They called it Budai Mouth Canyon, and from the air, you could see why. The wide valley floor squeezed into a narrow bottleneck at the end, looking for all the world like the opening of a massive drawstring sack.
And shuffling into that sack was an army of the dead.
Hordes of zombies shambled forward, a tide of rotting flesh centered on their king: a level-six monstrosity named Frieza. Flanking him like twisted guard dogs were two level-five Hellhounds. Sprinkled throughout the ranks were the specialized killers—the lithe Assault zombies and the hulking Predators—but the bulk of the force was the standard cannon fodder: your garden-variety Walkers and Jiangshi.
Frieza and his Hellhound escorts stayed protected deep within the throng. Just behind them stalked the Predators. These things were terrifying, standing nearly seven feet tall. They had the crushing power of a Jiangshi in their arms and the explosive speed of an Assault zombie in their legs. Vicious red bone spurs jutted from their shoulders, a clear warning to stay away. A Predator was the worst of both worlds—a powerhouse of strength and speed, all wrapped up with the cunning of a human toddler. Even the Empire's most elite soldiers dreaded facing them. They were the backbone of the horde.
Bringing up the rear was the main force, a sea of Jiangshi and Walkers. The Jiangshi were brutes, their arms corded with muscle capable of twice a man's strength, but they were clumsy and slow. The Walkers were the everyday nightmare—as strong as a normal person, a bit slower, but one bite or scratch was a death sentence.
The vanguard, strangely, was the smallest group: a few dozen Assault zombies. These creatures were built for speed, all power channeled into their legs. Though they stood a good six feet tall, they moved in a low crouch, their shrunken, useless-looking arms dangling as their heads swung back and forth, sniffing the air like bloodhounds. They looked like grotesque, two-legged raptors on the hunt. They could track a living human from five hundred meters out and smell a drop of blood from a full kilometer away. On land, they were sharks.
The river of death flowed slowly down the canyon. Suddenly, one of the point men, an Assault zombie, froze. Its nose twitched, sampling a new scent on the wind. It snapped its head up, its rotten face and bulging eyes staring intently into the distance.
A series of guttural clicks and groans passed between it and its packmates. The message was clear. They all smelled it now: the rich, irresistible perfume of fresh blood.
Like a switch had been flipped, a handful of the Assault zombies broke from the ranks, sprinting forward like cheetahs closing on a kill. The rest of the vanguard followed a second later, a wave of hunched-over killers thundering across the canyon floor.
The commotion rippled back through the horde, finally reaching the leader. Frieza shoved his way through his own troops, his massive frame parting the sea of bodies. He reached the front and stared at the disappearing forms of his scouts, now hundreds of meters away. A flicker of something—suspicion, maybe even fear—crossed his face, the same look a wolf gets when it senses a trap.
Make no mistake, a level-six like Frieza was smart. Dangerously smart.
The two Hellhounds trotted up to flank him. One of them lifted its three heads, sniffing the blood-scented air. Its central head tilted back and let out a triumphant howl. The smell was too good to resist. It coiled its muscles, ready to bolt and claim its share of the feast.
But before it could take a single step, Frieza's arm shot out. The two-and-a-half-meter-tall zombie was an absolute giant, and he snatched the lion-sized Hellhound off the ground like it was a misbehaving puppy. With a grunt of fury, he hurled it aside.
The Hellhound hit the ground with a heavy thud and a pained yelp. It scrambled back to its feet, its three heads looking at Frieza with utter confusion. Why was the boss so angry?
Frieza raised a powerful, clawed hand and pointed at the distant Assault zombies, now frantically licking blood from the canyon floor. His voice, a gravelly ruin of human speech, tore through the air.
"Pig's blood, you idiot!"
The Hellhound just stared, its simple mind failing to grasp the problem. Blood was blood. It was all good. Human blood was better, sure—it fueled their evolution, made them stronger—but this was fine.
A long, jagged scar ran the length of Frieza's face, the souvenir of an old fight with an Imperial soldier. He was a veteran of this war. He scanned his underlings, his voice dropping to a low growl that carried an unmistakable warning.
