The sky gradually dimmed into evening.
Beyond the walls, the engineering teams tasked with excavating outer trenches had finished their shifts and returned inside.
The battalions reinforcing the ramparts also rested their tools.
Every soldier had taken their assigned stations across the elevated bastions, manning redstone artillery, heavy machine guns, and defensive emplacements.
Within the streets, ten thousand Iron Golems marched in steady, lumbering patrols.
Though several peripheral renovations remained incomplete, Redstone Tech City had transformed into an impenetrable military fortress.
Zhongli stood at the center of the main battlements, flanked by the adepti.
His stance mirrored the ancient campaigns of the Archon War, waiting for rival gods to test his perimeter.
Yet the aesthetic was entirely modern.
In his left hand rested a heavy machine gun; in his right hand, another identical firearm.
Behind him, Xiao and the illuminated adepti were similarly outfitted, carrying either automatic rifles or RPG launchers.
When holding the line, overwhelming firepower was the only metric that mattered.
Mounted atop the bunkers along the ramparts were over a hundred automated machine gun turrets, an extravagant deployment of resources that proved the leadership had spared no expense.
Venti glanced at Zhongli's battle gear, looked away in silence, and then could not resist staring once more.
It was strange.
Magnificently strange.
"What holds your attention?" Zhongli asked in a flat, even tone, turning his head to fix the bard with a calm look.
Venti offered a sheepish grin, scratching his cheek.
"Nothing of consequence! It merely feels unusual. The atmosphere carries all the solemn grandeur of the ancient god wars, yet here you stand in olive-drab tactical plate, armed to the teeth with modern automatic weapons."
Zhongli turned his gaze back toward the horizon, his cadence steady.
"Times change, and the doctrines of war evolve alongside them. Securing victory requires adaptability."
"Besides, why fret over the weapon's nature? Whether forged of cold iron or gunpowder and lead, any tool that eliminates the enemy is a worthy instrument."
Venti blinked, his lips curving into a playful smirk.
"The logic is sound, of course. Still, seeing the God of War abandon his polearm for heavy machine guns feels slightly surreal."
Before Zhongli could respond, Ryen's voice drifted over from the side with an easy chuckle.
"You should not dismiss it so quickly. In my original world, there lived a celebrated sword saint."
"He proclaimed mastery over every weapon beneath the heavens. Though revered as a sword saint, his true genius lay in his unmatched versatility."
"Throughout his life, he never tasted defeat, relying primarily on an exquisite technique known as American Iaijutsu."
Tartaglia's eyes lit up with sharp, martial curiosity, leaning forward.
"American Iaijutsu?"
Ryen nodded with profound gravity, adopting an expression of ancient wisdom.
"It is a quick-draw art refined to absolute perfection, pursuing lightning speed to neutralize an opponent in a single breath."
"Relying upon that singular technique, he walked the earth unchallenged."
Tartaglia's enthusiasm surged, his hands tightening with excitement.
"Tell me, Mr. Ryen... do you know this technique?"
"I know a trick or two," Ryen replied, smiling calmly.
Catching Tartaglia's burning gaze, Ryen understood his thoughts immediately.
With the first wave yet to arrive, a lighthearted diversion to ease pre-battle tension was welcome. He gave a slight nod, gesturing for Tartaglia to take his stance.
Curiosity stirred along the battlements. Hearing Ryen describe the style as the pinnacle of blinding speed, several combatants took notice, especially Ei, whose dedication to the blade drew her focus instantly.
Tartaglia stepped forward, drawing his short daggers with a wide, eager grin.
It was his very first opportunity to cross blades with Ryen in a formal duel.
He had anticipated this moment for months, refusing even to draw on modded weapons so he could test his pure martial arts.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Tartaglia lowered his stance.
"Mr. Ryen, where is your blade?"
Ryen shook his head with an amused smile.
"The essence of American Iaijutsu lies entirely in surprise. Revealing your weapon beforehand allows your adversary to parse your trajectory and prepare countermeasures."
Understanding dawned upon Tartaglia, nodding with deep reverence.
"So this is the insight of a supreme swordmaster! Striking after the move begins, yet arriving before the foe... I understand!"
His expression sharpened with absolute focus.
"Please grant me your guidance!"
The moment the words left his lips, electro energy surged around Tartaglia, propelling him forward in a crackling flash of purple lightning.
His forward momentum carried authentic martial intent, showing that his combat arts had reached a new height.
Ryen felt a brief twinge of amusement.
He hoped the secret technique he was about to unveil would not shatter the young warrior's martial heart forever.
As Tartaglia closed the distance, Ningguang and the women held their breath.
Though they knew Tartaglia had no chance of scratching Ryen, watching the blade approach still stirred protective instincts. Ganyu's gaze narrowed slightly, silently resolving that if Tartaglia got careless, his training regimen would double tomorrow.
Zhongli pondered in silence.
Knowing Ryen's preference for raw kinetic force over delicate forms, could he truly possess profound swordplay techniques?
Zhongli remained deeply skeptical.
In a fraction of a heartbeat, Tartaglia breached the seven-pace boundary, entering optimal range for a decisive thrust.
Ryen, who had stood with his hands resting casually at his sides, moved with blinding, unnatural speed.
A dark metallic gleam flashed across his palm, followed instantly by a deafening thunderclap echoing along the stone ramparts.
Tartaglia froze mid-stride.
Slowly lowering his gaze, he noticed a wisp of smoke curling from a charred lock of hair near his temple.
His daggers hung motionless in the air, his body locked in place.
Ryen adopted the lonely, melancholic poise of an undefeated grandmaster, twirling his heavy revolver around his finger with theatrical flair.
Blowing away the wisp of smoke from the barrel, he recited in a solemn, measured tone.
