Jiang Yuan, grew even more enraged.

“Who are you people? Why are you invading our Ghoul Tribe?”

“Who am I? That’s an interesting question coming from you shamans. It’s always been your kind harassing and encroaching upon the borders of my Shang Dynasty, and now you have the nerve to ask who I am?”

As he spoke, Jiang Yuan’s aura erupted, the regal bearing unique to the Human Sovereign flooding the space, intensified by the tyrant’s might bestowed upon him by the system.

Those among the Ghoul Tribe whose cultivation was slightly weaker instantly dropped to their knees, some even unable to withstand it and prostrating themselves before Jiang Yuan.

“Today, I’ll tell you exactly who I am! I am the Human Sovereign of Heaven and Earth! The lands you shamans and ghosts have long plagued and invaded belong to me! I have come here myself to settle this score with you!”

With the augmentation of his magical power, Jiang Yuan’s already sonorous voice became thunderous, deafening.

It was likely that the entire Ghoul Tribe could hear him. Jiang Yuan’s intention was precisely so that Grand Preceptor Wen would hear, so he’d know that rescue was on the way.

As Jiang Yuan expected, deep within the Ghoul Tribe’s territory, Wen Zhong was leading his army, desperately resisting the tribe’s siege.

Almost all the tribe’s elites were gathered here to destroy Wen Zhong. Despite being cursed, his skin withered, eyes dull, lips purple, and corpse spots mottling his body, Wen Zhong’s strength far exceeded their expectations. The curse they’d cast upon him, the Heaven’s Calamity Corpse Transformation, was the Ghoul Tribe’s most potent and secret art.

The mere act of casting the curse had cost the tribe half its foundation and consumed the blood essence of many clanspeople—not to mention the consequences of the curse itself—all to ensure Wen Zhong would never return.

Yet, even in this wretched state, Wen Zhong still had the strength to resist. What kind of power did he possess?

His mind was clouded, his strength nearly spent, but the warriors behind him gave him the will to hold on.

He, Wen Zhong, would be the first to fall before his men.

“I am the Human Sovereign of Heaven and Earth!”

Jiang Yuan’s voice reached Wen Zhong’s ears. At first lifeless, Wen Zhong’s eyes suddenly shone with renewed spirit.

Was it his imagination? Had he just heard that brat Di Xin’s voice?

That little scoundrel was no doubt indulging himself in Chaoge right now, squandering his potential. Wen Zhong had planned to wipe out the Ghoul Tribe and then return to knock some sense into the boy. But now, it seemed he’d been too hasty and had fallen into a trap. He doubted he’d get another chance after this.

Wen Zhong was certain it was nothing but a dying hallucination.

“Grand Preceptor, did you just hear something? It sounded like someone was impersonating the king?” someone beside Wen Zhong asked.

“You heard it too?” Wen Zhong was momentarily stunned, raising his eyebrow.

“It didn’t seem like an illusion. I heard it as well—someone claiming to be the Human Sovereign…” another replied uncertainly.

Wen Zhong looked around in disbelief. “You all heard it?”

The crowd nodded. Wen Zhong, whose posture had been slumped, suddenly straightened, gazing at the Ghoul Tribe warriors surrounding him.

Suddenly, he burst out laughing. So it wasn’t just his imagination—the king had truly come!

Wen Zhong raised his Male and Female Whip, shouting, “Sons of the Eastern Yi Border Army! You did not mishear! His Majesty has come in person to rescue us—what are you waiting for? Charge out and meet our king!”

Having barely clung to life, Wen Zhong now seemed to glow with renewed vigor. Perhaps the king’s debauchery had weighed on his mind for too long. Now, hearing that the king himself had come to the border was like rain after a long drought—a feeling beyond words.

“Kill!”

Wen Zhong’s fervor swept through the troops, their spirits soaring.

The high priest of the Ghoul Tribe frowned. Why had these humans suddenly grown so spirited—just because of that one proclamation?

Given more time, Wen Zhong would surely have died here. But now, their morale had spiked unexpectedly, which made the high priest furious. “What’s happening outside the tribe? What is the Third Elder doing?!”

He could only rage in impotence. The curse on Wen Zhong required his constant presence; if he left the battlefield, Wen Zhong would slowly recover, and then the tribe would be doomed.

