3: Chapter 3 The Arrival of a Million
He could see clouds sweeping past him, the earth rapidly expanding beneath his feet, and mountains and rivers unfolding like a chessboard.
Then he saw the army.
One million people, covering the mountains and plains.
He landed in the middle of the formation.
People were all around him—left, right, front, and back. Dense crowds of heads and perfectly aligned formations stretched from beneath his feet to the edge of his vision. Everyone wore the same gray-blue military uniform, held standardized weapons, and stood on the same piece of land.
Zhen Lu looked down at himself.
A gray-blue military uniform, leather armor, and a long spear.
His hands were a size larger than before, with thick knuckles and calluses on the web of his thumbs; these were not his original hands. He touched his face, and the contours felt sharper and more rugged.
[ You have entered Temporary Summoning mode ]
[ World: Ash Plain (Ancient Battlefield) ]
[ Identity: Spearman ]
[ Equipped Skills: Basic Spear Technique, Basic Combat, Basic Formation ]
[ Time Remaining: 23:59:42 ]
[ Note: There is no penalty for death in this mode. You will automatically return to the Main Planet when time expires. ]
Zhen Lu gripped the long spear in his hand. The shaft was made of hardwood and felt solid. His body was significantly stronger than in reality, with tight muscles brimming with power.
The 5-point attributes on the panel were no longer visible, but he could feel that they were definitely higher than 5.
He rolled his shoulders. His joints made a slight clicking sound—not from soreness, but a comfortable sensation, like a rusty machine that had suddenly been oiled.
He looked left and right. To his left was a young man in his early twenties with a round face, who was examining his hands over and over while muttering something.
To his right was a middle-aged man in his forties with an expressionless face, whose grip on his spear was much steadier than those around him.
The middle-aged man noticed Zhen Lu's gaze, turned his head, and looked him up and down. "First time?"
Zhen Lu nodded.
"Look at the hands." The middle-aged man turned his hand over to show him. There were calluses on the web of his thumb—not fresh ones, but thick, worn-down, hardened calluses. "The system gave me the foundation of a veteran. I guess it's random; if you're lucky, you get someone who's actually fought. How about you?"
Zhen Lu looked at his own hands. There were calluses on the web of his thumbs too, but not as thick as the middle-aged man's. "Probably a recruit."
"Recruits are fine, as long as you can stab someone." The middle-aged man smiled.
"Praise the Holy Light..." Zhen Lu muttered softly.
People around him were doing the same thing: looking at themselves, touching their faces, testing their weapons. Some were excited, some nervous, and some bewildered.
One million people, all ordinary players like him, who had accepted this "no-requirement" Temporary Summoning from the mission hall.
No one knew where this was, and no one knew who they were supposed to fight.
But everyone knew one thing: 500 credits a day, paid by that wealthy young master. They only needed to be here and serve as soldiers for a day.
Zhen Lu stood on tiptoe to look ahead.
At the very front of the army, a few dozen people sat on tall horses, wearing bright armor. In the center was a young man, looking about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, draped in a silver-white war cloak with gold patterns inlaid on his armor. He rode a pure black steed, slowly scanning his surroundings.
That must be the second-generation young master who spent millions on treasures and hundreds of millions to summon soldiers.
Those riding horses beside him were likely his second-generation friends who had entered with him, each wearing armor far superior to that of the ordinary soldiers, some carrying swords, some holding lances, and others with bows hanging at their waists.
The young master's expression was not good.
If he hadn't been surrounded, he wouldn't have spent so many credits.
Only then did Zhen Lu notice the dark mass of enemy troops closing in from the distant horizon. They were everywhere, dense and packed, surging from all directions like a rising tide. Flags stood like a forest, dust filled the sky, and the sound of hooves and war drums blended together, making the ground tremble slightly.
"Multiple armies are encircling us."
A spearman beside him whispered—it was the middle-aged man from before. His face held the calm that only an experienced veteran player possessed. "This young master's original troops must have been decimated; otherwise, he wouldn't be spending this kind of money."
"Do you think we can win?" Zhen Lu asked.
The veteran player looked at the one million people around them, neatly arrayed in formations stretching from the foot of the mountain to the center of the plain.
"One million people," the veteran said. "Guess how many are on the other side?"
Zhen Lu shook his head.
"Three or four hundred thousand at most." The veteran smiled. "In the age of cold weapons, with this young master surrounded on the plain, the enemy has at most three hundred thousand. With our one million, we could crush them just by throwing stones."
