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The shift in tactics by the Abyssal Legion had made it so that demon centurions were no longer safe at the rear of their formations.
Magic has a range—and in the Abyss, it's even more limited. Without the help of modern alchemical bullets, spellcasters in the past could only threaten targets within six to seven hundred meters. Even though some wands could be enhanced using materials from demon commanders, the drop rate was so poor that, over centuries, only a few hundred "enchanted wands" had ever been crafted. And of those, only a scarce few increased casting range.
The dozen or so defense lines outside the fortress city were designed to delay the demons' advance in phases when the magic tide struck. But now, with body cultivators capable of charging straight into the enemy ranks—
"Take this, from your ol' uncle!"
Led by Uncle Tian, the Pandaren heavy cavalry broke through thousands of demon fodder. He spearheaded a wedge formation of five elite riders. In the brief moment when the stone-brained demon centurions hadn't yet processed what was happening, the six-rider unit slammed into them at a blistering four to five hundred kilometers per hour!
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Six thunderous impacts in unison. In an instant, the lower halves of three fifteen-meter-tall demon centurions—along with their massive steel-rock legs—were shattered to rubble.
Thick steel cables, each the width of a thumb, had hooks latched into the demons. Before their enormous bodies could even collapse, five mounted warriors surged forward, yanking the centurions into the air and dragging them rapidly away from the battlefield. If the demon centurions fell too close to the main horde, their mana-rich corpses would be absorbed and shared by nearby demons.
Split into pairs, they hauled the three demon centurions several hundred meters away in mere seconds. Once they reached a safe distance, the Pandaren riders released the hook chains. The iron-eating beasts beneath them—possessing overwhelming brute strength—slammed their massive paws into the ground, reversing momentum in defiance of inertia. In an instant, they wheeled around to launch a new wave of violent charges.
As they approached the bisected centurions, the giant war beasts rose up on their hind legs, unleashing deafening roars. Their full-body steel armor tightened, gleaming with menace.
A crushing slam descended like a mountain. Following it came a storm of devastating blows from the Pandaren riders. The colored-dye markers had already exposed the centurions' weak points, and now those vital areas were obliterated in the blink of an eye. The iron-eaters, finally released from restraint, tore into the demons' torsos. The sheer force—enough to twist the head off a fully grown fire dragon—ripped the centurions open in a single, gut-splitting motion.
Compared to the cold precision of gunfire, the raw savagery of close combat was infinitely more satisfying.
The Pandaren riders dismounted from their beasts, which settled into resting positions and used their thick paws to rummage through their fur, revealing massive storage pouches capable of holding tons of ore. Meanwhile, the riders, tossing aside their staves, quickly set to work offloading the goods.
In less than twenty seconds, every high-purity magical ore worth salvaging from the demon centurions had been collected. The remaining materials weren't exactly worthless, but their lower value meant the team didn't have time to pick through them now.
Barely half a minute had passed, and the six Pandaren riders thundered back into battle. Despite their unleashed strength, the thousands of demon fodder were no easy task to eliminate. Their numerical disadvantage meant the "slaughter" was far from efficient.
Targeted demon centurions were picked off one by one and dragged away to be executed. But for every fallen cannon fodder, more would arise—nurturing yet another centurion. This drawn-out, exhausting battle was far from over.
And at that moment, on the other side of the battlefield—where their attention had been focused—a suffocating pressure had taken hold. Breathing itself had become a luxury.
For the first time, Harry truly understood what it meant when they said: Even ants can kill an elephant.
As soon as he became entangled with the demons, Harry realized he had made a grave mistake. He should never have opted for a positional battle. In fact, when dealing with the demon horde, a static defense was perhaps the most foolish strategy—especially when outnumbered.
But by then, it was already too late. A single misstep, barely a ten-second delay, was enough for the seemingly endless demons to swarm and surround them completely.
His razor-sharp lance could pierce through even the thick, multi-layered anti-magic armor of a demon centurion, but against this tide of cannon-fodder demons, it wasn't nearly as effective.
Harry found himself missing Lu Chuan—the human turret he once encountered in the World Youth Gladiator Tournament. Not only could that guy shoot fast, but his aim was terrifyingly precise. His spellcasting medium had likely been enhanced with some serious enchantments—like Harry's own ebony-and-ivory twin wands, imbued with rare and useful affixes. After all, human capacity had its limits. Unless one's brain was rebuilt into a bio-computer, there was simply no way to calculate the barrage of projectiles that came down like a waterfall.
Spellcasters like that were cannon-fodder killers on the Abyssal battlefield. The demons required precision strikes to hit vital points, but what could be more suited to that task than a multi-barreled Gatling gun firing tracking rounds?
Well, maybe there was something better.
After sweeping his spear in a wide arc to carve out a vacuum zone, the blue-and-white shaft began to ripple with scale-like patterns. Iron-gray magic flared through the grooves, and the intoxicatingly sweet energy stirred the entire demon horde into a frenzy.
As the spear swept out once again, its alchemical components rapidly reconfigured themselves. Just like Qiu's lightwing hybrid weapon, Harry's own was the main armament of his alchemical battle armor. Nicolas Flamel had designed it with multiple transformable forms. But switching forms required magic input—and while it might provoke the horde into madness, what Harry needed more was a weapon tailored to dealing with a magic tide.
"Shame my ebony-and-ivory haven't been adapted to fit yet," he muttered with a cold smirk amid the chaos. "You guys handle my six."
Retracting his folding tower shield from his left arm, he grasped a massive two-point-four-meter double-edged greatsword with both hands. Twisting the hilt, he raised the silver-blue blade before his chest. A streak of gray light shimmered from the base of the hilt and extended along the length of the weapon.
"Divine Edge—No Shadow."
Harry murmured the name softly. Solidified with the awakened magic of his core, the razor-sharp incantation crystallized into form. The cold steel edge shimmered with a faint metallic gleam as it extended across the broad blade. The demons lunged to sink their fangs into this sweetly alluring "cake," but the tangible, solid edge sliced cleanly through their jagged, stone-like teeth—silently splitting their bodies apart.
The iron-gray light blade trembled faintly, resisting the constant siphoning from the demons. The awakened magic it carried was too dense, too complex to be consumed easily—it was iron sustenance that cannon-fodder demons couldn't digest in a matter of moments!
The sweeping greatsword carved across two-thirds of the defensive platform. Everything in the forward 270-degree arc—aside from the area guarded by his comrades behind him—was illuminated by its sweeping brilliance. The demons not struck at their core nodes wouldn't die, true, but before they could reassemble themselves and rise again—
Their shattered bodies would require multiple attempts to piece back together.
"That kid," muttered Uncle Tian nearby, still playing baseball with demon centurions. "What's a sword even good for, other than looking cool?"
He gave a dismissive snort. "A real man uses a big stick! When I whack something, I don't care if I hit a weak spot or not—it still dies!"
The demon centurion he'd just sent flying hadn't been struck in a vital area, yet its body was thoroughly pulverized. Along with it, every single magic node within it had been smashed to bits.
(End of Chapter)