"Crash—!"

  The Wall of Wailing Souls shattered like a stained-glass window struck by a sledgehammer. Countless vengeful spirits, freed from their containment, let out a final, ear-piercing shriek before dissipating into the ether.

  The Necromancer floating in mid-air didn't even have time to scream. The massive backlash of psionic energy turned him into a human torch. In less than a second, he was reduced to a pile of black ash, scattering onto the wet floor.

  "Ugh..."

  John rolled on the ground, his body screaming in protest. The adrenaline was fading, and the familiar dizziness of hemophobia began to creep up his spine.

  But before he could hit the floor, a powerful hand grabbed him by the back of his collar.

  "Steady, My Lord."

  Zhao Yun pulled John up effortlessly. The silver armor on his arm was scorched black in places—battle scars from the acid mist—but his breathing remained steady, his aura undiminished.

  [Countdown: 02:15]

  "Is it... over?" John gasped, wiping blood from his nose.

  "Not yet."

  Zhao Yun looked up, his phoenix eyes narrowing as he locked onto the darkness deep within the warehouse.

  "The real monster... is just waking up."

  CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

  Heavy, rhythmic footsteps shook the entire warehouse, causing dust to rain down from the rafters.

  The floor in the center of the warehouse suddenly split open. A hydraulic lift rose slowly, accompanied by the hiss of steam and the hum of high-powered energy cores.

  Rising from the depths was a nightmare forged of steel and death.

  It was a bipedal mech, standing eight meters tall. Its armor wasn't the sleek composite of the mass-produced units outside; it was jagged, rough, and painted a matte charcoal grey, adorned with screaming skull trophies.

  On its back mounted a massive "Soul-Furnace Engine," burning with green ghost-fire. Its right arm ended in a terrifyingly large high-frequency chainsaw sword, while its left arm housed a triple-barreled plasma cannon.

  The Pluto-Class (Hades) Siege Mecha.

  The ultimate weapon of the Necromancy Guild's ground forces.

  And sitting in the open cockpit—protected by a layer of psionic force fields—was a man who looked more machine than human. Half his face was metal, and his muscular body was plugged with tubes pumping green combat stimulants.

  "The Butcher." John’s pupils constricted.

  This was the commander of the Guild's elimination squad. A notorious sadist who enjoyed tearing his targets apart by hand.

  "You little rats..." The Butcher’s voice was amplified by external speakers, sounding like grinding gears. "You broke my favorite toy wall. That cost me three million credits."

  He looked down at the silver-armored warrior and the scrawny youth.

  "A summoned spirit from the history books? Against the pinnacle of modern magi-tech?"

  The Butcher laughed, a sound like scraping metal.

  "Let's see if your kung fu is harder than my chainsaw."

  VROOOM—!

  The chainsaw sword roared to life, the blade spinning so fast it blurred into a heat haze.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Die!"

  The Pluto Mecha charged. Despite its size, it moved with terrifying speed, the chainsaw slashing down like a guillotine.

  "John, get back!"

  Zhao Yun shouted. He didn't retreat. instead, he kicked his horse’s belly.

  "Hyah!"

  The white horse neighed and leaped sideways, dodging the chainsaw by a hair's breadth. The blade slammed into the concrete floor, carving a ten-meter-long gash and sending sparks flying like fireworks.

  "So slow."

  Zhao Yun sneered. In the midst of the sparks, his long spear lashed out like a viper.

  Ding! Ding! Ding!

  Three strikes in a split second.

  One to the knee joint. One to the visual sensor. One to the hydraulic pipe on the elbow.

  But the spear tip only left three shallow white marks on the heavy armor.

  "Useless!" The Butcher roared with laughter. "This is star-metal alloy! Physical attacks are meaningless!"

  He raised his left arm. The plasma cannon began to charge, glowing with a blinding blue light.

  "Eat this!"

  BOOM!

  A ball of plasma exploded.

  Zhao Yun was forced to pull back, using his spear to block the shockwave. The white horse stumbled, and a trace of blood leaked from the corner of Zhao Yun’s mouth.

  [Countdown: 01:30]

  Time was running out.

  John hid behind a pile of crates, his heart pounding. He saw the disparity. This wasn't a fair fight. It was flesh and blood versus a nuclear-powered fortress.

  "Grace! Weakness! Find me a weakness!" John screamed at his wrist.

