"Clang... Clatter... Clang..."
The dry, heavy friction of stone grinding against rusted metal echoed throughout the subterranean grand hall. The dust of ages, stirred after millennia of slumber, drifted through the air, forming a hazy mist under the brilliant radiance emitted by the three hovering relics.
The four stone doors on the four sides of the hall had fully ground open. Four figures clad in ancient bronze battle armor slowly, step by step, emerged from the darkness.
Their gait was nothing like that of the living. They were stiff, rhythmic, and as heavy as moving statues. Each footfall caused the stone floor of the grand hall to tremble slightly.
Under the ethereal light, their forms gradually became clear. These were neither humans nor demons. They were war puppets—killing machines forged from the alchemy and Magus arts of the ancient Lac Viet. Their entire bodies were encased in bronze armor that had weathered the passage of time, etched with exquisite patterns of clouds and lightning. Their faces were concealed by bronze masks—featureless, soulless, and cold.
Yet, what truly inspired terror was the melancholy green fire blazing from the slits of those masks. That was no flame of life, but a fire of pure energy, controlled by some ancient will that had slept for a thousand years and had only now been awakened.
The four guardians took their positions at the four cardinal directions of the altar.
The one to the East held a bronze greatbow, nearly as large as a man's body, with a bronze quiver slung across its back. To the West stood a figure wielding a pair of colossal Phu Viet—massive axe-spears whose blades emanated an aura capable of cleaving mountains. The guardian to the South held a large round shield embossed with a divine tortoise, with a sharp longspear in its other hand. Finally, to the North stood the largest and most dangerous-looking of them all; its weapon was an enormous great-saber with a wide, thick blade that carried a steady yet overbearing "momentum."
"Bronze Warriors," Uncle Sword muttered, his expression exceedingly grim. He had already unsheathed his wooden sword, shielding Lam Vy and Trinh Cong. "These are the legendary tomb-guarding puppets. Their bodies are forged from divine bronze—impervious to blades and spears, possessing peerless strength. They obey a single command instilled since antiquity: destroy all intruders."
Ly Tin had also drawn his sword, standing back-to-back with Trinh Cong to form a defensive line. "Uncle Sword, these things... what is the level of their cultivation base?"
"They have no cultivation base," Uncle Sword shook his head. "They do not cultivate spiritual qi. Their power comes from the formations carved inside their bodies and the energy supplied by this very altar. But if one were to compare, the physical strength of each one is likely no weaker than a Foundation Establishment stage cultivator!"
No weaker than Foundation Establishment!
These words caused Ly Tin and Trinh Cong to gasp. Four killing machines equivalent to four Foundation Establishment experts! Ly Thuan alone had nearly cost them their lives; now they faced four entities that knew only slaughter, felt no emotion, and feared no pain.
While they were still reeling from the shock, the four Bronze Warriors acted in unison.
They did not roar; they did not utter a word. They simply raised their weapons. Their target was the five living beings present in the hall.
The one to the East drew the greatbow. A bronze arrow automatically notched itself onto the string. The melancholy green fire in its eyes flared brilliantly.
Whoosh!
The bronze arrow streaked forth, not in a straight line, but tracing a strange arc through the air, piercing the wind with an ear-splitting whistle. Its speed was so great that it seemed impossible to evade!
Uncle Sword dared not delay. He swung his wooden sword.
"Sword Intent—Flowing Water!"
His wooden sword did not meet the arrow head-on. Instead, it moved softly and gracefully like a flowing stream, weaving circles of sword-light. As the bronze arrow plunged into the circle, its violent speed and power were instantly sapped by the gentle sword intent, before being parried aside to slam into the distant rock wall, triggering a small explosion.
But this was only the beginning!
The moment the arrow was loosed, the Bronze Warrior to the West brandished its giant Phu Viet, letting out a dull rumble from its chest as it charged straight toward them. Each step made the ground quake.
Simultaneously, the guardian to the South raised its shield for cover while its spear lunged out like a venomous dragon in a coordinated strike. The one to the North remained still, but its massive great-saber was raised high, an intimidating saber-momentum as steady as a mountain locking onto everyone. It was waiting for the perfect moment to deliver a fatal blow.
The Guardians of the Four Images—four protectors coordinating with flawless precision, leaving not a single opening!
"Dammit!" Ly Tin roared. He and Trinh Cong lunged forward, attempting to parry the spearman's attack. But the puppet's strength was too immense; with a single clash, both were sent flying backward, their blood and qi churning violently.
Uncle Sword was forced to face the most powerful axe-wielder alone. Although his sword intent was profound, the puppet's body was too sturdy; each strike against the bronze armor left only a faint scratch and a shower of sparks.
The situation was critical. They were being utterly overwhelmed.
At this life-and-death threshold, Tran Kien, who was still standing upon the altar, suddenly shouted.
"EVERYONE, FALL BACK! LEAVE THIS TO ME!"
Everyone was stunned. Leave it to him? What could a mere Qi Condensation youth do against four killing machines equivalent to Foundation Establishment?
Tran Kien had no time to explain. He did not draw his blade. He did not take a defensive stance. Instead, he did something no one could understand.
He closed his eyes and channeled every drop of Primordial Chaos Qi in his body—not to attack, but to pour it all into the fragment of the Sun Star Guardian hovering before him!
Simultaneously, he used his divine sense to connect with the Magus map and the Lac Bird pottery shard. He did not try to command them. He was "beseeching" them. He was using his own Lac Viet bloodline and his reverence for his ancestors to communicate with the spirits of these relics.
Ancestors above! Your descendant, Tran Kien, does not wish to desecrate this holy land! I seek only to reclaim our lost heritage and restore the glory of the Lac Viet! Please, grant me a path of survival!
"BZZZZZT!!!"
As if hearing his plea, the three relics suddenly erupted with an unprecedented, dazzling halo of light. The fragment of the Sun Star Guardian soared upward, slamming directly into the empty stone pedestal at the center of the altar.
BOOM!
The moment the fragment clicked into place, the entire Lac Viet Grand Heavenly Formation upon the altar blazed to life. A pillar of golden light—warm, righteous, and resplendent—shot up from the center of the array, piercing toward the ceiling of the grand hall.
The four Bronze Warriors, who were in the midst of a fierce assault, suddenly froze. The melancholy green flames in their eyes began to flicker violently.
They slowly turned their heads, gazing in unison toward Tran Kien, who stood within the pillar of light, his entire body bathed in the radiance of the sun.
The murderous aura radiating from them gradually dissipated.
Instead, an unbelievable scene unfolded.
The four ancient killing machines, the loyal guardians of the holy land, simultaneously withdrew their weapons and slowly... dropped to one knee, bowing toward Tran Kien.
It was as if subjects were prostrating in worship before their King.