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    Edict of Peace 61

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    Chapter 61: The Beginning of Legend!

    Li Guanyi let out a breath, gazing at the almost perfectly preserved, undamaged essence of General Xue’s legacy. He clenched his fist, thinking that in the third year, he would refine the battle-halberd’s entry-level techniques to mastery, allowing him to learn the “Rolling Waves” technique.

    The second year, he could learn the variations of “Rolling Waves.”

    But what if, like now, he immediately achieved mastery?

    Could General Xue have not considered that someone could do this, and therefore not prepared for it? Even mastering the entry-level techniques in an instant exceeded common sense.

    Li Guanyi felt a surge of worry. The essence of General Xue’s legacy, however, seemed to regain its original restraint and coldness. It calmly stated, “…Mastery achieved. The ‘Rolling Waves’ technique can now be inherited.”

    Li Guanyi realized it was inheritance, not instruction.

    General Xue’s weapon lifted, pressing against Li Guanyi’s chest. His eyes, clear and bright, suddenly dispersed, transforming into a pure aura. Without reservation, without the slightest depletion, it descended upon Li Guanyi’s forehead.

    A boom echoed in Li Guanyi’s mind.

    His vision went blank.

    A faint scent of water reached his nose, gradually restoring his consciousness. The flow of musical notes also helped maintain his presence. Li Guanyi opened his eyes to the sound of rushing water, distant verdant hills, and rolling mountains.

    He felt himself suddenly grow taller, his feet wading through the stream. In the distance, a woman in simple clothes, her face hidden by a hood, her black hair gently falling. Li Guanyi then saw a man wearing heavy, intricate armor.

    This was… Duke Chen?!

    Li Guanyi lowered his head, seeing his own hands. His left hand gripped a bow, his right a battle-halberd. He was clad in majestic and ornate ceremonial armor, the golden threads binding the lamellar armor slightly raised. He heard his own voice, a soft chuckle: “Duke Chen, this is merely sparring, no need to be so serious.”

    Li Guanyi understood.

    He had entered that memory, merging into General Xue’s body. This was the highest level of instruction: not teaching, not assistance, but direct memory inheritance. Nothing was more effective than personally experiencing a top-tier expert’s techniques.

    Duke Chen seemed to chuckle, softly saying, “Today, in the Taihe Palace, His Majesty evaluated the nation’s generals, saying that your battle-halberd and my long spear surpassed even those of the Lie Hou (fierce marquises) faced by the founding emperor. That’s His Majesty’s honest opinion; he believes our martial arts are powerful enough for rebellion.”

    “If we don’t fight, His Majesty’s heart will be uneasy.”

    This sentence wasn’t in the previous visions. General Xue smiled faintly, Duke Chen raising his spear.

    At that moment, Li Guanyi sensed the opposing aura: heavy, overbearing, like a rock steadfastly standing in a raging current.

    In the five-hundred-year-old memory, Duke Chen donned his face mask—a dark gold mask, like that of an ancient war god, concealing his face and expression, revealing only calm eyes. Previously, he seemed incapable of withstanding General Xue, yet he now stood tall and poised.

    That imposing aura, like a mountain, sent tremors through Li Guanyi’s consciousness.

    To hold the title of Duke in the age of great strife five hundred years ago… His spear techniques, learned by later generations, were used to slay the god-like White Wolf that invaded the Central Plains, piercing through the Liang Dynasty’s palace to establish the Chen Kingdom. And now, this hero, revered as the founding ancestor of Chen, launched his attack.

    Like a collapsing mountain.

    Li Guanyi’s pupils constricted. His talent was strong; in this moment, Duke Chen’s attack slowed down in his eyes. He had sparred with Duke Chen in the secret realm before achieving mastery, witnessing his spear techniques. But now, the spear technique, which had been judged merely superior before, was reborn. It glowed, inch by inch, imprinting itself onto Li Guanyi’s soul.

    Li Guanyi committed the spear technique to memory.

    Then, he felt General Xue’s movements, the flow of his energy, the movement of every muscle, the tension of his bones, the White Tiger Law Physique crouching beside him, the feel of the battle-halberd in his hand. Everything was as if he had become General Xue, wielding that very technique.

    This was inheritance.

    The battle-halberd swept across!

    Rolling Waves!!!

