Chapter Fifty-One: Battle with the Ghost Soldiers

“Damn it! All or nothing!” Song Nianqiang gritted his teeth and lunged forward, but he was quickly forced back. The ghost soldiers had grown accustomed to the world of the living; now Song Nianqiang was no match for them at all.

“Shit!” he cursed as he stumbled backward. By now, both he and the big guy were soaked to the bone by the rain, and Song Nianqiang’s hair kept falling over his eyes, making him swear that he’d shave those annoying locks off as soon as he got home. But first, he needed to find a way to save the big guy.

The big guy’s face was already turning a deep purplish red; he didn’t look like he could hold on much longer. Song Nianqiang had only one option left. With a fierce resolve, he bit down hard and shouted, “Soul Separation!”

With a heavy thud, Song Nianqiang’s body collapsed into the mud, sending up a spray of filthy water. A faint shadow drifted from his body, gradually solidifying until it was indistinguishable from the form lying on the ground. “If you won’t let me live, then I’ll send every last one of you back to hell!” he snarled, then launched himself at the nearest ghost soldier.

But the ghost soldiers were no easy opponents. Song Nianqiang punched one squarely on its armored chest. Though his soul felt no pain, the blow rebounded, sending him stumbling back. The armor seemed imbued with dark power, able to repel spiritual attacks. It was clear that without using his most secret technique, he’d never overcome this ghostly host.

“The Thirty-Six Stratagems of Mount Mao! Soul-forged Blade!” he invoked. This spell, recorded in the final pages of the Mount Mao Taoist manual, was the very essence of their arcane arts—Song Nianqiang’s trump card. A brilliant golden blade slowly formed in his hand. The ghost soldiers sensed the threat to their existence and began to close in on him.

Those who had been surrounding the big guy now abandoned him, ghostly forms gliding toward Song Nianqiang. At last, seeing his plan take effect, Song Nianqiang let out a breath of relief, though his gaze grew sharp. He fixed his eyes on the soldier directly ahead and swung the golden blade in a dazzling arc.

The ghost soldier was only a step away, and though it raised its own blade to block, its movements were sluggish compared to Song Nianqiang’s. In a flash, it was cleaved in two, dissolving into a wisp of blue smoke that vanished from the world. This time, Song Nianqiang hadn’t merely banished them back to hell—he’d erased the ghost from existence entirely.

No sooner had he dispatched this foe than three long halberds thrust suddenly toward him. Twisting aside, he swept his blade in a broad arc, knocking the weapons away. But now he was being forced farther from the big guy. These ghost soldiers were formidable indeed; even fighting with all his might, he couldn’t break through their defense.

To become a ghost soldier in hell was no small feat. Their armor had been specially forged by the hellish demon kings, impervious to spiritual assault and even able to harm souls. That was why Song Nianqiang had been repelled earlier. But with his soul-forged golden blade, crafted to slay spirits, their armor posed no real threat.

Among the ghost soldiers was a leader—a centurion—though he remained at the rear, out of sight. With a centurion present, Song Nianqiang could estimate the number of ghost soldiers haunting this mass grave: at least a hundred.

“You don’t know what’s good for you! Don’t blame me for what comes next!” Song Nianqiang’s golden blade flared with light as he leaped into their midst, bringing the blade crashing down on another ghost soldier. The spirit tried to block with its weapon, but it was no match for the blade designed to destroy the undead. The weapon split in two, and the soldier vanished in the rain, reduced to smoke.

Spinning the blade before him, Song Nianqiang forced back the encroaching spirits, retreating a step and watching his foes with the glare of a tiger.

“Kill him!” the centurion bellowed from the rear. In just a few minutes, two of his men had been destroyed—an unthinkable loss, for these ghost soldiers were immortal and had spent countless ages together. Each one was like a brother to the centurion. Now, with his brothers slain, his fury knew no bounds.

At the command, the ghost soldiers pressed in on Song Nianqiang. If he retreated any farther, they would reach his body. Should they destroy it in their rage for revenge, not even the Goddess of Mercy could save him—he’d simply watch himself die. He could not fall back now.

With a flicker of golden light, Song Nianqiang lunged forward, felling two ghost soldiers who couldn’t evade his blade. At that moment, the big guy, roused from his dazed state, saw Song Nianqiang’s spirit outside his body and turned pale with fright.

If no one guarded Song Nianqiang’s body, the ghost soldiers could easily possess it. Even the benevolence of the Bodhisattva would be powerless to save him then. To save his friend, Song Nianqiang had risked everything. Now, his life was no longer in his own hands.

“Damn it! What’s dying for a brother?” the big guy shouted, heaving himself upright from the mud. He fished a plastic bag from his pocket and pulled out a talisman, which was immediately soaked through by the rain, losing most of its power.

He stuffed the talisman into his mouth and swallowed it. Instantly, a flash of golden light shot from his eyes. Not stopping there, he grabbed a stone from the ground and slashed it across his wrist. Blood streamed out, and he smeared it across his forehead, suddenly exuding an air of ancient command, like a general from times long past.

Golden light radiated from him, though the effect would not last long. Gritting his teeth, he charged at the ghost soldiers ahead. Sensing the surge of yang energy behind them—energy that could strip them of their very essence—they scattered to the sides. The big guy seized the chance, forcing his way forward like a tiger, and in seconds reached Song Nianqiang’s body.

Ignoring his own bleeding, he sat cross-legged beside Song Nianqiang and rapidly chanted the Incantation for Purifying Heaven and Earth. A faint red glow spread from him, enveloping Song Nianqiang’s body and shielding it from harm. Finally free of worry, Song Nianqiang’s lips twisted in a cruel smile.

“Your end is here!” he shouted, plunging into the ghost soldiers. With a single swing, he reduced the one on his left to blue smoke, then lashed out with a kick, sending another flying.

Gripping his golden blade in both hands, he charged into their ranks. Golden light flashed again and again as the ghost soldiers were cut down, vanishing into the storm. Some managed to land blows, but each time their weapons struck, a golden glow flared from Song Nianqiang, deflecting the attack. Protected by this power, he dared to rampage through their formation, cutting down foes on every side.

Soon, the hundred ghost soldiers were in total disarray, but the energy within Song Nianqiang’s golden blade was fading fast; its brilliance had dulled. The ghost soldiers paid a heavy price—forty-five of them were utterly wiped from existence.

“Vengeance for our fallen brothers! Kill him, no matter what!” the centurion shouted from behind. Who knew from which era these spirits hailed, that even facing oblivion they showed no fear? They must have known that death now meant eternal extinction, with no hope of resurrection.

Spurred by the centurion’s command, the fifty-five remaining ghost soldiers surged toward Song Nianqiang. But his spiritual power was nearly spent; it was impossible to destroy them all. Glancing back, he saw the big guy sitting cross-legged beside his own body, blood still pouring from his wrist, his face growing ever paler—already dangerously weak from blood loss. If Song Nianqiang didn’t finish this soon, there’d be no time to tend to his friend’s wounds.