Chapter Sixty-Seven: Massacre (Part Two)

With a thunderous roar, Thunderous’ “Thunderclap” split his opponent cleanly in two. Yet his immense strength and unstoppable momentum were almost excessive; though the adversary’s bones and muscles were severed in a single blow, after the axe blade entered at the crown and exited between the legs, the body astonishingly remained in one piece, still held together by sinew and skin.

Propping up William’s barely connected body against a military pack, Thunderous arranged him as if merely resting in place. Then, with practiced hands, he activated William’s infrared positioning device, ensuring everything was in order before silently slipping away. Concealed twenty meters behind a large tree, Thunderous settled into ambush, circulating his Chaotic Energy Technique to draw in the spiritual energy of heaven and earth.

Since entering this fog-laden land, Thunderous had been pondering the fundamental principles imparted to him by Shuiyao Immortal. As he had previously “seen,” this so-called “Dark Guardian” maze was, in essence, a formation that manipulated the flow, pattern, and density of spiritual energy in its surroundings. In this short time, Thunderous had already formed a general understanding of its operation.

Now, under his deliberate control, the altered spiritual energy slowly entered his body along a specific pattern, transforming into the purest essence and coursing through his veins. Though the amount was meager, as the surrounding energy shifted and intermingled, strange new changes unfolded within the labyrinth—some areas grew denser with mist, while the fog near Thunderous and William thinned ever so slightly.

“What is this?” While meditating to restore her true qi, Shuiyao Immortal keenly sensed the change and almost cried out in shock.

One of the sect’s secret advanced arts, the ancient and powerful defensive array “Dark Guardian” of the Shamanic Order, had been set and operated this way for centuries. Throughout history, not one prodigious successor, no matter how gifted, had ever altered the formation in the slightest. And yet now, this iron law was broken by someone who had known the array for less than an hour.

“Could he truly be the Heaven-sent Spirit Child destined to restore our order, perhaps even my own…” Shuiyao Immortal did not finish the thought, staring blankly at the figure cleaved in two by Thunderous, where a tiny red dot on the body flashed with a demonic glow, pulsing impossibly in the darkness.

At this moment, Thunderous’ mind was utterly clear. His consciousness, following a mysterious pattern, enveloped the entire forest and seemed to merge with the very world itself. All around was laid bare to his senses, while the spiritual energy he absorbed coursed joyfully through his meridians.

In the midst of this subtle awareness, Thunderous suddenly sensed a peculiar change in his “Thunderclap.” Though this heavy, razor-sharp battleaxe had been crafted by his own hands—personally chosen materials, hammered a thousand times until the already solid substance became purer and denser, then forged for over a year until it reached its final form—it had always felt to him merely as a weapon, albeit one so familiar it was like his own child, deeply intertwined with his spirit.

Yet now, gripping the axe handle in his right hand as usual, Thunderous perceived a new presence emanating from “Thunderclap.” Upon careful inspection, its darkened finish remained unchanged, the robust axe-head unaltered, the keen edge still as sharp as ever. But the weapon itself now seemed to radiate a warmth and joy, a subtle connection intertwining it with his mind and veins, as if it had suddenly been imbued with life—its essence fusing seamlessly with his own.

“What is this…” Thunderous was astonished and delighted in equal measure. “Could this be what it’s like to wield a true artifact?”

Then he cursed himself for being absurd—he had never studied the so-called “art of refining weapons,” nor had his eccentric master ever taught him the method of consecrating magical treasures.

But what was it then?

Frowning, Thunderous let his attention waver. The marvelous sensation vanished instantly. “Damn!” he muttered in frustration, but he knew that this perilous battlefield was no place for such contemplation. He would have to find another opportunity after the fight.

He sighed lightly, suddenly focusing his gaze on a cluster of densely grown trees several hundred meters away. A contemptuous smile curled his lips.

Seconds later, six Poseidon commandos emerged from behind the trees. Whether spooked by the constant harassment along their route or simply cautious by nature, the squad moved with extreme vigilance. Their formation was tight: the machine-gunner covered the center, each corner watched a sector, defenses layered, and a sniper brought up the rear.

In this visibility-choked, enemy-unknown territory, their pattern was textbook—whether attacking or defending, they could maximize firepower and deliver crushing blows. Their precise, well-coordinated advance revealed them as seasoned, world-class special forces. Even Thunderous, observing from the shadows, could not help but admire their skill.

But… “Do they really think that’s enough?”

He watched as their central gunner spotted the blinking red light, the whole team quickening their pace toward its source. They passed within a dozen meters of Thunderous’ hiding place—never suspecting his presence. He grinned savagely, planted his feet, and shot forward like lightning, body parallel to the ground.

In midair, he raised his Type 21 sniper rifle in his left hand. The muzzle flashed—a muffled pop—and five hundred meters away, the opposing sniper’s brows were blown apart, a spinning bullet bursting out the back of his skull, detonating his head in an instant.

The advancing sniper had barely risen when his head was pierced. The massive round’s kinetic force lifted his body, sent him flying backward, and slammed him to the earth. His legs jerked a few times in dying spasms, then lay still.

The noise was not small, but within the “Dark Guardian” maze, it hardly reached the ears of the commandos ahead. Yet the commando to the left-rear, possessed of a beast’s instinct for danger, suddenly paused, squinting suspiciously into the gloom.

Before he could see anything, Thunderous’ body, arrow-like, shot into his chest. The right hand swung "Thunderclap" with merciless force—a head soared into the air.

From the moment he sprang out, Thunderous had not once touched the ground until now, when his body landed lightly. Instantly, his right foot struck off again—he shot forward another fifty meters before the first severed head had even fallen. Raising “Thunderclap” high, he smashed it down—his victim’s face twisted with terror in the instant before his head, like a watermelon struck by a mighty club, exploded in a shower of blood and brain.

Without waiting for the corpse to collapse, Thunderous darted forward once more. “Thunderclap” howled through the air, stabbing mercilessly into another’s back, the whole axe-head sinking into the abdomen. When he ripped it free, the barbed hooks tore out chunks of flesh. Despite the agony, the squad’s central gunner uttered only two choking sounds before his throat flooded with blood, silencing him forever.

The commando on the left flank finally sensed danger. Reacting with astonishing speed, he dove forward, raising his rifle at an odd angle, finger flying to the trigger. But before he could squeeze, a massive axe spun into view, slicing silently through weapon and hand alike, cleaving through chest and skull as easily as cheese.

In the instant before death, the commando’s eyes pierced the fog. He seemed to see, fifty meters away, his last teammate being seized by a shadow—a jade-like hand twisted, and the neck snapped with ease…

Only after the final commando was killed barehanded did the first severed head thud heavily to earth.

In under two seconds—one shot, one cleave, one smash, one stab, one flying cut, one broken neck—all six Poseidon commandos were dead. Not one had fired a shot, not one had uttered a single syllable for help.

Bathed in blood, “Thunderclap” in hand, Thunderous stood alone in the darkness—like a god of slaughter.