"American Iaijutsu: swift as the storm, striking straight to the soul."
"Moving second, yet arriving first. Within seven paces, death is absolute."
"This is the ultimate truth of the sword saint."
"Beyond seven paces, the gun is fast; within seven paces, the gun is both fast and precise!"
Facing Ryen's shameless, absurd reasoning, the assembly sat in stunned silence, completely at a loss for words.
Tartaglia sniffed the burnt aroma clinging to his hair, looking at Ryen with a tragic, weeping expression.
"Mr. Ryen... is this truly the legendary secret art of the sword saint?"
Ryen paused, nodding with absolute conviction.
"Tell me: was it fast or not?"
Tartaglia's posture crumpled in defeat.
"It was... exceptionally fast. But does this truly qualify as martial arts?"
"Naive!"
Ryen lifted his chin with righteous pride.
"What is the definition of martial arts? It is the craft of elimination, honed solely to neutralize the enemy rather than perform for a crowd."
"My technique delivers absolute neutralization in a single breath, and an ordinary mortal can master it in an afternoon."
"Why shouldn't it be recognized as the supreme martial art?"
"The sword saint crushed countless challengers with this exact method, establishing a name that shook the world."
"It is a peerless art of instant execution. Even if you anticipate the draw, you might dodge a single nine-millimeter round, but can you dodge a hundred rounds of seven-point-six-two?"
"If that proves insufficient, there is the advanced variant: the Heavy Artillery Barrage."
"Three hundred and sixty RPG tubes unleashed at once, granting universal salvation to all living things."
"Is that martial doctrine not ruthless enough for you?"
The leaders listened to his crooked logic, finding it strangely impossible to formulate a clean counterargument.
Ei tilted her head, her brow furrowing with mild confusion.
"So, in your homeworld, that sword saint earned his grand title relying entirely on firearms?"
"Not exclusively," Ryen replied, waving a hand with a chuckle.
"Primarily a matchlock firearm alongside a lightning-summoning spear. Even if a challenger managed to dodge the thunder descending from the heavens, drawing the firearm and firing a single shot settled the duel instantly."
"How can such a warrior be called a sword saint?" Ei asked, crossing her arms with a slight pout.
Ryen smiled, stepping closer to rest an arm gently around her shoulder.
"A sword saint is not merely someone who swings a blade. In my world, the sword is revered as the progenitor of all weapons. Thus, the title of sword saint signifies someone who has mastered all armaments to their utmost limits."
"A firearm is simply another weapon."
"Refusing a superior tool out of rigid devotion to samurai pride is pure foolishness."
"In that era, every duel was a contest of life and death. Throwing away one's life over stubborn pride is an unforgivable loss."
"Consider Zhongli. He is celebrated as the God of War. Which weapon does he specialize in? Spear? Sword? Polearm? Staff?"
"To him, every weapon under heaven is wielded with equal mastery, is it not?"
Zhongli nodded in deep, dignified agreement.
"Weapons carry no inherent distinction; their sole purpose is resolving the enemy."
"Discarding practical efficacy to pursue hollow aesthetic forms is putting the cart before the horse."
"In true combat, surviving by any means necessary is the prerequisite for discussing martial arts."
"From that perspective, this quick-draw marksmanship undeniably represents a premier combat discipline."
Ryen beamed with triumphant pride, gesturing toward Zhongli.
"Hear that? Even the God of War agrees. Is there any flaw in my technique?"
Tartaglia let out a defeated sigh, shaking his head.
"None whatsoever."
"Then the matter is settled!"
Ryen clapped his hands and holstered his revolver with satisfaction.
Unassuming as the handgun looked, its kinetic trauma was immense; had he aimed for Tartaglia's forehead, the duel would have ended with a shattered totem.
"Which brings me to my point," Ryen continued in an easy, relaxed tone.
"In private duels, you may play however you wish. But in true warfare, with modern firearms at your disposal, why charge forward with cold steel?"
"Standing at a distance and clearing the field with minimal effort is far superior."
"Observe Zhongli; his tactical awareness is impeccable."
The assembly turned their heads in unison toward the Lord of Geo.
Zhongli now carried additional ammunition belts draped across his tactical vest. Aside from dark sunglasses and a cigar, he looked entirely ready to star in an action blockbuster.
"Applying universal principles... engaging in close-quarters melee is not an optimal strategy."
Soft laughter rippled along the battlements, the heavy tension that had gripped the garrison melting away into warm resolve.
"My darling truly knows how to lift everyone's spirits," Lisa murmured, nudging Ryen's side with a fond, knowing smile.
Ryen shrugged lightly.
"Who says I wasn't genuinely preaching the art of the quick draw?"
Lisa rolled her eyes with an affectionate chuckle, deciding not to press the point.
"What a breathtaking sunset," Hu Tao suddenly murmured, gazing toward the west.
Everyone turned their eyes toward the distant horizon, where the golden sun had dipped beneath the rugged mountain peaks.
Crimson and amber light painted the sky, resembling vast sheets of woven golden silk draped across the heavens.
As the daylight receded from the plains, the landscape took on the deep, layered contrast of an ancient ink painting.
The pale silver moon had already climbed into the dusk.
The final embers of sunset faded into twilight.
"The most beautiful sights often conceal the deadliest intentions," Yae Miko murmured, her violet eyes narrowing as she looked toward the edge of the dark forest.
As night claimed the plains, twisted silhouettes began shifting beneath the canopy, stirring as though clawing their way from the deep earth.
"Much like yourself: the more stunning the visage, the greater the peril," Ryen replied softly, brushing his fingers across her cheek before his gaze turned sharp as steel.
"They are here."
~~----------------------
Patreon Advance Chapters:
[email protected] / Dreamer20