    …………

    Earlier, in the vast desert…

    Po Jun and the old guide, their camel frightened to death, struggled across the sand. They lay beneath a sand dune, the moonlight like a scattering of silver, the clean sand reflecting the light as if they were lying on the moon itself. All around was a white glow.

    Under the night and starlight, the desert stretched endlessly. Losing their mount was already difficult; they also encountered sand bandits being hunted by Turkic cavalry. Driven mad by the siege, these bandits were ferocious; they would even kill dogs. A handsome man like Po Jun faced certain death.

    Po Jun wasn’t skilled in combat or killing. He and the old man concealed their aura and hid. The bandits, riding desert horses, searched back and forth, but Po Jun had found an excellent hiding spot, evading their gaze. They rode further and further away.

    But then, the battle-halberd, exposed to view, suddenly roared again.

    The bandits, hearing the sound, converged with their clamor growing louder. Po Jun grinned; he planned to fight.

    A bandit, mounted on a desert horse, lunged, wielding a scimitar. Po Jun drew a soft sword from his instrument case and stabbed the bandit dead. The old man was speechless. Po Jun said, “I’m not good at killing people.”

    “Remember this, properly consider the words of the people of the Eastern Continent’s Central Plains.”
    “I don’t mean I can’t, I just don’t do it much.”

    He leaped nimbly, whirling his horsehead fiddle, smashing it against a cavalryman’s head. As the fiddle’s body splintered with a piercing sound, he used a sharp shard to pierce the third man’s neck. The hollow fiddle became a conduit for blood, spurting onto his clothes. The guide stared, speechless, at this man who, despite thirst, exhaustion, and lack of a mount, had taken down three frenzied desert bandits.

    Po Jun picked up the battle-halberd, putting it on a horse for the old man to ride. Desert horses were not large; their dry, strong bodies were smaller than the large steeds of the Western Regions. Horse manuals described them as having one fewer lumbar vertebra and two fewer caudal vertebrae than Central Plains and Western Regions horses; their ribs were rounded, their hooves tough, able to gallop across the desert.

    The old man rode the horse, the two fleeing under the moonlight. The old man’s heart pounded as the bandits pursued. He shouted, “You Central Plains people…strategists can kill people too?!”

    Po Jun laughed, “Even a weak scholar should at least know swordsmanship and archery, able to drive a chariot pulled by four horses with one hand and wield a halberd to reap the heads of enemies, shouting Qin battle songs.”

    The old man admired, “Central Plains people are truly fearsome warriors.”

    Po Jun said, “No, most Central Plains people are not skilled in warfare. My countrymen fear bloodshed.”

    The old man was puzzled, “Why?”

    Po Jun replied, “Because they strive to defeat the enemy without injury. Once you injure them, make them bleed, you’ll see their other side: mad, furious, relentless until the opponent is torn to shreds.”

    Po Jun killed another man with a single stroke. His brows were raised, his beautiful eyes filled with a savagery surpassing that of the bandits. The Po Jun who started wars would, even in death, ignite the entire world’s flames.

    Behind the bandits, torches rose: Turkic cavalry. The bandits had no choice but to charge forward.

    At that moment—

    (Note: The original text has a sentence seemingly unrelated, omitted here for clarity.)

    In the Listening Wind Pavilion, Li Guanyi was using the battle-halberd in the illusion.

    In the distant desert, the ancient weapon seemed to sense something. It trembled violently, then fell forward, straight and decisive.

    The charging bandits were split in two, blood spattering the ground. The raging wind seemed stirred by the divine weapon. The bandits’ movements froze, their horses restless.

    Horse hooves approached. Behind the bandits, Turkic cavalry swiftly closed in. The bandits, gritting their teeth, used their spiked boots to jab their mounts’ bellies. The horses, in pain, roared and charged.

    The wind howled, sand gathered, obscuring Po Jun’s vision. Then, the sand coalesced into a hand that reached from his shoulder, grasping the fallen weapon. The young strategist froze, watching the unseen master pass him by.

    Li Guanyi completely merged with General Xue’s consciousness.

    Under the moonlight, a storm erupted in the desert; the heavy weapon spun autonomously. In that memory, Li Guanyi’s spirit, will, energy, and Law Physique all converged into this technique, creating a maelstrom. As a storm rages over the sea, creating waves and tsunamis, so did the general wielding the battle-halberd raise this chaotic storm.

