Chapter 49: At the Crow of the Rooster, the World Turns Bright

On Wu Tengkong’s side, the battle had grown fiercer. All four combatants possessed fifth-level divine bodies, and Wu Tengkong’s main advantage lay in his defense—in plain terms, he could take a beating. As for the other three cultists, they were rather unremarkable individually, but since it was three against one, they still held the upper hand.

Bang!

Wu Tengkong once again sent the Third Guardian flying, this time punching a bloody hole straight through the man’s abdomen, spilling viscera all over the ground. Yet Wu Tengkong himself was struck by the Fourth and Seventh Guardians, their blows piercing his chest.

“Die!”

Wu Tengkong ignored his wounds, breaking free from the two and charging once more at the Third Guardian. His hand reached out, clawing straight for the man’s throat. If he caught him, he could twist the Third Guardian’s head clean off—without a brain to command his body, the Guardian would be finished.

“Quick, kill him!” The Third Guardian gripped his blade tightly, but it brought him no comfort. Panic had overtaken him, his actions growing frantic. Why was this lunatic singling him out? Couldn’t he share the pain with the others?

“Kill!” The Fourth and Seventh Guardians nodded grimly and rushed at Wu Tengkong again.

Bang!

Wu Tengkong’s grasp was blocked by the Third Guardian’s blade, but he seized upon the opportunity, grabbing the sword itself. Without caring whether the blade would slice through his gauntlet, he spun his body in a Thomas flair and kicked the Third Guardian square in the chest.

Startled, the Third Guardian instinctively let go of the sword and leaped backward. Even so, he was a beat too slow—Wu Tengkong’s foot crashed into his chest with a loud crack, shattering countless ribs.

Seizing the advantage, Wu Tengkong snatched the Third Guardian’s sword and, with a swift rotation, reversed his grip on the weapon. Now wielding the long blade, he pursued the fleeing Third Guardian.

The blade sliced through the night, gleaming silver in the moonlight. Coupled with Wu Tengkong’s golden form descending from above, he looked as though he meant to cleave a mountain in two.

Not good!

The Fourth and Seventh Guardians, chasing from behind, saw the Third Guardian’s predicament and realized the situation was dire. Gritting their teeth, they mustered all their strength and accelerated toward Wu Tengkong.

“Die!”

Wu Tengkong caught up to the Third Guardian, his speed outpacing his quarry by a full margin. He brought the blade down in a powerful arc; with nothing left to defend himself, the Third Guardian could only raise his arms to block.

Crack!

The blow was unstoppable, slicing the Third Guardian’s arm clean off. Yet the Guardian reacted swiftly, moving forward to meet the attack head-on, preventing his head from being cleaved in two.

Rip!

The blade traced down from his shoulder, cutting deep and nearly cleaving him in half at the heart.

Wu Tengkong frowned; the power of that strike was spent, but he could still deliver another. Gripping the blade, he moved to withdraw and strike again—when suddenly, a blade swept in from the side, slashing at his wrist.

Crack!

The blow was sharp and clean, biting into bone before continuing through. Wu Tengkong’s hand was severed at the root, crashing to the ground with the force of a collapsing wall, gouging a hole in the earth.

Realizing the danger, Wu Tengkong saw the Seventh Guardian lunging, sword aimed at his forehead—a lethal strike if it landed.

He kicked at the Fourth Guardian, who was poised to attack again; the blow sent his foe flying.

Using the recoil, Wu Tengkong retreated over a hundred meters before coming to a halt. Yet before he could steady himself, a missile struck, blasting him away—he barely had time to react.

“Bastard!” Wu Tengkong clambered to his feet, cursing furiously as he tried to spot his assailant. The Fourth and Seventh Guardians, however, seized the opportunity and attacked, eager to finish him off now that he had lost a hand.

The Third Guardian, clutching his nearly bisected torso, his face twisted in agony, only grew more murderous.

...

“Wu Tengkong can’t hold out much longer. Beibei, get ready to run,” Chen Meng whispered.

“Zee zee,” Mouse Beibei scratched at Chen Meng’s leg, seemingly urging him to escape together.

“These bastards actually got their hands on two man-portable missile launchers!” Han Hao fended off cultists advancing on Hong Family Village while scanning for the one who had just fired at Wu Tengkong. He quickly spotted him—a second-level divine body cultist. Only moments ago, Han Hao had already killed one such cultist.

“You two stay here; I’ll go kill him.” Han Hao decided he couldn’t let the man fire a second missile.