“Corpselin, take some clansmen and go see what’s going on. Use whatever means necessary—do not let anyone interfere! Where is the Ghoul Army?!”

“High Priest, the Ghoul Army is stationed outside the tribe, currently engaging the intruder,” the Second Elder, Corpselin, replied respectfully.

“Go as well,” the high priest ordered.

“Yes.” Corpselin withdrew.

“Corpseji, give up this futile resistance. The one who’s come is our Shang king, the Human Sovereign of Heaven and Earth. You cannot win!” Wen Zhong laughed.

The high priest’s brow furrowed. So the king himself had come—no wonder their spirits soared. But he was unfazed. He sneered at Wen Zhong, “Worry about yourself first. The Heaven’s Calamity Corpse Transformation curse is not so easy to bear.”

“You know what’s happening inside your body now. Even if the king fights his way here to rescue you, you won’t live much longer!”

Wen Zhong only laughed, unconcerned for his own fate. “Soldiers, will you die for Great Shang?”

“Death holds no fear for us!”

Their voices rang out in unison, their momentum growing ever sharper, and the high priest’s face darkened.

He’d tried intimidation, but it only made them stronger.

“Kill them! Don’t give them a moment’s respite!” he commanded.

He changed tactics—no more attrition. He would kill Wen Zhong with thunderous force, no matter the cost.

Steel clashed and the din of battle filled the air.

Outside the Ghoul Tribe, Jiang Yuan’s show of strength had further enraged the Ghoul Army.

“No matter who you are, you’ll die here today!”

Jiang Yuan sneered, channeling his power into the Sword of Thunderlight. Thunder boomed, lightning crackled.

“This sword should taste more blood while it still can, or it might never get another chance.”

The Sword of Thunderlight was not of high grade, and by rights it should have been discarded, but Jiang Yuan was sentimental and wanted to use it one last time.

He held the sword before his chest, feeling a bit awkward—he didn’t really know any techniques.

Should he just fight head-on? Wouldn’t it seem unsophisticated if he didn’t call out some impressive attacks?

He resolved, then and there, to bluff his way through, even if he didn’t know any real moves.

After all, the divine power of Genesis Destruction was inexhaustible. He could use it recklessly.

“Sword Sweeps the Eight Wastelands!”

Jiang Yuan swung his sword in a sweeping arc, unleashing a fierce sword energy laced with searing lightning, savage and terrifying.

With one stroke, scores of Ghoul Tribe warriors fell, yet they felt no fear—if anything, they became even more reckless.

Their bodies, forged by the tribe’s secret arts, felt neither pain nor sensation; they were like weapons.

Jiang Yuan showed no mercy, continuing to strike.

“Sovereign Over the World!”

“Butterfly Sword Technique!”

“Piercing Heart Sword!”

“Soul-Wounding Sword!”

With his overwhelming power, Jiang Yuan cut down enemies as easily as chopping vegetables.

Nezha watched, his eyes shining with admiration. Who knew Old Jiang knew so many techniques?

Zhang Kui, too, looked on with a strange expression. So the king had always hidden his true strength? He’d never heard of any of these sword arts—they must be profound secret skills!

But soon, Jiang Yuan’s “techniques” began to reveal the truth.

“Dog-Beating Staff Technique!”

“Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms!”

It was the same sword swings—only the names changed.

Zhang Kui instantly understood: the king didn’t actually know any profound methods, nor did he have much battle experience. He was relying purely on his immense power. Zhang Kui couldn’t see through his cultivation, but it was still astonishing.

Zhang Kui understood, but Nezha did not. Now, Nezha was practically worshipping Jiang Yuan. So calling out moves during a fight could be this impressive? He resolved to have Old Jiang teach him so he could shout these names in battle too.

Zhang Kui looked at the adoring Nezha, then at the king’s solemn face, and smiled silently. Perhaps this was the king’s intention all along.

It looked like Nezha, the wild child even his own father Li Jing couldn’t handle, would be firmly under the king’s thumb from now on. Zhang Kui’s respect for the king only grew.

Still, wasn’t the name “Dog-Beating Staff Technique” a bit too casual?