    He gripped the battle-halberd.

    In the distant desert, the weapon, resonating with Li Guanyi and General Xue, erupted with spiritual energy, raising a storm. The sand coalesced into a figure. Po Jun saw ‘him’ lift the divine weapon; its edge pointed forward, as if legend were reborn.

    He paused, then swung the battle-halberd.

    In the Listening Wind Pavilion, Li Guanyi mastered “Rolling Waves.”

    In the desert, the battle-halberd, “Tiger’s Roar,” swept through, its blade emitting a low, majestic roar, a domineering tiger’s roar. The storm ahead was torn apart.

    Dozens of charging bandits were cut in half, their blood staining the desert, the leading bandit’s head flying through the air. The blood splattered onto the youth’s clothes, dyeing half his garment red.

    Under the moon, the halberd fell before Po Jun. The wind blew across the desert, corpses scattered around. The youth looked ahead, the old guide rushing to his side. But before they could leave, torches enveloped them.

    Turkic cavalry arrived. Their armor, unlike the Central Plains’, was coarse and crude but conveyed a wild ferocity. They held their heavy swords in one hand, torches in the other, their flames bright, threatening to ignite the moon.

    The leader, a young man adorned with a jeweled forehead ring, watched the scene.

    “…An ominous weapon.” He commented, his warhorse stepped forward, its hooves leaving burning trails in the sand. It was a mount with monstrous bloodline. The master of the seventh Turkic tent watched the weapon and the man, calmly saying, “Central Plains man.”

    “What brings you here?”

    The conflict between the grasslands and the Central Plains had lasted for centuries. Those words were laced with killing intent. The old man, pale, knelt, surrounded by the cavalry, speechless. Po Jun, however, calmly looked like a guest, saying, “I’ve brought you a gift.”

    The Seventh Turkic Khan was unconcerned, “Oh? A gift?”

    “What gift?”

    Po Jun looked at him, replying, “Seventh Khan, you are unfavored. You crave the glory of the grassland kings of five hundred years ago, the submission of your people, the love of a woman. Instead, you watch as your father takes her to his tent, forcing you to call her mother.”

    The old man’s scalp tingled, almost screaming. He wished to grab sand, stain it with blood, and shove it into the Central Plains man’s mouth to silence him.

    The Seventh Turkic Khan stared intently at the man who had spoken his heart. Under the moonlight, the man’s eyes glowed, not with moonlight but with the flames of ambition, like the dry, pale winter grass, ignited with a fire large enough to burn the entire grassland. Po Jun smiled subtly:

    “I can offer you a thousand miles of territory westward, making you the most prominent among your brothers. Your cattle and sheep will graze on the grasslands of Tu-gu Hun, you’ll enjoy the beauties and delicacies of the West, and golden scimitars.”

    “One day, everything you desire may return to you.”

    Those words from the handsome Central Plains man sounded like the allure of a demon in a story.

    The Seventh Turkic Khan asked, “What do you want?”

    “I have but one wish.” Po Jun held the quiet, unchanged divine weapon:

    “I ask you to return me to the Central Plains.”

    “I must see someone, no matter how far the distance, no matter the turmoil of the world. I must fulfill my destiny.”

    In the old guide’s eyes, the fierce and tyrannical Seventh Khan finally loosened his grip on his sword. The man, half his clothes stained with blood, stroked the weapon, smiling softly. His smile was serene; his eyes reflected the torchlight, carrying the fire that would consume the Western Regions. The young man, historically known as “cunning and ruthless,” revealed his fangs.

    In the Listening Wind Pavilion, Li Guanyi released the weapon, his face pale. He had learned—

    Li Guanyi closed his eyes.

    Xue family’s Battle-halberd Rolling Waves.

    Duke Chen’s God-spear Crushing Mountain.

    Five hundred years later, the ultimate techniques of two generals, once feared by the Central Plains emperor as “exceedingly powerful, not inferior to the Lie Hou,” had converged upon one man. In the Xue family’s guest room, Changsun Wuchao looked outside at the quiet starlight, sighing:

    “Stars distant, heavens serene, it’s a peaceful day.”

    A merchant brought a letter, picked up his pen, and wrote to the Phoenix far off at the border, recounting today’s events.

    “Second Miss,” he paused, and wrote,

    “Li Guanyi, lives again.”

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