The shrill whistle of arrows filled the air without end. After several volleys of arrow rain, both cavalry forces had taken casualties, and the distance of dozens of li between them had been closed. The two races' cavalry officially clashed, and in an instant blood splattered and flesh was torn from bone.
One after another, cavalrymen from both sides were struck from their mounts. Those who lost their steeds rarely survived more than ten breaths before falling on the spot — this held true for both the Barbarians and the Demons alike.
Arrows continued to fly, but their targets were no longer the opposing cavalry. Instead, the archers on both sides began exchanging fire with each other — a contest of marksmanship. Whoever possessed superior archery skill and greater agility held the advantage.
The Barbarians suffered considerably. Their archers were all mounted on flying demon beasts, and every evasive maneuver depended on the creatures beneath them. The Demon race's archers, on the other hand, were all Flying Demons, granting them an undeniable edge in mobility.
The dull thud of war drums rang out ceaselessly, like a call from the primordial ages, stirring the blood of every Barbarian warrior.
The cavalry engagement lasted about an incense stick's worth of time, leaving behind vast swaths of corpses and ground soaked in blood.
Right behind them, the infantry crashed together. Millions of Barbarians and Demons charged at each other as though they had prearranged it, each man throwing his life away in the assault. Only one thought filled every mind: kill every last enemy and claim the final victory.
Heaven and earth served as the furnace, flesh and blood as the fuel, and the flames of war burned ever fiercer.
The Wu Niu Tribe had yet to move, standing quietly at the rear of their own formation, watching the battle unfold before them. The hundred thousand tribesmen could barely contain the impulse surging within them.
"Take this to the bottom of the realm passage!"
Die suddenly appeared at Yang Kai's side, pressing a lump of seven-colored mud into his hands.
Yang Kai took it and turned to look at her, mildly taken aback.
"This is the key to victory," Die said earnestly.
"Why you?" Yang Kai asked.
Die shook her head without answering, instead urging him: "Go quickly!"
Yang Kai reined in his thoughts. There was no time for further questions. He gripped the seven-colored mud in one hand and raised the Million Sword high with the other. In a deep voice, he bellowed: "Charge!"
At his command, the hundred thousand members of the Wu Niu Tribe came alive with renewed vigor, excitement written plainly on their faces.
They had waited far too long. They had watched all their kinsmen charge into battle. They had watched many fall to the Demon slaughter. Their hearts had longed to rush forward — even death was better than standing by and watching.
Yang Kai's command came at just the right moment — or rather, Die's message had arrived at just the right moment. The Wu Niu Tribe's morale was already approaching its peak.
Yang Kai rode his demon beast at the head of the charge. A Hu led several thousand cavalrymen close behind. Within the ranks, hundreds of witches of varying levels began chanting incantations. First, a swift lightness spell enveloped the entire army, allowing everyone to keep pace with Yang Kai and the cavalry. Then they cast all manner of enhancement sorcery.
In an instant, multicolored lights began to shimmer.
The Million Sword remained raised high. The dazzling sword glow conjured by Yang Kai served as a brilliant banner, guiding the Wu Niu Tribe's direction of advance.
His mind sank into the seven-colored mud in his hand, trying to discern what exactly it was.
Die was undoubtedly the messenger that Witch Saint Xu had spoken of. Yang Kai couldn't understand why it had to be her. But pondering such things at this moment was entirely pointless. What he needed to understand now was why the key to this war rested in a lump of mud.
What material this seven-colored mud was made of, Yang Kai couldn't tell. He only knew that its grade was extraordinarily high — in later ages, it would absolutely be classified as an exceedingly rare natural treasure, the kind that would trigger bloodshed and chaos the moment it appeared.
But that wasn't the key.
The key was that Yang Kai had sensed a thread of vitality within the seven-colored mud. That vitality felt somewhat familiar, yet when he thought carefully, he couldn't recall where he had encountered it before. The seven-colored mud clearly possessed the special property of blocking divine sense; even holding it in his hand, Yang Kai couldn't probe deeply enough to discern what the vitality within it actually was.
The Witch Saints were counting on whatever was inside this mud to seal the realm passage? Yang Kai couldn't help but feel skeptical. It seemed too haphazard — yet the expression on Witch Saint Xu's face just days ago hadn't suggested he was joking.
With the arrow already on the bowstring, there was no choice but to release it. The Wu Niu Tribe bore an immense responsibility. This was no time for second-guessing. Yang Kai steadied his mind and led the army forward.
With a thunderous rumble, the earth and sky suddenly trembled at the same time, and an aura of world-ending destruction rippled outward.
The power of this aura was so overwhelming that nearly everyone felt a chill of horror run through their bodies.
The two races, locked in brutal combat, all froze for an instant and turned to look. Behind the Barbarian rear lines, a colossal seven-colored dragon suddenly soared into the sky, its body stretching over a thousand zhang, its head and tail sweeping as it hurtled toward the Demon rear.
Then another wave of terrifying aura erupted. From behind the Demon lines, a pillar of pitch-black energy shot skyward to meet the seven-colored dragon, moving with incredible speed and arriving in the blink of an eye.
The Witch Saints and Demon Saints had made their moves.
Their attacks collided above the battlefield with a thunderous roar, and seven-colored light and black radiance clashed against each other, neither side yielding an inch.
Cracks split across the sky like another realm passage tearing open — a horrifying sight.