"Humans. Cunning two-legged sheep. They love their traps. Pig's blood is their oldest trick. There's an ambush waiting for us."
Most of the low-level zombies couldn't understand the words, but they understood the tone. They felt the command in the air. High-level zombies speaking human languages was one of the chilling realities of the new world. As they evolved and grew smarter, they needed a way to communicate, and with no language of their own, they simply stole one from the civilization they'd destroyed. Some of the older ones even retained fragments of memory from their human lives. After a hundred years of war, it was just one more weapon in their arsenal.
The low-level undead couldn't speak the words, but they could read the intent of their masters. And right now, the intent coming from Frieza was a clear and resounding halt. The entire horde, from the Hellhounds down to the last Walker, froze in confusion.
Meanwhile, hidden at the mouth of Budai Canyon, the soldiers of the Orca Combat Battalion held their breath. They watched the few dozen Assault zombies lapping up the bait four hundred meters away, and the massive zombie army that had stopped dead in its tracks eight hundred meters out.
Xiao Ke kept his voice low. "Sir, only the scouts took the bait. The main force isn't moving. What's going on?"
Qin Bing narrowed her eyes, her gaze fixed on the distant figure of Frieza. "Their leader is smarter than I gave him credit for," she murmured, a frown creasing her brow. "He knows something is wrong."
"So what's the play?" Xiao Ke asked. "We only have a handful of them in the kill zone. Do we open up, or do we wait?"
Just then, Qin Bing saw the Assault zombies finish with the blood. A few of them were now sniffing the air again, their heads whipping around. They were seconds away from smelling the hundreds of soldiers hiding just upwind.
Her voice was firm. "We're out of time. They've found us. Take out what we can."
"Got it."
Xiao Ke slowly raised his right fist, held it for a beat, then chopped his hand down through the air.
Duan Canglong, who had been watching for the signal, bellowed the order.
"LIGHT 'EM UP!"
The world erupted in a storm of lead and thunder. Assault rifles and concealed heavy machine guns opened up simultaneously, unleashing a torrent of fire that tore into the exposed Assault zombies. The undead stood no chance. They were shredded in seconds, their bodies dissolving in a red mist under the overwhelming firepower.
From eight hundred meters away, Frieza watched his vanguard get annihilated. A guttural roar of pure, unadulterated fury ripped from his throat.
The hailstorm of bullets ripped the Assault zombies to shreds. Most were killed instantly, their heads exploding like overripe melons.
But some were just maimed. Missing legs and arms, they crawled forward, dragging their broken bodies across the dirt. They had no pain receptors, only a single-minded drive to kill. Even as mangled torsos, they were still dangerous.
Xiao Ke raised his fist again. The squad leaders saw the signal and passed it down the line. "Cease fire!"
Duan Canglong, ever the drill sergeant, added his own colorful commentary. "CEASE FIRE, YOU MAGGOTS! SAVE YOUR DAMN BULLETS! Most of you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn anyway. On the battlefield, every shot counts. Aim for the head. One shot, one kill. You run out of ammo because you're spraying and praying, you can go out there and punch them to death for all I care!"
His voice ringing in their ears, the rookies—most of whom had only held a rifle for a few days—finally stopped shooting.
A few of the crawling torsos were still inching forward, their guttural snarls echoing across the now-quiet canyon. They were slow, but they were relentless.
Xiao Ke casually took the assault rifle from Duan Canglong's hands. He leveled it, sighted on the lead crawler, and squeezed the trigger. Crack. The zombie's head vanished. He handed the rifle back.
"Alright, new bloods," he announced, his voice carrying down the line. "Target practice. Sight in on the remaining crawlers. One shot per person. Make it count."
This was part of the mission. Qin Bing didn't just want to stop the horde; she wanted to forge these green recruits into soldiers. And there was no better training than live fire. Xiao Ke was seizing the opportunity to teach them the two most important lessons of this war: kill efficiently, and never, ever waste a bullet.