  "Scanning... Analyzing..." Grace’s voice was frantic. "The armor is too thick! 99% coverage! The only exposed point is the cockpit, but that force field is equivalent to a Rank-5 Shield Spell!"

  "There has to be a way..." John gritted his teeth.

  On the battlefield, the situation was getting desperate.

  The Butcher was suppressing Zhao Yun with heavy firepower. The chainsaw sword danced like a whirlwind, forcing Zhao Yun to dodge constantly. The space to maneuver was getting smaller and smaller.

  "Is that all you've got, General?" The Butcher taunted. "History is obsolete!"

  Zhao Yun blocked another heavy strike, his silver spear bending into a perilous arc before springing back. He panted slightly, but the fire in his eyes burned brighter.

  "Obsolete?"

  Zhao Yun suddenly stopped retreating.

  He patted the neck of his warhorse. The beast seemed to understand, its four hooves igniting with blue spiritual flames.

  "Iron may be hard," Zhao Yun murmured, holding his spear horizontally. "But the user... is full of openings."

  "My Lord John!"

  Zhao Yun suddenly yelled without looking back.

  "I have one strike left. It will drain my remaining time."

  "Create an opening for me. One instant is enough!"

  John froze.

  Create an opening? For a mecha? With what? His scalpel?

  He looked around desperately. He saw the hanging cables, the shattered crates, the leaking pipes...

  Suddenly, his eyes locked on the ceiling.

  Directly above the mecha was a massive, industrial ventilation fan, spinning heavily. And right next to it was a bundle of high-voltage cables that had been severed during the breach, sparking dangerously.

  "Grace!" John yelled. "Can you overload that fan?"

  "I can try! But the motor might explode!"

  "That's exactly what I want! Do it!"

  "Aye aye, Boss!"

  [Countdown: 00:45]

  The Butcher raised his chainsaw sword for the finishing blow. "Goodbye, antique!"

  WHIRRRRR—

  Suddenly, a screaming whine came from overhead. The massive industrial fan spun up to a terrifying speed, defying its safety limits.

  "What the—?" The Butcher looked up instinctively.

  BANG!

  The motor exploded. The fan, weighing half a ton, tore loose from its mountings. Wrapped in sparking high-voltage cables, it crashed down straight onto the Pluto Mecha’s head.

  CRASH! ZZZZT!

  The fan smashed into the mecha’s force field. The high-voltage cables entangled the machine, sending thousands of volts of electricity surging through its conductive armor.

  "System Error! Sensors Offline! Paralysis Detected!" The mecha stiffened, freezing in place for a second.

  "NOW!!!" John screamed until his throat tore.

  "Seven In, Seven Out... DRAGON SOUL!"

  Zhao Yun moved.

  Man and horse merged into a single streak of silver light.

  He didn't aim for the armor. He aimed for that split-second flicker in the force field caused by the electric shock.

  He gathered all his remaining time, all his remaining strength, into one point.

  The spear tip began to spin, creating a vacuum vortex.

  "BREAK!"

  Zhao Yun roared.

  The silver light pierced the electric sparks. It pierced the force field. It pierced the reinforced glass of the cockpit.

  PUCHI.

  The sound of metal piercing flesh.

  The huge mecha went silent.

  The Butcher looked down in disbelief.

  A silver spearhead was protruding from his chest, right through the heavy pilot suit, pinning him to his seat.

  "How..." The Butcher coughed up a mouthful of blood mixed with green combat drugs.

  Zhao Yun appeared on the mecha’s shoulder, panting heavily. His figure was already turning transparent.

  "Your armor is strong," Zhao Yun said coldly, pulling out his spear. "But your arrogance... is brittle as glass."

  [Countdown: 00:00]

  "My Lord... the rest... is up to you."

  Zhao Yun looked at John one last time, gave a slight nod, and shattered into countless particles of silver light.

  The mecha crashed to its knees.

  The Butcher wasn't dead yet. His life-support system was frantically pumping drugs to keep him alive. He struggled to raise his hand cannon, aiming at the exhausted John.

  "I'll... take you... with me..."

  But he never got the chance.

  Because a furious skeleton had already climbed up the mecha's leg.

  "Hey, ugly."

  Bone stood on the cockpit rim, blocking the sun (or rather, the spotlight).

  "You broke my rib earlier. Now... I'm gonna break your face."

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