Chapter 138: The Zombie Horde

The sheer power of that explosion left me profoundly shaken. It was a hill the size of a basketball court, yet a single arrow had obliterated half of it. The defiance of nature in that display was staggering; even if I were to unleash my True Demonic Energy in continuous bursts, I could never achieve such destructive force!

The strategist then produced another arrow and placed it in my hand, wearing a look of immense pride. Under the moonlight, I could faintly see the arrowhead refracting a subtle golden light.

"Is this the arrowhead made from that mysterious stone?" I examined the arrow. The head looked no different from an ordinary one. How could such a tiny bit of golden stone trigger an explosion of such magnitude?

The strategist said, "You must be wondering why this stone can produce such a violent blast. The reason lies not in the stone, but in this bow."

The Profound Iron Bow—what exactly was so special about it? I had heard of "Profound Iron" before; it was the same material used for the chains that Mo Laosan and the High Priest had used to bind me.

Knowing the strategist had more to say, I remained silent, waiting for him to elaborate. True to my expectations, when he saw I didn't speak, he took the bow from my hands and stroked it gently, as if it were a priceless treasure. "This is the bow of the former Feather King, named the Profound Iron Bow. Profound Iron is an extremely rare substance, imbued with vast amounts of spiritual energy. If forged into a weapon, its power far exceeds that of ordinary arms—by dozens, even hundreds of times. The older the iron, the stronger the spiritual energy it contains; it is much like how wine becomes more fragrant the longer it is aged."

So that was it. I asked him, "How old is this Profound Iron?"

"I cannot say for certain," the strategist replied, "but I believe it to be at least a millennium old."

A millennium—what kind of concept was that? It seemed there was quite a bit of this stuff around. Mo Laosan had used millennium-old Profound Iron chains, and so had the High Priest. If the strategist was right, many people might possess it. Just imagine: if an ordinary person obtained a sword forged from Profound Iron, they could stand against me! What would be the point of my cultivation then? If an average person could defeat me, wouldn't that be like a bug in a game?

"Is there a lot of this Profound Iron? And if an ordinary person used this bow, would it produce the same power?"

The strategist smiled calmly. "How could that be? Profound Iron is a rare material, and iron that has aged for a millennium is rarer still. Even if an ordinary person obtained this bow, they would be unable to draw it. Among our people, aside from the former Feather King, only you have the strength to draw it. That is why, with this bow at your side, you will be like a tiger that has grown wings when you head to the World Alliance."

"How can I accept something so precious?" I assumed the strategist wouldn't take the bow back. Although I said this, in my heart, I was very fond of it; a bit of polite posturing was only appropriate.

Upon hearing this, the strategist immediately lost his smile. "Feather King, what are you saying? You are our King—if not to you, to whom should this bow belong? Besides, no one else in the tribe can draw it. Please, accept it. The future survival of the Feathered Folk rests entirely upon your shoulders!" He let out a long sigh after speaking.

I knew the strategist must have had an ulterior motive for giving me this item, but I didn't expose him. After all, even if he hadn't given it to me or asked for my help, I would have protected the Feathered Folk regardless! I thought to myself: the strategist is truly sharp-witted and looks far into the future.

I patted him on the shoulder. "With me here, the Feathered Folk will surely see a day of great prosperity!"

The strategist smiled. "With your word, I am at ease. There are still two hours until dawn; you should go and rest, Feather King. Tomorrow morning, I will arrange for the production of hidden weapons."

I checked the sky; indeed, dawn was near. I took out a few Desert Eagle bullets, handed them to the strategist, and repeatedly instructed him that the shapes must be identical for mass production, and that these arrows must also be manufactured in large quantities.

I returned to my room with the Profound Iron Bow. The strategist had given me a quiver containing dozens of these specially crafted explosive arrows, attached to a black leather strap that I could wear on my back. I placed the quiver by my bedside, lay down, and quickly drifted off to sleep.

The first rays of morning sunlight hit my face, and I sat up abruptly. It was that dream again—that woman. I had been jolted awake once more. Who was she? Why did she keep appearing in my dreams? What was she trying to express? I even wondered if I were haunted by a vengeful spirit. I shook my head and stepped off the bed. I was an atheist; how could I believe in ghosts?

I washed up hastily, stretched, and shouldered the quiver, ready to head to the World Alliance. Just then, a chaotic sound came from outside. The noise shifted from mere shouting to wailing—a sound that felt wrong, like the desperate screams of people on the brink of death.

I rushed to the door and flung it open. What met my eyes was a massive horde of zombies. Most of the Feathered Folk were standing on the mountaintop, fleeing toward the summit. Those who were slow were immediately seized by zombies and dismembered in an instant.

The strategist was leading over a hundred clansmen to cover the retreat. When he saw me, he shouted, "Feather King, leave! It seems this place is about to fall!"

As I burst through the door, I had already cast a protective barrier over the strategist and the others, but zombies were still breaking through the shield and dragging Feathered Folk away to be torn apart. I realized instantly that these were no ordinary zombies. Judging by their sharp, two-foot-long claws, every strike drew a spray of fresh, red liquid. Feathered Folk were being cleaved in two or decapitated. The number of zombies was beyond calculation, and an endless, jostling mass of them continued to pour into Forget-Worry Valley.

I dove into the zombie horde, my hands gathering demonic energy. Black currents swirled around my arms, and I pushed the power of the protective barrier to its limit. With fists clenched, I struck out wildly. The zombie army was packed so densely that I didn't even need to aim; every punch connected, and I could clearly hear the sound of snapping bone.

In less than a minute, countless mutated zombies lay within a three-meter radius of my feet. Some I had crushed with brute force—though they were already dead, I was merely granting them a final release. Others had their limbs torn off, crawling on the ground and rendered harmless. Yet, more zombies trampled over the bodies of their companions to rush forward. These death-defying creatures were endless; I couldn't kill them all alone. Once my stamina was exhausted, I would surely become their breakfast!

I drove back the wave of zombies in front of me and called out to the strategist, "Take them and go! I can handle this alone!"

Upon hearing this, the strategist ordered the others to stop attacking and retreat to the summit. I unleashed my full demonic energy, preparing for a fight to the death against the horde! Suddenly, a figure leaped over the heads of the zombie army and charged toward me. In my panic, I unleashed a blast of palm energy, but when I caught sight of the figure's face, I was stunned. It was Qin Tian—and I had just struck him directly into the zombie swarm.