A sporadic pop-pop-pop broke the silence as the 160 rookies took their turns. Soon, all the crawlers were still, their heads pulped. But even after the last one stopped moving, a few more shots rang out as nervous recruits failed to check their fire.
Duan Canglong was on them in an instant. "DID YOU NOT HEAR ME? Are you morons deaf?! When the big ones get here and you're clicking on an empty chamber, you'll have no one to blame but yourselves! One shot, one kill! Conserve your ammo!"
The display of cold-blooded execution was not lost on the enemy. Eight hundred meters away, Frieza and his horde had watched the whole thing. The casual slaughter of his scouts had been an insult. This… this target practice was a declaration of war.
It彻底 enraged him.
"ATTACK!" Frieza roared, the command ripping through the horde not just as sound, but as a psychic shockwave. "KILL THE TWO-LEGGED SHEEP! DROWN THIS CANYON IN THEIR BLOOD!"
The zombie army exploded into motion.
Fear and pain meant nothing to them, only an insatiable hunger for living flesh. At their master's command, they charged. The two Hellhounds led the way, bounding forward like demonic lions. Behind them came the dozens of Predators, a wave of muscle and bone spurs. And behind them, the endless sea of Jiangshi and Walkers surged forward, a tidal wave of rot and fury.
Frieza himself began to advance, his heavy footsteps methodical and confident. The human force was small. He figured his Hellhounds would shatter their line, the Predators would butcher the survivors, and the rest of the horde would mop up. He probably wouldn't even have to lift a finger.
He was wrong.
As the Hellhounds entered the 400-meter kill zone, the human defenses roared back to life. The sheer volume of fire was staggering, a wall of lead so dense that even the monstrous Hellhounds had to weave and dodge, their advance slowing to a crawl under the relentless barrage. The Predators and Walkers behind them began to drop in droves.
"Aim for the heads!" Xiao Ke yelled, directing the fire.
"Sir! The Hellhounds! They're still coming!" a soldier cried out in panic.
Xiao Ke saw it too. Despite the fusillade, the two beasts were now within 200 meters. Their hides were peppered with wounds, but nothing fatal. They just kept coming.
"Heavy machine guns!" Xiao Ke bellowed into his comms. "Focus fire on the Hellhounds! Light them up!"
"Yes, sir!"
Five heavy machine guns swiveled and opened up, their higher-caliber rounds hammering into the two monsters. The impact sent them tumbling, but they scrambled back to their feet, roaring in defiance, and charged again.
One hundred meters. The soldiers were starting to panic, emptying their magazines at the two unstoppable beasts who were soaking up ammunition like sponges.
Fifty meters. They were almost on top of them, their massive, three-headed forms a vision from a nightmare. They were charging straight for Xiao Ke's position, their maws gaping, revealing rows of dagger-like teeth.
Click. Xiao Ke drew his own blade, the massive Great Chieftain's knife, bracing for a desperate, close-quarters fight.
Then, a blur of motion shot past him. It was Qin Bing.
"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Xiao Ke screamed. "DON'T HIT THE CHILIARCH!"
In her hand, Qin Bing's military saber was glowing with a brilliant white light, transforming the simple piece of steel into something out of a sci-fi epic.
Xiao Ke stared, stunned, until he heard an awe-struck whisper from a veteran soldier nearby. "A lightsaber… It's a lightsaber. She's channeling her Origin Power into the blade. Only a Valiant General can do that… My God, she's a General!"
Amid the shocked gasps of her soldiers, Qin Bing met the first Hellhound's charge. The beast reared up on its hind legs, towering over her, its three heads striking like cobras, venom dripping from their fangs.
She moved like a phantom. Sidestepping the attack with impossible grace, she flowed past the monster. As she did, the glowing blade sang through the air in a single, perfect arc.
The Hellhound's central head flew from its shoulders, its snarl frozen in a rictus of surprise. The massive body crashed to the ground, twitching for a moment before falling still.