Ian thrust the Human Emperor Banner heavily into the scorched earth of the Battle of Shanghai ruins.
In an instant, the entire blackened earth trembled violently. The ground beneath their feet was no longer silent; instead, like an awakened ancient beast, it let out a low, muffled roar. Fine cracks spread across the surface, and dust billowed upward. The aura of deathly silence and despair that had permeated the air was torn apart by an invisible giant hand, replaced by a more majestic, iron-blooded will. That will carried the lethal chill of armored horses and unyielding roars, instantly saturating the land.
This will was purer and more fierce than any previous resentment. From beneath the cracked earth and from within the scattered ruins, countless figures began to slowly crawl out.
They wore military uniforms that were long since tattered, covered in bullet holes and bloodstains, yet the faint outlines of their former glory remained recognizable. In their hands, they gripped broken rifles, bent bayonets, or chipped broadswords. Every single face was frozen in a look of resolute determination—the look of men who viewed death as a homecoming. That fortitude, which disregarded life and death, pierced through the ethereal nature of their soul bodies and the distance of the screens, stabbing directly into the hearts of the people.
"Kill—!"
Roars erupted as if from the depths of hell, carrying boundless hatred.
"Charge—!"
More shouts converged like exploding thunder, shaking the very souls of those who heard them. Their numbers were so vast they nearly blotted out the broken sky—a sea of golden-red with no visible end. Their battle intent was as fierce as a prairie fire; these were the iron-blooded military souls who had fought to the death without retreating.
The camera on the light screen suddenly zoomed in for a close-up.
A Chinese heroic soul who had lost his left arm remained in a charging posture. Even as a soul, his teeth were locked in a death grip onto the neck of an enemy—a Japanese officer's soul. The officer's face was twisted in terror, unable to break free. The Chinese soldier's right hand gripped a broken bayonet, its tip rusted and worn. With every ounce of his strength, he drove the blade deep into the Japanese officer's spectral form.
Through the nationwide live broadcast on the light screen, hundreds of millions of Chinese citizens witnessed this heart-wrenching scene. They could not control their emotions and burst into tears. Countless veterans who had participated in the Battle of Shanghai and luckily survived that "meat grinder" were now watching the screen with trembling bodies.
When they saw those familiar uniforms, those recognizable faces, and their brothers-in-arms appearing in this manner, two lines of hot tears streamed from their clouded eyes. They beat their chests, letting out long-suppressed cries of mourning.
"It's them! It's really them!"
"My brothers! They've come back! They've come back for revenge!"
These iron-blooded heroic souls, burning with fierce battle intent, did not scramble to enter Ian's Human Emperor Banner like the wronged spirits of Jinling had. It was as if they had received a different summons—or perhaps the mission they failed to complete in life, the obsession with defending their home and country, still drove them in death.
After a brief assembly into fragmented yet orderly ranks, they turned in unison. They lunged directly toward the remaining Japanese strongholds in the Shanghai area and the remnants of the Japanese forces that were fleeing in panic.
They were going to finish the fight.
On the surface of the Human Emperor Banner, the golden-red light flared brilliantly. The countless tiny figures within the flag seemed to sense this surging battle intent and leaped out from the fabric. They turned into streaks of light, actively merging into the charging formations of the heroic souls, roaring and slaughtering the enemy alongside them.
Facing this "Ghost Legion" composed entirely of pure battle intent, the Japanese survivors in the Shanghai area saw their psychological defenses collapse instantly. Their so-called "Bushido" spirit appeared pale and laughably pathetic before these immortal Chinese heroic souls who were fueled by national and personal hatred. They could only watch in endless terror as the roaring spirits passed through their bodies, tearing and biting them in the most primitive and cathartic ways until their souls were utterly extinguished.
Fear became the only sensation the invaders knew.
The news of the Shanghai Heroic Souls autonomously punishing the rebels quickly spread to every Japanese command post in China and back to their home capital. In the Japanese capital, those once-arrogant warmongers were now plunged into unprecedented panic. The total withdrawal plan, which they had previously hesitated over, was executed immediately without further doubt.
Massive Japanese units stopped caring about front lines or order and began a mad, chaotic flight toward the coastal ports. Their only thought was to escape this land of "Divine Punishment" as quickly as possible, away from those life-claiming ghosts. To them, this land had turned into a literal hell.
Meanwhile, in another area far from the Shanghai battlefield, Wu Gensen led his few remaining "screened" members of Quan Xing to surround a secret Japanese biochemical weapons research institute. Relying on the Magnetic Field Martial Arts taught by Ian, Wu Gensen's offensive was exceptionally swift. Lightning swirled around him; with every gesture, invisible magnetic forces demolished the institute's defenses.
He discovered that the Japanese inside were frantically destroying experimental data and research materials. The documents recorded inhumane human experiments. Wu Gensen's eyes turned ice-cold as he ordered his remaining men:
"Leave none alive. Do not destroy the data. Take all the files!"
Elsewhere, Zhang Chulan, Wang Ye, and the others were shocked to see the Shanghai Heroic Souls operating like a real army, clearing out the invaders. But they didn't stay idle.
"Brother Ian's scale is getting bigger and bigger," Zhang Chulan remarked, clicking his tongue before an excited look crossed his face.
They split up to coordinate with the spirits' offensive, performing the final "Purification" on any invaders trying to hide in bunkers or flee in all directions. The magnetic field powerhouses were like tigers descending from a mountain; wherever they went, Japanese resistance crumbled. They fought with gusto, becoming increasingly proficient in the magnetic field powers they had recently broken through, using all sorts of incredible attack methods. To them, the battle had become a form of cultivation.
As the main Japanese forces across China were crushed and purged, the smoke and slaughter that had hung over the land for years finally began to dissipate. In many towns and villages, surviving commoners cautiously stepped out of their broken homes. They gathered spontaneously to commemorate the souls lost in the war and celebrated their hard-won liberation in the simplest ways. Long-lost smiles began to reappear on faces that had been numbed by suffering.
However, the wounds left by the war on this land were profound. The ruins, the broken families, and the deep-seated fear and pain would not be healed overnight. The road to revival was still long.
Furthermore, the road to revenge was just as long. The invaders had ravaged this land and left it in ruins; how could they be allowed to just pat their behinds and leave?
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