With that, he prepared to dash out, but paused to draw a pistol from his belt, tossing it to Chen Meng.

Chen Meng stared blankly. What was this? Was Han Hao implying he couldn’t protect him and that he’d have to defend himself? But looking around, it seemed there really was no one else nearby.

Watching Han Hao’s figure race away, Chen Meng fiddled with the pistol. It was far finer than the training models he’d used before, and likely much more powerful—though he wondered if he could control the recoil.

“Die!”

Han Hao had already reached the cultist with the missile launcher, throwing a punch as he closed in.

Bang!

As a third-level divine body, Han Hao vastly outmatched the second-level cultist, sending him flying several hundred meters with a single blow.

Han Hao moved to pursue, but sensing danger, dodged just in time. A rocket exploded at his feet, hurling him through the air, his ears ringing from the blast.

“Mouse!”

Someone shouted, finally spotting Mouse Beibei. The cultist with the missile launcher froze, then grinned with delight. He leapt up, swinging the launcher toward Chen Meng and his group.

Chen Meng saw that the cultist was less than three hundred meters away—a missile at that range would not miss.

“Old man, hurry! Transform!” Chen Meng shouted anxiously, pushing at the elder, who instead shrank back, frantically turning his little electric scooter around.

The old man was running away!

Chen Meng was dumbfounded, as was Uncle Tie, who grabbed his flashlight and prepared to flee.

“Damn!” Even with the best temper, Chen Meng couldn’t hold back. He seized Mouse Beibei and hurled him back, shouting, “Run for yourself!”

Gritting his teeth, Chen Meng glanced at the cultist preparing to fire, raised his gun, arced it in a circle, and pulled the trigger ten times in rapid succession.

Bang bang bang!

Bullets tore through the pre-dawn darkness, streaking toward their target.

The cultist, convinced he was about to achieve a great victory, paid no heed to Chen Meng’s pistol fire, believing it posed no threat—certainly not enough to make him halt his missile launch.

But when the first bullet struck his brow, he realized his mistake. The initial shot was stopped by his skull, but the second bullet struck the base of the first, driving it into his brain. The third and fourth followed, tracking the same trajectory deep into his mind.

Bang!

His skull split open, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at Chen Meng. Killed by a pistol—how could it be?

Boom!

The missile launcher crashed from his grip, thudding to the ground, his body falling lifeless from the sky.

“Chain-shot!” Han Hao, having just gotten to his feet, watched the body fall in silence. He knew his own pistol had a range of five hundred meters, and that cultist had been three hundred from Chen Meng—almost impossible to kill with a single shot, unless it was through chain-fire.

The other cultists and the Bureau’s enforcers took a long moment to react, stunned by the sheer brilliance of what they’d witnessed.

...

Back on Wu Tengkong’s side, the situation was critical. With one hand lost, his fighting power was greatly diminished, and the three opponents pressed their advantage.

Boom!

The Seventh Guardian kicked Wu Tengkong out of the sky, slamming him into the ground. Before he could rise, the Fourth Guardian’s warblade swung down toward his head.

“Three against one, I admit defeat,” Wu Tengkong shouted as he backed away.

Then he raised his voice toward Jiangzhou City, shouting, “Chicken God, help me!”

The three Guardians hesitated—someone else? Chicken God? What nonsense was this?

But after several seconds, there was still no response.

Wu Tengkong paused, growing desperate. “Ji Wuli, get over here and save me!”

Half a minute passed with no answer.

Wu Tengkong took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and called out with a hint of tragedy, “Grandfather, save me!”

Chen Meng, who had been considering whether to run, heard the shout. He looked at the old man, who was busy steering his scooter away, and fell into a thoughtful silence.

At that moment, a piercing, shrill cry resounded, echoing across the entire city of Jiangzhou.

“Chick-a-doodle-doo!”

Chen Meng felt his eardrums quiver, and instinctively looked up at the sky.

There, above Jiangzhou, a fiery red bird with twin wings appeared, as if bathed in flames. Its wings spanned nearly thirty meters, resembling a fighter jet, and the crest on its head was like a burning crown. Its legs were golden, with a metallic sheen, and its eyes glowed red like the sun. From five hundred meters above, it gazed down, its presence radiating a terrifying majesty—like a god descending to earth.

“Cluck!” Chen Meng was stunned, recalling the bird’s cry.

It sounded like a rooster’s crow!

It was, in fact, a chicken!

At the horizon, the sun rose slowly, its first rays spilling over Jiangzhou with the celestial crow of dawn.