Zhen Lu didn't feel comforted. He glanced at the enemy troops in the distance—a dark, oppressive mass with flags fluttering in the wind. He couldn't count how many flags there were, but they were packed together as densely as workers lining up to swipe their cards at the Logistics Center in autumn.
His palms were sweating as he gripped his spear. The Basic Spear Technique skill taught him how to hold the weapon, but it didn't tell him how to stop his palms from sweating.
The sound of war drums came from afar, the beat dense and fast, like the rhythm of a racing heart. Small pebbles on the ground jumped lightly with the beat. Zhen Lu saw a pebble the size of a fingernail by his feet, trembling in the dirt.
He took a deep breath. The air smelled of grass and horse manure, along with a faint, lingering metallic tang drifting from afar—the scent of dried blood.
One million people. He repeated it in his mind. One million people against three hundred thousand—three against one.
He glanced at the skills on his panel: Basic Spear Technique Lv.1, Basic Combat Lv.1, Basic Formation Lv.1.
Three skills, one million people, five hundred credits.
Zhen Lu was about to say something when a voice came from the front.
The young master drew his sword.
It wasn't a metal sword, but a long sword that glowed all over, its light dazzling even under the midday sun. He raised the sword above his head, and his voice was amplified by some means, carrying across the entire battlefield:
"Everyone!"
One million people fell silent.
"I am your Summoning Master. Today, you fight for me, and I pay the credits. A fair trade."
He paused, pointing his sword tip toward the surrounding enemy troops.
"Those opposite are the enemies in this world. They are the final hurdle on my path to hegemony in this world. Crush them, and this world will be mine."
He smiled and pointed his sword forward.
"Spearmen in the center, sword-and-shield soldiers on the flanks, great shield soldiers press forward in the front, archers provide support. Divide into six routes, attack!"
As soon as the command was given, Zhen Lu felt his body start to move.
Before his brain could even think clearly, his feet had already stepped forward. The Basic Formation skill was taking effect, letting him know where to stand, where to walk, and how much distance to keep from the people on his left and right.
One million people began to move.
Like a giant machine, every gear was meshing together. The great shield soldiers and spearman phalanxes advanced, the sword-and-shield soldiers spread to the flanks, and the archers lined up in three rows at the rear, arrows nocked on their bowstrings.
Zhen Lu held his long spear and walked forward with the phalanx.
To his left was the young man in his early twenties, and to his right was the veteran player from before. The three of them maintained the same pace, spear tips forward, spear tails on the ground, their steps perfectly synchronized.
The sound of footsteps layered together, turning into a low, continuous roar. The sound of countless feet treading on dirt, grass, and stones blended together. Zhen Lu's ears were filled with this sound; he couldn't even hear his own heartbeat.
The young man to his left had pale lips and kept licking them. The veteran to his right was expressionless, his gaze fixed straight ahead like a soldier who had truly seen battle. Zhen Lu, sandwiched in between, felt his expression was likely somewhere between the two—he wanted to feign calmness, but his mouth was pulled too tight.
The phalanx walked across a patch of grass. The grass had been trampled to ruin by the troops in front, turning up black, oily mud. Zhen Lu stepped onto it, his soles sinking in half an inch; when he pulled his foot out, it made a "pop" sound. Then the next step, another "pop."
He suddenly thought of a question: If the grass in this world is trampled to ruin, will it grow back? Will the corpses of the fallen soldiers rot in this world, or will the system refresh them away?
He didn't ask it out loud.
In the distance, the enemy troops were clearly stunned by this sudden change.
A few minutes ago, they were still mopping up a routed remnant army. A few minutes later, as the light brightened, so many soldiers had appeared out of thin air, wearing uniform military attire and arrayed in neat formations, as if they had grown out of the ground.
The enemy's front ranks began to stir. Some retreated, only to be cut down by officers behind them. The sound of war drums faltered for a few beats, and the flags began to sway.
The young master's armies had already begun to engage the enemy.
The phalanx Zhen Lu was in was one of the left-flank routes, cutting diagonally into the enemy's side. Before he could even see the faces of the enemy, he heard the sound of the first wave of archers releasing their strings—"whoosh, whoosh, whoosh"—as a rain of arrows flew overhead and landed in the enemy ranks, causing a chorus of screams.
At the same time, enemy arrows were pouring down on their own side as well.
Then the great shield soldiers raised their shields high, and the sound of metal clashing became incessant.
Two torrents began to intertwine.