mchenry-crisis.org Chapter 79 Totems of the Times
Chapter 79 Totems of the Times
Inside the gymnasium, someone whispered, "Is he really a freshman?"
No one answered.
Wei Hong stood in the crowd, his expression beyond words.
Wei Hong's Adam's apple bobbed, as if he wanted to say something, but his throat felt blocked, and he couldn't utter a single word.
The freshmen next to him who had been echoing him just moments before all lowered their heads and dared not speak.
Sun Ming pushed up his glasses and stared at Song Chen on the screen: "Grandmaster level...that's grandmaster level swordsmanship..."
Someone nearby heard this and turned around: "What?"
Sun Ming's voice was a little dry: "His swordsmanship is the Blood Battle Swordsmanship of a grandmaster. My grandfather was a swordsmanship instructor. I've watched swordsmanship since I was a child. I can't be wrong."
"Grandmaster level." Several people around gasped in surprise.
Eighteen years old, master-level swordsmanship.
Everyone present understood what this meant.
This means that this person's talent in the way of the sword has surpassed that of most martial artists who have practiced hard all their lives, and that his swordsmanship has transcended the realm of "skill" and entered a state that is almost instinctive.
Qingxiao stood at the front of the group of girls, her eyes fixed on the screen.
Her heart is beating fast.
It wasn't fear, nor was it nervousness, but a kind of inexplicable, throbbing feeling she had never experienced before.
She was a genius from a young age.
Her grandfather was the vice president of the East China Sea Martial Arts Association, and her family was full of powerful figures. She started practicing swordsmanship at the age of three, broke through to the first level at the age of twelve, and reached the second level at the age of sixteen.
At the age of eighteen, he was admitted to Tianhai University with a score among the top three in Donghai Base City.
She has seen and defeated countless geniuses, and no peer has ever made her feel pressured.
But Song Chen is different.
His strength is not the kind of strength honed in training, nor is it the kind of strength that comes from conventional methods.
His power is wild, primal, and born from blood and fire.
Qingxiao suddenly remembered something her grandfather had once told her: "Girl, you must remember, there are two kinds of geniuses in this world: one is a genius trained on the training ground, and the other is a genius fought on the battlefield. The former is very strong, but the latter is a monster."
She didn't quite understand it then, but she does now.
Song Chen is that kind of monster.
The round-faced girl stood next to Qingxiao, her mouth never closing from beginning to end.
She tugged at Qingxiao's sleeve, her voice trembling, "Sister Wan... he... he's still killing..."
On the screen, Song Chen charged towards another Tier 3 alien beast.
This time he didn't use a knife; he crashed directly into the beast's embrace, pressing down on its head with his left hand and its chin with his right palm.
Thunder roars from the heavens, released at zero distance.
A blinding bolt of lightning exploded from his palm, shattering the beast's head in the lightning. The headless body swayed twice before crashing to the ground.
The entire stadium was deathly silent.
Then, some people started clapping.
It wasn't the kind of enthusiastic, excited applause.
Instead, it was a slow, heavy, and reverent applause.
One, two, three...
More and more people joined in, and the applause surged into a torrent, echoing under the dome.
No one spoke, because no one knew what to say.
All they could do was applaud, applaud the peer who was fighting tooth and nail on the screen, applaud the person who stood on the wall for them.
……
The battle lasted for two full days.
On the first day, Song Chen fought from day to night, and his kill count exceeded 150,000, which was the first time he had reached this number.
The beast tide did not stop on the first night.
The beasts continued their assault on the defenses in the darkness, their eyes shining like a sea of red stars in the night sky.
Song Chen didn't rest either. He had consumed 80% of his energy, but the blue crystal was continuously restoring it for him.
His body was operating at the edge of exhaustion, but his mind entered an unprecedented state of clarity. Each strike was more precise than the last, and each release of lightning was more perfect than the last.
The beast tide reached its peak on the second day.
The number of Tier 3 beasts surged, and the first crack appeared on Song Chen's Thunderclap Blade. It wasn't a quality issue, but rather that the metal fatigue of the blade had reached its limit due to too much killing.
But he didn't stop. He poured more lightning into the blade, filling the cracks with electric arcs, allowing the Thunderclap Blade to continue fighting on the verge of collapse.
At dusk the following day, the beast tide finally began to recede.
It was not a sudden retreat, but a slow, gradual decline.
The horde of monsters stopped surging forward, the pressure on the walls lessened, the intensity of artillery fire decreased, and the calls on the communication channels also diminished.
Song Chen stood on the wall, with the Thunderclap Blade stuck in the ground in front of him, supporting his body.
His combat suit was no longer recognizable as its original color; from his chest to his waist and abdomen, from his shoulders to his wrists, from his thighs to his boots, it was completely soaked in the blood of the alien beast.
Most of the blood had dried up, turning into a dark red, hard shell that covered his body like a suit of armor forged from blood.
His face was covered in blood, with only his eyes showing. The golden light in his eyes had dimmed considerably, but it still shone brightly, like two embers about to burn out, emitting their last light in the ashes.
His hair was stuck together in clumps of blood, clinging to his forehead and cheeks.
His lips were chapped, and there was a cut on the corner of his mouth from the claws of a strange beast; the blood had already congealed.
His left hand was trembling slightly, a side effect of overusing his powers; tiny arcs of electricity were still dancing on his fingertips.
But he kept his back very straight.
He stood at the very front of the wall, with mountains of strange beast corpses piled up at his feet.
Monitor lizards, lynxes, grizzly bears, octopuses, starfish...
The corpses of various land and sea creatures were piled up together, forming a small mountain.
Dark purple blood flowed from the pile of corpses, running down the drainage ditch on the wall and forming a dark red stream.
Song Chen stood atop the mountain of corpses, the Thunderclap Blade planted in front of him, his hands folded on the hilt. His gaze swept across the river to the receding dark red halo.
The setting sun sank behind him, dyeing the sky deep purple and dark red.
The psionic particles floated slowly in the twilight, like countless tiny stars, revolving around his body.
His figure, backlit by the setting sun, became a black silhouette, lonely, sharp, and unshakeable.
Tianhai University, Gymnasium.
The image was frozen on the big screen.
Thousands of freshmen looked up, silent, watching that figure.
No one spoke, no one clapped, no one cheered.
Because no language can describe how they feel at that moment.
The scene depicted an eighteen-year-old boy standing atop endless carcasses of strange beasts, wielding a battle sword, his body covered in blood, with the setting sun and floating psionic particles behind him.
That wasn't a picture; it was a totem.
It is the totem of this era.