"BOOM—!"

  The alloy warehouse door, half a meter thick, shattered like a crisp cracker under the thunderous charge of Zhao Zilong. Twisted metal shards exploded inward like shrapnel, instantly harvesting the lives of several mercenaries who couldn't dodge in time.

  But the moment they rushed in, the silver stream of light stagnated.

  This was no ordinary cargo warehouse. It was a meticulously laid necromantic position.

  The interior space was vast and empty. All cargo had been cleared out, replaced by altars of white bone emitting an ominous green glow. And in the dead center of the hall, a semi-transparent wall standing ten meters high—formed by countless compressed, wailing ghosts—blocked the path between Zhao Yun and the depths of the warehouse.

  [The Wall of Wailing Souls]

  Behind that wall, a Warlock wearing the high-level robes of the Necromancy Guild, half his face encased in a metal mask, hovered in mid-air. His ten fingers were connected to several conduits filled with green liquid, frantically extracting energy from hundreds of "battery corpses" arranged around him.

  "Welcome, 'Ancient Barbarian'."

  The Warlock’s voice was processed through an amplifier, carrying a nauseating electronic echo.

  "And you, the waste of a student who only knows how to hide behind others, John Doe."

  [Countdown: 04:30]

  Zhao Yun let out a cold snort. The Dragon Gall Silver Spear in his hand trembled, the tip erupting with blinding silver radiance.

  "Break!"

  He wasted no words, thrusting his spear directly into the green wall of souls.

  Zzzzzzt—!

  A strike capable of piercing a mecha now felt like it had stabbed into a mass of sticky glue. The wall was composed of thousands of agonizing souls; not only did they possess extreme physical resistance, but more terrifyingly, they actively latched onto and drained the attacker's spiritual energy.

  The silver spear-light was frantically devoured by the green resentment. The warhorse, Night-Shining Jade Lion, let out an uneasy whinny as countless ghostly hands surged from the ground, firmly gripping its four hooves.

  "This is the 'Masterpiece' of Imperial Necromancy."

  John Doe stood behind Zhao Yun, his face pale, but he forced his eyes open wide, staring dead at the wall.

  He had learned this in Academy textbooks.

  Unlike the Eastern metaphysics of Daoist Singularity which focused on "karmic cycles," and unlike Zhao Yun's power which relied on "martial will," the Necromancy of New Babylon was a cold, efficient, and bottomless industrial system.

  It didn't care about communication; it only cared about "Extraction."

  "That is 'High-Pressure Psionic Pump' technology." John shouted into his headset, his voice trembling. "Grace! Careful! That isn't a normal magic shield! It's a 'Bio-Field' fueled by the pain of the living! Its energy source is the residual neural potential in those bodies behind it!"

  "I know! Dammit!" Grace’s holographic projection on John’s wrist flickered wildly, her hands blurring over a virtual keyboard. "I'm trying to hack their control system! But their firewall is 'Wetware'! It’s a biological server made of actual human brain tissue! My data stream gets washed away by those chaotic brainwaves the moment I get in!"

  This was the horror of the Necromancy Guild. They turned the dead into machines and souls into code.

  Rat-a-tat-tat-tat—!

  The moment Zhao Yun was stuck to the Wall of Wailing Souls, four automated sentry turrets rose from behind the barrier. They were twin-linked 20mm alchemical autocannons, the bullets inscribed with [Anti-Magic] runes.

  Tongues of fire spewed forth.

  "My Lord, watch out!"

  Zhao Yun yanked the reins hard, dancing his spear in front of him to create an impenetrable silver shield.

  Clang clang clang clang!

  Although he blocked the bullets, the immense kinetic impact kept Zhao Yun pinned in place. He was suppressed.

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  [Countdown: 03:30]

  Time was bleeding away.

  With every passing second, Zhao Yun’s figure grew a fraction more transparent. It was a sign of severe energy depletion.

  "We can't outlast them like this!" John watched the Wailing Wall, which was constantly repairing itself, burning with anxiety.

  "Boss! I can't get in!" Bone's frantic roar came from the entrance.

  John looked back. Bone was blocking the shattered doorway, wielding half a blasted iron door as a shield, single-handedly holding back dozens of fully armed "Corpse-Puppet Soldiers" surging from the outside.

  "There's too many of these bastards! And there's a damn 'Living Only' barrier at the door—my bones go soft the moment I try to cross the threshold!" Bone kicked a zombie flying and shouted back, "Boss! Catch this!"

  Crack!

  In the heat of battle, Bone actually reached into his own chest cavity—yes, his own body—and forcibly snapped off his thickest, sharpest left third rib, the one he had tempered day and night with spirit fire.

  "Take it! This is my Intrinsic Bone! It can break that damn shell!"

  Bone whipped his arm.

  The white rib, glowing with a jade-like luster, flew like a boomerang, whistling over dozens of meters to land precisely in John’s hand.

  It was cold, heavy, and carried a familiar aura that made John feel safe.

  "Thanks, brother!" John gripped the bone tight.

  [Countdown: 02:30]

  Only half the time remained.

  Zhao Yun was still struggling on the front line. The Warlock floating in mid-air let out a triumphant, maniacal laugh.

