Boiling Beast Bloodline
Chapter 1066 - 275: The Demand for Surrender

Chapter 1066: Chapter 275: The Demand for Surrender

If a fly were to buzz by, Mulan’s Mojie claimed they could slash its left wing and certainly never cut the right one by mistake.

But today, the brave Mulan Mojie had run out of options.

On the fifteen-foot-wide wooden platform, it was the leading Beamon with the long trunk whose two and a half meter long blade, coupled with his two and a half meter long arms, dominated the huge space by himself. With such an opponent, even having swordsmanship capable of embroidering on a dark carpet was useless-------------The curved swords of Mulan were simply too short to get close to him, and switching to a spear might have fared a bit better.

In the chaos of close-quarters fighting, where men were crowding against each other, the Mulan Mojie had no room to maneuver, and every attack was met with hard resistance. It was exceedingly painful for those who were one meter eight in height to try and match strength with a five-meter-tall Giant.

Swords flashed, blood poured like water, and souls let out their most reluctant cries in Hell!

The swordsmen of the Mulan royal tent wielded Damascus Treasure Swords crafted by master smiths from the capital; these swords could slice through Kangju’s ironclad soldiers, armor and all, in one blow!

In last year’s battle, the weapons of the Beamon warriors were chopped apart by Mulan’s fierce cavalry. It became a widely enjoyed anecdote in Kalimantan City. But today, the once invincible Mulan treasure swords would turn into a burst of steel fragments upon clashing with the Beamon warriors’ weapons amidst a shower of sparks!

Outmatched in skill, outmatched in swords, outmatched in strength!

The Mulan Mojie could only use their own blood to make the most tragic testament to a warrior’s honor and valor!

"Stop," Liu Zhenhan stood on an opening of an earthen wall and picked up a clod of earth, tossing it onto the head of the Mammoth Knife Saint, Rodman.

Fat Luo’s sword was almost on Ali Dai’s nose when he heard the boss’s command, and he immediately held back the swing of his blade, demonstrating the perfect control expected of a Knife Saint, awe-inspiringly precise; the blast from the powerful blade shaved off the beard of the Golden Mojie, Ali Dai, fluttering it neatly downward, the dense and slightly curled whiskers thrashing wildly like weeds in the biting wind.

A mere half inch more, and the strike could have cleaved the Golden Mojie’s face in two. The difference between life and death was just that half inch.

The golden curved sword bestowed by the Sultan of Mulan made two circles and plunged deeply into the wooden planks of the ground, its handle still quivering non-stop.

Ali Dai knelt on the ground, looking up, immobile. He had been poised to lift his sword in hope of fending off the fierce downwards slash. Now, his own weapon had been knocked away, and the opponent’s blade was pointing at his nose, nearly splitting him in two.

The poor Golden Mojie realized that even now, he was still two meters away from his formidable opponent. For life and death combat, that distance was far too great.

Since the boss had spoken, all the Beamon warriors wearing crowns of thorns sheathed their weapons, except for Fat Luo, who still rested his war blade on the bridge of his opponent’s nose. The wrist strength displayed by the Mammoth Knife Saint when restraining his blade left even the finest Mulan Mojie secretly impressed.

Of the two hundred Silver Mojie, only half remained. In just an instant, these metal Hedgehog-like Beamon warriors had felled half of the royal tent’s swordsmen. Even if the royals gambled their lives to attack when the Beeamon swung and left an opening, they only managed to leave a white mark on the Beeamon’s arm shield, before being hit by a powerful knee. The triangular spike on the knee plate pierced through the Mulan warrior’s camel leather armor and robust body as easily as piercing through a leather bag.

With the Golden Mojie now compromised, all of the royal tent swordsmen also chose to halt temporarily. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to fight; rather, they lacked the courage and strength to swing their swords anymore. It was certainly brave to fight to the death, but knowing you would die and still rushing forward was madness.

The Mulan troops caught between attacks were turned into a classic sandwich. The wooden platform stretching over two thousand yards was crowded with Beamon warriors, and below the platform, the Mulan soldiers had to deal with Piegel fighters and also face the slow but approaching five hundred Antelope Warriors behind them, which was the real threat.

The combat prowess demonstrated by these five hundred Antelope Warriors could only be described as terrifying. When five hundred of them charged together using their "Bullfighting Techniques" into the throng of people, the thundering sound resembled a migrating herd of wild buffalo trampling over everything in a roar.

The Mulan soldiers were very afraid of the look in these Tauren warriors’ eyes, which were bloodshot with frenzy, and reflected an icy shimmer like the spiraling horns on their heads, reflecting the shimmer that slices through everything.

Once again, the atmosphere on the battlefield stagnated. At least two thousand Mulan soldiers were squeezed into a clump, nervously looking around at the Beamon warriors surrounding them and the Sky Cavalry constantly flying overhead, already chasing the fleeing soldiers in the distance.

The Monastic Imam, Montasha, was surrounded by the Mojie of the royal tent, his eyes flickering as uncertain as the silver blades in their hands.