339: Chapter 339 Mechs Sweep Across the Enemy Forces, Enemy Army Defeated

Five hundred meters away, the blood mist had yet to disperse.

The Cultivators lying scattered across the ground were still twitching; some clutched their faces and shrieked, others knelt on the ground vomiting black blood, and more lay face down, motionless, their armor cracked with burn marks spreading from their chests to their backs.

The drum array was blasted until only half the frame remained, and fragments of Talismans stuck in the dirt, emitting wisps of blue smoke.

The great banner of the Chuanyun Sect, embroidered with triple cloud patterns, lay askew in the mud; a fleeing Disciple stepped on it, causing the flagpole to snap with a crack.

On the city wall, Chen Wuwang stood straight as an arrow, the corner of his cloak caught by the wind, not bothering to brush off the dust that had settled on it.

The blue light of his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye flickered, data streams cascading down like a waterfall: "Enemy organizational integrity 39%, average Qi value dropped to 42%, survival rate of high-level Cultivators less than 20%."

"That is enough," he said in a low voice, without turning around. "It is your turn now."

As his voice fell, a muffled rumble came from the ground behind the city wall.

Boom—!

Three heavy alloy Seal stone doors exploded upward, and amidst the flying gravel, three colossal machines slowly rose.

Their treads crushed the broken rocks, emitting a harsh metallic grinding sound. White mist vented from the cooling ports on the backs of the mechs, and the shoulder-mounted cannons automatically calibrated their angles, locking onto the battlefield ahead.

Inside the control room, Chen Tiezhu rested his hands on the control levers, the veins on his forehead throbbing.

He stared at the three main screens in front of him, each displaying the perspective of one of the mechs.

A prompt popped up on the small screen to his right: "City-breaching sequence complete, power output stable, Psionic Cannon charging progress 47%."

"Number Three, don't you jam on me," he muttered, his fingers tapping rapidly on the panel. "I welded this thing for seven days and seven nights; it's not just a piece of scrap metal for show."

He pressed the communication key: "Unit One, advance ten steps, test ground pressure."

"Received," a voice came through the headset, accompanied by static.

Unit One took a step, its treads rotating, and the entire mech pushed forward like a moving mountain.

As it stepped down, the ground trembled, and cracks spread outward from the treads.

Two West Desert Sand Clan Cultivators who were helping a wounded comrade crawl back were knocked over by the tremor and rolled into a trench.

"Good! Stable!" Chen Tiezhu grinned, immediately switching channels. "All units, pay attention, execute 'Plow' plan—target areas A, B, and C, fan-shaped coverage, fire at will!"

The three mechs responded simultaneously.

Their treads accelerated, the roar causing dust to fall from the city wall bricks.

Wherever the mechs passed, the remaining shield Formations were smashed like paper.

An Elder of the Leiyin Pavilion had just formed a hand Seal, intending to summon a lightning Talisman to counterattack, but the mech stepped down, burying him and his Magical Artifact into the mud, leaving only half an arm still twitching.

"My god... what kind of monster is this!" someone screamed.

"Run! That's a killing machine!"

The crowd erupted. The Formation that had been barely maintained completely disintegrated; the Cultivators threw down their weapons, Magical Artifacts, and even their companions, turning to flee.

Someone took flight on a sword, but just three zhang off the ground, they were locked onto by a shoulder cannon.

"Hiss—!" A Psionic Cannon beam as thick as a bucket shot out, instantly piercing three people in the air, their bodies falling like charred wood.

"Unit Two, southeast thirty degrees, three hundred meters, there is a cluster," Chen Tiezhu stared at the screen, his tone calm. "Use secondary cannon, point fire, don't waste energy."

"Understood."

Another beam swept across, and seven gathering Chuanyun Sect Disciples didn't even have time to scream before they were vaporized on the spot, leaving only charred outlines scorched into the ground.

"Unit Three, flank around, mop up the stragglers. Remember, don't chase too far, maintain Formation."

"Uncle Tiezhu, there's a guy over there gnashing his teeth and chanting, the golden light in his arms is flashing suspiciously," the pilot of Unit Three suddenly shouted. "I'm afraid he's about to self-destruct!"

Chen Tiezhu frowned and immediately switched to the city wall channel: "Family Head! Right flank, slightly south, there is a Golden Core preparing to explode!"

Chen Wuwang swept his gaze across, his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye instantly marking three flashing red dots: "Mark the source, shift path."

The order was passed down, and the three mechs immediately adjusted their route, treads turning to bypass the area about to explode.

At the same time, the Unit Three secondary cannon fired three precise shots, the thin beams hitting the wrists of the Cultivators who hadn't yet detonated, causing them to scream and fall, their Golden Cores shaken, unable to gather the power for self-destruction again.

"Useless trash! Kill them all for me! I'll kill anyone who retreats!" A burly Chiji Ridge warrior roared, raising his battle axe to force his subordinates to charge.

But no one listened to him. He had just taken a step when a shadow loomed over him. He looked up to see Unit One had approached, its cannon barrel pointed directly at his head.

"No—!" The beam descended, vaporizing both man and axe.

On the battlefield, only the roar of the mech treads grinding over the earth and sporadic wails remained.

"Tiezhu," Chen Wuwang suddenly spoke, his voice coming through the communication link. "How many more rounds can the Psionic Cannon fire?"

"Five rounds for the main cannon, twelve for the secondary, but any further and we'll need to swap the energy packs," Chen Tiezhu wiped his sweat. "However... it's enough to sweep these small fry clean."

"Then continue," Chen Wuwang's voice was devoid of emotion. "Sweep up the remaining enemies, leave no seeds of trouble."

"Understood!" Chen Tiezhu grinned, his eyes fierce. "Brothers, listen up—our Chen family territory does not keep deserters, nor does it keep stubborn bones. See one, clear one!"

The three mechs started up again, treads rolling, like three steel beasts charging across the plain.

Wherever they passed, armor was stepped into iron pancakes, Magical Artifacts were ground into scrap iron, and the Cultivators who had luckily survived scrambled into the wilderness, abandoning their armor and weapons, not even daring to look back.

An old West Desert Sand Clan Cultivator sat slumped on the ground, the jade Talisman in his hand crushed to powder, his lips trembling: "We... we spent hundreds of years practicing Formations, Talismans, and sword techniques... and just like that... were ground into dust... by a few iron shells?"

No one answered him. The sky was gloomy, and the wind blew across the battlefield, carrying the scent of blood.

Inside the control room, Chen Tiezhu finally released the control levers, leaned back, and let out a long breath.

He took off his headset, wiped the sweat from his face, and watched the three mechs on the screen slowly stop and enter standby mode.

"Done," he said in a low voice, the corners of his mouth lifting. "This time, who dares to say what I forged is just for show?"

On the city wall, Chen Wuwang still stood, his Mechanical Prosthetic Eye still scanning the battlefield.

Data kept refreshing: "Enemy organizational integrity 12%, survival rate of high-level Cultivators zero, seven directions of remnant escape, the furthest has run eight hundred meters."

He did not smile, nor did he order a pursuit. The wind lifted the corner of his cloak, and his silver-white hair swayed slightly.

In the distance, the three mechs stood quietly, cannon barrels lowered, their treads covered in mud and blood.

Suddenly, the Mechanical Prosthetic Eye captured a trace of abnormal fluctuation—in the northwest direction, at the end of the wilderness, a blurry figure was slowly walking over.

The pace was unhurried, yet every step seemed to tread upon the earth's ley lines. Chen Wuwang's pupils constricted.

He raised his hand, pressed the communicator by his ear, and said in a low voice: "Everyone, do not relax."