  "See that? This is the generation gap in power! How can you Heroic Spirits, stuck in the cold weapon era, possibly defeat industrialized magic?"

  The Warlock increased the output. Countless green tentacles extended from the Wailing Wall, beginning to entangle Zhao Yun’s limbs and his horse.

  "General Zhao!" John shouted.

  "Panic not, My Lord!" Though trapped, Zhao Yun’s tone remained as steady as a mountain. "Though I am bound, I still have the strength for one strike! We just need to crack this turtle shell!"

  Crack the shell.

  John’s gaze pierced past the wall, looking towards its base.

  As a Necromancer, even a dropout, he could see not just ghosts, but the "Flow of Energy."

  In the vision of his [Spirit Vision], the seemingly impregnable Wall of Wailing Souls had a fatal "Node." The conduits connecting the corpses and the Warlock all converged onto an inconspicuous black metal stake on the ground.

  That was the [Phase Anchor Point].

  Pull out or destroy that anchor, and the entire energy circuit would short-circuit.

  But the anchor was on the inside of the wall. Zhao Yun was blocked outside and couldn't reach it.

  "Someone has to go in..."

  John looked at the death zone raked by machine-gun fire.

  He was a mage. He was squishy. He had hemophobia.

  Charging into the line of fire of heavy machine guns to perform close-quarters sabotage? That was suicide.

  "John, don't." Grace seemed to sense his thoughts, her voice thick with tears. "You'll die! Your body can't handle that kind of spiritual pressure!"

  John looked at the rib in his hand. Bone had given him a part of himself.

  He looked ahead at Zhao Yun, immobilized in the bullet rain to protect him.

  If he didn't move, in two and a half minutes, Zhao Yun would vanish. They would all die here.

  "Hoo..."

  John took a deep breath. The air reeked of ozone and blood.

  That familiar dizziness returned. His stomach spasmed.

  But this time, he didn't vomit.

  "Grace." John’s voice was quiet, but exceptionally clear.

  "Disable my pain receptors. Max out the adrenaline."

  "But..."

  "Execute the order!"

  "...Yes."

  A jolt of electricity surged through him. John felt his body lighten, the fear of death seemingly isolated behind a pane of glass.

  He gripped Bone's rib, the tip sharp as a knife.

  "General Zhao!" John roared at Zhao Yun’s back. "Open a path for me! Three seconds!"

  Zhao Yun turned his head amidst the chaos of battle. A flash of shock passed through his phoenix eyes, immediately replaced by a heaven-shaking fighting spirit.

  He understood the intent of his frail master.

  "What courage!"

  Zhao Yun threw his head back and howled. His silver armor suddenly exploded outward, transforming into a blazing silver flame.

  "Dragon Guts · Reverse Scale!"

  Ignoring the tentacles wrapping around him, he forcibly overdrafted his spiritual power. The spear in his hand stopped defending and transformed into a massive drill, boring viciously into the center of the Wailing Wall.

  "OPEN—FOR—ME!!!"

  BOOM—!

  The indestructible Wall of Wailing Souls finally tore open under this strike, revealing a narrow fissure just wide enough for one person.

  But the crack would only last for an instant; the surrounding resentment was frantically trying to heal it.

  NOW!

  "AAAAAHHHHH!"

  John Doe, the most cowardly mage in District 13. let out the manliest roar of his life.

  He didn't use magic, because he didn't know offensive spells.

  He used the most primitive, clumsy method—The Charge.

  He launched himself like a cannonball, keeping his body low, sliding along the ground.

  Bullets whistled over his scalp. Green resentment corroded his hoodie, leaving burn marks on his skin.

  But he didn't stop.

  He dove into the fissure.

  It felt like jumping into a freezing deep sea; countless vengeful spirits screamed in his ears, trying to tear his soul apart.

  "SCRAM!!!"

  The rib in John’s hand erupted with a ghostly blue light—that was Bone’s source power, the [Nether Bone] that possessed a natural suppression over the undead.

  Splurt!

  John punched through the wall.

  He crashed onto the floor, rolled twice, and stopped right next to the black [Phase Anchor Point].

  The Warlock hovering in the air widened his eyes, the look behind his mask filled with disbelief.

  "You... how dare you..."

  "Fuck your industrialization!"

  John sprang up from the ground, gripping the rib with both hands. Using every ounce of his strength, he stabbed viciously into the joint of the metal stake.

  It was a physical attack.

  But it was also the deadliest magical strike.

  The moment Bone's rib touched the anchor, it was like shoving a steel rod into spinning gears.

  CRACK!!!

  The metal stake shattered.

  Zzzzt—BOOM!

  The green energy circuit reversed instantly.

  The Warlock let out a blood-curdling scream as the conduits connecting him exploded. The resentment he had been harvesting lost control and backlashed, swarming him in a frenzy.

  The Wall of Wailing Souls collapsed.

  John was blown away by the shockwave, slamming hard against the wall.

  He coughed up a mouthful of blood, his vision blurring. The hemophobia finally kicked in; the world spun.

  But he heard it.

  He heard the most reassuring sound in the world.

  "My Lord, well done!"

  A silver warhorse leaped over the ruins.

  Zhao Yun had broken through.

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