Chapter Forty-Two: Testing Each Other

Huo Yuanjia and Geng Liangchen had still overestimated the Westerners’ sense of honor.

When the vanguard squadron failed to send back any information, the foreign commander issued a decisive order to bombard the friendly ironclads ahead. First, those ironclads were neither his own men nor from a strong mother country; selling out his allies was done with remarkable efficiency. Second, they assumed those ships were already destroyed, and even if not, only a handful could have survived. They desperately needed to fire their cannons to shore up their courage.

Yes, the Westerners now needed to steel themselves.

Having their ships annihilated by martial masters—even if the ships themselves survived, but every crew member was wiped out—made these hardened officers realize their own utter helplessness.

Helplessness is a terrifying thing.

Apart from their naval guns, they had no other effective means left to deal with those two monsters. The human-shaped beasts created by evil sorcerers were stronger than steam engines, more resistant to guns and cannons than any automobile, and quicker than fleas on a cat!

If they didn’t open fire to give themselves courage, their morale might collapse entirely. Not just the soldiers, whose faces had gone pale and who had already caused accidents from nervous misfires—even the officers might lose the will to fight, choosing to withdraw to Yanjing and resume their privileged lives, rather than risk their noble navy lives for the sake of medals.

But the Western commander was not ready to retreat.

Since the day the great guns had opened the gates to the land of Xinghan, the foreign powers had rarely tasted defeat here; even if they did, they could always press the Qing court for a dignified settlement. Before departure, the campaign to severely punish the local rebels had been trumpeted with much fanfare, determined to exterminate this unruly force in the Far East once and for all.

Should they slink back in defeat now, perhaps others would be spared. But for the Western commander, his political life in parliament would be over. Everything he had gained in the Far East these years would have to be disgorged to appease his superiors’ rage—and perhaps even that would not be enough; the odds were high that his wife and daughters would not be spared. This was something he could never accept.

The runaway ironclads, spinning in place, had become sitting ducks. Not long after Huo Yuanjia and Geng Liangchen slipped nimbly into the water, the ironclads that had stood like steel mountains on the sea’s surface were instantly engulfed in roaring flames and choking black smoke.

Steel groaned and twisted in the fire and blast, finally tearing apart completely. No matter how tough, the metal melted and deformed like butter under such destructive power. As seawater flooded in, the damage only worsened. With all motive force lost, the hulks began to list and sink.

A thunderous roar!

Exploding munitions dismembered the lifeless ironclads from within.

One after another, these titanic engines of industry were set alight, blackened, and finally blown apart. Some drifted like ghost ships, listing and wallowing, others plunged askew into the waves, slowly sinking with the rolling swells. The agonized cries of soldiers not quite dead from the psychic assault accompanied the scene.

It was nothing short of hell on earth.

Yet, such hell was no stranger to this world’s Xinghan lands in recent decades. The fairness that martial artists brought had now visited their enemies in turn. If anyone wished to prattle on about bringing civilization and progress through guns and warships, they would have to think twice before uttering such shameless words.

It was, perhaps, the blind cat catching a dead rat.

This round of cannon fire gave the unfortunate allies a grand funeral, but also succeeded in forcing the two martial masters to withdraw.

No one’s spiritual power is limitless.

Even when Lan Yi unleashed such grand spectacles, she only managed it with the help of spiritual energy and Daoist arts. Huo Yuanjia and Geng Liangchen, possessing only innate energy, were operating within the range that the Lotus of the Thunder Pool could barely cover. To recklessly squander their spiritual reserves and psychic might was simply unrealistic.

After the bombardment, smoke hung thick in the air.

Fierce sea winds whipped up waves that shattered like jade on the surface, blowing away both foam and smoke. With the punishment fleet’s forward detachment wiped out, the battlefield settled into an eerily tense stalemate.

Huo Yuanjia and Geng Liangchen had returned to the Xinghan warship.

They were doing their utmost to replenish their spiritual energy, preparing for the next possible clash.

A stick beating a wolf—both ends are fearful.

The martial artists had underestimated the scale and maneuverability of naval warfare; the Westerners had underestimated the martial artists’ resilience and overall strength. Now, with the battle in this strange impasse, both sides circled each other in hesitation.

Neither wanted to retreat.

Both pondered how to seize victory.

The Westerners were no rigid NPCs. After the bombardment, observing the two martial masters’ withdrawal and piecing together intelligence from all sides, they realized that, like guns and cannons, martial artists also required some energy source to wield their might and craft illusions. If their reserves ran dry, even martial artists might weaken, perhaps even become ordinary men.

It seemed that, in this respect, even the most unscientific martial artists obeyed the laws of science.

“All forces, attack!”

Unwilling to slink away in shame, the Western commander, upon receiving these assessments from his staff, decisively ordered a full assault.

He no longer considered landing operations. If he could sink a few ironclads, drive off the Xinghan fleet, and haul back some corpses, that would suffice. The battle report would be written truthfully: a force in the Far East, capable of matching an imperial army, was rising in strength, already exerting control over the southern Xinghan.

For the sake of the Empire’s interests in China, all force must be brought to bear against this group. If necessary, even the home army could be mobilized…

As he pondered, the Western commander could not help but sigh.

Only by facing the martial artists in person could one grasp their terrifying potential. Should they control vast territories, consolidate resources, foster talent, and mass-produce warriors, the “Yellow Peril” so feared by white men would surely sweep the world.

Yet at this moment, the old empires of Europa were sharpening their knives, preparing for the grand war to come. The powder keg could explode at any moment—who had the energy or will to mobilize the home army to intervene in Xinghan’s upheaval now?

Xinghan’s luck, it seemed, was extraordinary.

At this critical juncture, an evil sorcerer had emerged. Surely it was because too many of the nation’s people had died, too many souls sacrificed to Satan, that such a terrifying monster was summoned. Who knew, that sorcerer might have devoured millions already!

As these malicious speculations crossed the commander’s mind, his eyes narrowed.

He raised his telescope, puzzled, and looked out toward the southern horizon.

Strange.

When did a brilliant white streak appear in the sky? Had that been there a moment ago? And this white arc… why did it seem to be growing, bending and extending in their direction?