Wen Yan had obviously never learned how to ride a horse, yet at this mont he could inexplicably beco one with his warhorse beneath him, moving in perfect coordination.
This warhorse was highly intelligent, clearly long accustod to this kind of charge; not only was it unafraid, it was even more excited than Wen Yan.
During the charge, the warhorse would even use the armor on its body to block curved blades, and when struck, it would slightly twist its direction, letting the knight’s saber slide harmlessly off the armor.
After being blessed with a large amount of Yang Energy by Wen Yan, the warhorse beca even crazier than Wen Yan, charging straight into the crowd with reckless abandon.
One man and one horse smashed into the ranks of dozens of knights, clashing back and forth three tis, and half of those knights were already gone.
The knights on the ground were either dead as a doornail, or clutching their wounds, obviously more dead than alive.
One knight—his skin dark, his face painted with oil—dismounted, chanting strange curse scriptures as he took out a blood-red leaf and wiped it over the wounded knight’s injury.
In an instant, the huge wound stretching from left shoulder to right abdon closed up as the leaf passed over, the torn flesh on both sides squeezing together, sealing the wound so that no more blood flowed out.
But the next second, scorching Yang Energy surfaced at the wound, strands of black vapor drifted out, and the wound suddenly burst apart, fresh blood gushing everywhere. In a flash, the injured knight let out a wail before dying, rapidly turning into a skeleton, and a mont later, even the skeleton turned to ash and drifted onto the grass.
He tried three more tis in a row. The knights who’d barely been alive were instead killed off even faster by this thod, not even leaving a complete corpse behind.
The oil-painted knight flew into a rage, shouting sothing unintelligible, then pulled from his pouch a lumpy, dark red lizard, bit its head off in one go, and stuffed the rest into his mouth, swallowing it whole.
Behind him, the remaining knights also took out all sorts of bizarre things from their own pouches: venomous snakes, lizards, even scorpions and toads.
They shouted their slogans and devoured those obviously poisonous things. With each breath, black mist began to escape from the corners of their mouths.
The warhorse under Wen Yan pawed nervously at the ground, twisting its head a little to glance back at Wen Yan, as if unsure what to make of all this.
Wen Yan patted the horse’s neck, gently reassuring it.
"It’s all right, sothing’s just influencing this place. Actually, you’re already dead—you don’t have to worry too much about being poisoned."
The warhorse’s big eyes fixed on Wen Yan, blankly, as if to say, I’m worried about you, not myself.
Wen Yan mulled it over and kept soothing his horse.
"Relax, even if it’s poison, the more sinister it is, the less likely it’ll kill . What they’re doing now would work better if they sared golden liquid on their blades—if I got cut by that, there might be so risk of infection."
Of course, the warhorse couldn’t understand Wen Yan’s words, but it could sense that Wen Yan’s tone wasn’t tense at all.
The warhorse raised its head and neighed, then charged forward again. This ti, blades collided, and the clanging of tal rang out continuously.
Wen Yan held his breath as he swept past a squad of knights. His blade struck their bodies, but it was like hitting fine steel, leaving only shallow white marks and never breaking through their defenses.
Wen Yan frowned slightly, eyeing those howling knights whose fighting spirit was returning, and thought to himself, What kind of evil magic is this?
Well, evil magic...
His Scorching Sun saber was blessed and still couldn’t cut through their defenses, so this evil magic must be working directly on the body itself, not as an external shield.
He rembered Qin Kun had once told him, when a martial artist faces paranormal things, there’s no need for all sorts of fancy tricks—a martial artist himself is a treasure for breaking evil.
He reached out with his finger, about to cut a notch on his blade to sharpen it with blood, but then he saw his left middle finger’s black fingernail. He paused. These guys want to use poison—am I not capable myself?
He had nothing suitable on hand, so after thinking about it, he put his left middle finger in his mouth and sucked on it, then spat a glob of saliva onto the blade.
Then he lightly nicked his finger, squeezed out so blood at the tip, and sared it on the saber edge, sharpening the blade with his own fresh blood and blessing it with a power to break through evil that was different from Yang Energy.
This ti, as he charged again, his saber ca down in a slash. When the blade touched the opponent’s body, two forces clashed violently. Amidst the harsh scraping sound, the knight’s defenses were cut through.
Then, pitch-black corpse poison spread rapidly around the wound, plainly visible to the naked eye.
Seeing it was effective, Wen Yan didn’t get greedy with his slashes; sharing the "blessing" for all, he darted around, striking each opponent just a couple tis. As soon as he wounded soone, he moved to the next.
By the end of that round, every knight had a wound.
To keep them from chopping off their own injured limbs, Wen Yan aid straight for heads and torsos, ensuring each knight had his defense breached—on chest, back, or head—and was infected with corpse poison.
With one charge, he broke out of the knight formation and watched from afar as the corpse poison erupted within them.
He hadn’t even thought to use poison at first—it was just in the Netherworld, corpse poison never ca in handy; Yang Energy was more effective, simpler, and when using weapons, corpse poison was actually a hassle, needing him to coat his weapons beforehand.
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