Chapter 26: The Goblin Air Force

This road stretched endlessly ahead; Sun Licheng had been walking for an entire day and still saw no end in sight. The deeper he ventured into the meadow, the more numerous and concentrated the wolf-rabbits became. They clustered in dense groups, like squads of sentinels, guarding the inner reaches of the great grassland with formidable vigilance. Fortunately, with the guidance of the giant gray rabbit and his own heightened senses, Sun Licheng managed to avoid the ever-appearing packs of wolf-rabbits.

Sun Licheng was tense, and the two deities within his mind were equally on edge.

“Are you sure this is safe? This is the goblin empire’s aerial corps base, and their beast legions were notoriously fierce,” the Fragment of the Magma God asked the Lord of the Stars, his tone tinged with uncertainty.

The Lord of the Stars bowed his head in thought before replying, “It should be fine. Ten thousand years ago, this was the fiercest battlefield. Most of the beast legions were annihilated here, and those that remain are just these rabbits. With the subsequent purges by the gods and their own degeneration, they’ve lost most of their offensive power. I’ve reinforced this body with divine energy, and with that strange force coursing through him, unless he encounters a truly formidable monster, he should be out of serious danger.”

“That’s good, that’s good. He’s our only hope—we can’t afford any mishaps,” the Fragment of the Magma God replied, visibly reassured. The two resumed their banter, observing Sun Licheng’s progress across the meadow with a more relaxed air.

...

By midday of the second day, the landscape began to change. Great pits appeared before Sun Licheng—most were vast, the largest more than twenty meters across and several meters deep. Some held pooled water, while others were barren of a single blade of grass. Approaching an empty pit, Sun Licheng peered inside and saw that the rock walls were smooth and, under the sunlight, shimmered faintly like glass.

Looking up, he noticed that these colossal pits snaked deeper into the meadow, like massive signposts pointing the way forward.

He pressed on, and soon the wolf-rabbits grew fewer; not long after, their presence vanished entirely. In their place, the ground became a maze of deep ravines, the terrain rugged and uneven.

The uncanny silence made Sun Licheng grow wary. He drew his crossbow, nocked an arrow, and held it at the ready, angled downward—prepared for combat at any moment—before moving forward.

As he advanced, the sense of danger intensified. Sun Licheng ceased his exploration of the surroundings, nerves taut, eyes fixed ahead. Suddenly, a mountain range, as serpentine as a giant python, loomed before him. After millennia of wind and rain, much of it had collapsed, leaving only a barely passable route. The slopes were utterly barren.

Sun Licheng climbed cautiously. During his ascent, he was startled to find the ground beneath his feet was entirely black rock—the same material as that strange road through the meadow.

“Could this entire hill be made from that material? What an enormous undertaking that must have been!”

He barely had time to marvel before the sight atop the hill left him utterly stunned.

Before him rose a multitude of stone-spire-like mounds, numbering in the hundreds. Some stood upright, others leaned at precarious angles, but all were solitary—like giant swords thrust into the earth. At their feet, countless ravines spread in all directions, as if a porcelain plate had shattered, leaving a web of cracks.

If these had been ordinary hills, Sun Licheng would not have been so amazed—karst landscapes were not uncommon on Earth. Yet, even from afar, he could discern that these were no natural mounds, but the wreckage of a great fleet of sky warships.

The legendary aerial fleet of the goblin empire had appeared before him without warning. Though Sun Licheng had heard tales of the goblin empire’s history, he had never imagined their might was so formidable. The remains of those colossal sky warships, their smallest still dwarfing Earth’s largest aircraft carriers, were driven deep into the ground. One could not help but envision their majestic presence in the skies of old. Now, though the wrecks were draped in green vegetation, the aura of war still clung to them. Sun Licheng realized he had finally arrived at the legendary battlefield of a war fought ten millennia ago.

...

Despite the warnings that echoed in his mind, Sun Licheng could not suppress his curiosity about these ancient warships. Cautiously, crossbow at the ready, he descended the slope. From afar, the warships were grand; up close, their weathered hulls pierced the clouds, inspiring awe and a sense of reverence.

“How powerful the goblin empire must have been! Even the greatest powers on Earth pale in comparison,” he murmured, gazing up at the ruins of a warship.

A chill wind swept past, snapping Sun Licheng back to alertness. Something was wrong. He glanced around—everything was eerily still. Not even the usual birdsong could be heard; the silence was so complete, he could hear his own heartbeat, sending a shiver down his spine as if all life had been extinguished.

Sun Licheng began to edge backwards, hoping to retreat, but it was too late. From the ravines on either side, three monstrous centipedes burst forth, encircling him. It was a trap—Sun Licheng, distracted by the ancient warships, had walked right into it.

These creatures were about two meters long, segmented like centipedes, each segment bearing two legs tipped with sharp claws. Their bodies were dark brown, and most striking of all, each had a single giant, blood-red eye atop its head and vicious fangs like a starving hound. Hissing, the three centipede monsters crept closer, filthy saliva dripping from their mouths in a sickening display.

With a bang, Sun Licheng—well-prepared—pulled the trigger. The crossbow bolt struck one creature in the head at close range; the bronze-tipped arrow, tempered by Sun Licheng himself, left only a small shaft protruding from the skull. A shriek pierced the air as the monster collapsed, writhing violently—clearly beyond saving.

Before Sun Licheng could celebrate, three or four more centipede monsters swarmed from the side. Alarmed, he whirled and ran; the other two monsters lunged after him.

He had barely covered a few steps before more centipedes blocked his path. Glancing back, he saw the rest closing in—he was trapped with no way forward or back. In desperate haste, he spotted a broad gap beside a nearby warship’s wreckage. With a few quick strides, he slashed down a monster, bursting through their ranks.

It was a massive warship wreck, and for a moment, the monsters could not surround him. Sun Licheng began to circle the ship, the creatures in hot pursuit. As their numbers grew, his maneuvering space shrank. Suddenly, a large centipede lunged from the side; Sun Licheng leapt, grabbing the edge of the ship. With a dull crash, the creature slammed into the hull, smashing open a gaping, blackened hole. Millennia of weathering had left the once-indestructible warship riddled with weaknesses; struck by the monster, a section caved in.

Seizing the chance, Sun Licheng vaulted down and, without hesitation, brought his blade down on the monster’s neck. The goblin empire’s weapon was razor-sharp, and Sun Licheng’s strength immense—one stroke severed its head. Grabbing the creature by the tail, he hurled the corpse at the nearest foe, sending that centipede rolling away like a tumbleweed. In the same instant, Sun Licheng darted into the interior of the warship.

Inside, he found a large chest nearby. Rushing over, he dragged it to the entrance, blocking the hole as tightly as he could.