The Grassland Khan has been feeling uneasy these days.
His war gas continue in the na of "for warr lands," and the soldiers’ front lines are pushing further south—the only flaw is that the small court of Southern Chen has yet to organize any effective resistance, and no one has co out to confront him in battle.
Without an opponent, even wars seem so dull.
In the eyes of the Grassland Khan, war should be grand and magnificent, should be a back-and-forth contest, with both armies lined up in formation, soldiers fighting bloody battles, a ga of courage, a battle of wits... But now?
It’s marching, and then more marching.
No enemy, no opponent, no resistance, and no fighting. The soldiers just walk, sing songs, and the war is over.
For the grassland warriors, this might be a good thing, perhaps even the best thing, because fighting ans death, and if there are no deaths, it’s naturally better—yet for the Grassland Khan himself, this wasn’t a good thing. After all, it’s war we’re talking about.
How can there be a war without deaths?
But even if he complains, opponents aren’t easy to find. Much like in martial arts, finding a good opponent is already difficult, and in this environnt filled with martial arts "monkeys," finding a few people who understand the joy of war is even harder.
"Ah, monkeys."
Grinding his teeth, the Grassland Khan continued his training for the day.
Just as he had said before, if he wants the monkeys to follow his rules, he must beco the strongest monkey himself, only then can he force other monkeys’ heads onto the chessboard, compelling them to play this war ga with him.
As for how he trains himself...
"Drink!"
Carrying a hundred-year-old giant tree several tens of yards long on his shoulder, he, transford into a Golden-winged Roc, swung the heavy trunk as easily as swinging a stick.
Such a grand scene naturally drew everyone’s attention, and despite the varying thoughts of the grassland leaders, upon seeing the figure holding the giant tree aloft in the air, they showed signs of fear, unease, and a mixture of divine-like reverence.
This is sothing beyond human capability, beyond what even monsters can do. Most monsters altered by Evil Qi have bodies far smaller than that massive log.
Yet this thing, in the hands of the Grassland Khan, was as light as a tree branch.
"Hey!"
With a muffled shout of fitting accompanint, the huge log was thrown high into the sky.
Next, a streak of light shot straight into the clouds.
It was the spiritual totem of the grassland people, the belief of all grasslanders—at this mont, the three-pronged spear known as Sulu Ditt appeared so sacred.
In fact, similar spears have circulated among the grassland people, for blades are shaped by blacksmiths as they think fit, and they are all called Sulu Ditt, with no difference between them—but ntion Sulu Ditt, and the only one rembered is this spear wielded by the Grassland Khan.
Simply because it is the strongest.
"Buzz—"
A blade cut through, and the giant log split in two in the air.
It’s hard to imagine how a spear seemingly as thin as a toothpick compared to the huge log could split it so neatly, yet this impossible thing happened before many eyes.
Perhaps, this is strength.
The strong can always accomplish what others cannot.
"Too light, let’s try sothing heavier next ti."
The Grassland Khan, returning to human form on the ground, showed no change in expression, clearly unfazed even without a trace of sweat.
For him, this level doesn’t even count as training.
But this was the best training thod he could find.
Should he increase the intensity, he’d have to spar with strong adversaries. Yet recently, he heard so news from the south—the Southern Chen forefather hidden in the imperial tomb had ultimately disappeared—the powerful monkey died, which naturally was good for him, but after that monkey died...where would he find opponents?
"It’s difficult...difficult."
With a sigh, the Grassland Khan lanted.
For him now, finding a worthy opponent was indeed extrely difficult. It seed there might only be that Phoenix who once defeated him—the Golden-winged Roc and the Undying Fire Phoenix, which is the true ruler of the skies? This matter surely needed resolving.
But past failures inford him that he’d have to get stronger to defeat that monstrous Phoenix.
But the issue remains, how could he beco stronger?
Things seem to point back again, he still needed a matching opponent, a good opponent is the best Grinding Stone, only through such honing can he beco stronger, beco more...
"Eh?"
Preparing to return to the camp for breakfast, the Grassland Khan frowned slightly.
Just now, he seed to have seen the silhouette of a Phoenix.
But he seed mistaken, for hardly anything could be seen in the clear sky—but given his current strength, he shouldn’t be "mistaken."
No, he wasn’t mistaken.
Because that Phoenix silhouette didn’t appear in the sky.
Rather, it erupted on the ground.
"Boom—"
A Phoenix phantom engulfed in black flas erupted on the ground, its re sweep burning hundreds of grassland warriors to ashes—but just those lives clearly couldn’t satisfy the Phoenix’s appetite. The Phoenix phantom at this mont turned towards the Grassland Khan!
"You... dare co here?"
Even knowing he wouldn’t win, the Grassland Khan still transford into a Golden-winged Roc, raising the tridental spear.
Indeed, he might not win, but he never lacked courage to gamble his life!
At this very mont, he saw his opponent.
It was a large saber emblazoned with a mysterious bird motif, and the person wielding this saber.
He didn’t recognize this person.
"Who are you?"
Frowning, the Grassland Khan didn’t know why this stranger suddenly entered the grassland army and comnced the massacre.
Could it be there are experts from Southern Chen?
"Who I am isn’t important."
In front of the Grassland Khan, the seemingly ordinary person rely smiled.
Then he unexpectedly reached out and pressed the Grassland Khan’s shoulder.
"What matters is that you are indeed useful, and that’s enough."
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