Chapter Thirty-Six: The Divine Bow Manifestation

The inner camp was no longer in chaos. Several hundred-man units, shrouded in clouds of energy, coordinated their charge outward, their discipline and quality rivaling that of the elite city troops. Yet, the key figures remained silent, whether out of hidden intentions or genuine indifference, none could tell.

Though moving in stealth, Sun Meng had slain many Yellow Turban soldiers along his way. Most were refugees from the camps, fleeing blindly in panic, dispatched by Sun Meng and his shadow before they even knew how they died. The darkness of night concealed the bloodshed from the spectators; at most, they saw figures collapsing one after another.

Sun Meng now reached the wall of the inner camp—a makeshift structure of upright wooden planks, stabilized with earth, more symbolic than functional. He vaulted over it, landing smoothly.

Though the inner camp was not ablaze with light, some areas were illuminated. Sun Meng moved toward the shadows, where most soldiers had already gathered and departed, leaving only those hampered by wounds or illness.

Here, the Yellow Turban soldiers were all elite; though lacking internal energy to hasten their recovery, their physical prowess ensured they’d soon return to battle. But tonight, Sun Meng moved silently past each one, sending them off to meet their fate.

After dispatching more than twenty wounded soldiers, Sun Meng could go no further; ahead, the Yellow Turban army waited in strict formation, led by their commander, Yu Du.

“These dogs are cunning indeed, daring to sneak attack at night. Perfect—I’ll show you my power! Heaven is dead, the Yellow Heaven shall rise!”

“Heaven is dead, the Yellow Heaven shall rise!” the Yellow Turban soldiers shouted in unison, as earth-colored clouds of energy surged forth. Yu Du, at the forefront, charged out of the inner camp.

“A martial artist wielding sorcery? Could he have learned from Zhang Jiao?” Sun Meng observed the remaining Yellow Turban troops, seizing the moment to manipulate his shadow and capture a soldier stationed outside the main tent.

He forced the man to his side, gripping his throat. “Where is your food stored? Speak if you want to live!”

Despair already settled in the soldier’s heart when he realized his body was beyond his control. As soon as Sun Meng loosened his grip, he gasped, “The army rations are behind the camp, but each sub-leader keeps their own stash. The refugees have theirs separately. We have little ourselves!”

A swift death ended his misery, and Sun Meng raced to the area behind the main tent. About twenty soldiers guarded a tent as large as the command tent, filled with grain.

“Perfect—let me try this skill. I want this arrow to pierce through their throats and strike the tent!” Sun Meng selected his finest arrow and infused it with his internal energy.

As he drew the bow, Sun Meng entered a miraculous state—he saw the true form of the Divine Bow of Hou Yi, unsealed and radiant.

The bow’s body gleamed like a ruby, adorned with golden-red patterns, its silvery string taut. Ten arrows, silver-tipped with black shafts, lay ready. As an arrow was nocked, the patterns on the bow lit up, merging with those on the arrow to form a magic array, channeling Sun Meng’s essence to the arrowhead. Upon release, the arrow would absorb spiritual energy, increasing its power and speed until reaching its limit.

Nine Arrows of the Setting Sun!

That was the name revealed to Sun Meng, but this time, he could only glimpse its power—the arrow had already flown, and the shadow of Hou Yi’s Divine Bow had formed behind him.

In this world, it appeared tangible. Yet, just as the bow in Sun Meng’s hand was sealed, so too was its manifestation. Even so, the enhancements, inherited skills, and unique attributes it granted satisfied Sun Meng greatly.

He leapt forward; all twenty guards fell, lifeless.

Retrieving the arrow, he found its head damaged, fit only for reforging, but it was worth it.

He opened the tent, confirmed the stores of grain, and then struck a spark to ignite it. Even if food remained elsewhere, this was surely the largest supply. Besides, the area was not fully isolated, so when the time came…

“Wind, rise!” Sun Meng summoned his mental strength, manifesting his aura. The night, previously touched by a gentle breeze, was suddenly swept by wind—not too fierce, but enough to fan the flames.

He pressed down with his feet, rising with the wind, pausing midair.

At the level of the Manifestation Realm, whether scholar or warrior, one could ride the wind. For warriors, their bodies were stronger, and with certain secret arts, a short burst could cover hundreds of meters in an instant.

Glancing at Yu Du, who had just repelled the government troops, Sun Meng narrowed his eyes, drew his bow, and turned to fly away.

Yu Du, having just defeated a government commander who had used secret arts to enhance his strength, felt a sudden tightness in his chest. Instinctively, he rolled to hide beneath his horse’s belly, only to hear the beast’s scream and feel a force slam into his chest.

“A single arrow only cost him half his life? Well, that should resolve the crisis in the county!” Sun Meng glanced at the system’s prompt and pursed his lips. He hadn’t used the Divine Bow’s full power, relying instead on his manifestation’s unique abilities, with unsatisfactory results. Clearly, he needed to adapt further to this manner of combat.

By dawn, Sun Meng had reached another county town. Worse off than his own, it was on the verge of being overrun.

“Ha ha ha! Brothers, storm the city—grain, gold, and silver are ours, women are free for the taking!” A Yellow Turban general, dark-skinned, with large eyes and tiger whiskers, his voice booming like thunder, leaped from his horse onto a siege ladder, sprinted up the wall, and swept his spear, clearing a swath around him.

Honestly, if he hadn’t known that Zhang Fei was pale-faced and wielded a serpent spear at this time, he might have believed he’d entered a distorted version of the Three Kingdoms.

Yet, many on Earth misunderstood. The comment stream was filled with questions: Why would Zhang Fei be a Yellow Turban general?

Sun Meng could only confirm he was not Zhang Fei. First, he had just begun refining internal energy, not even reaching perfection—his strength was off. Second, his appearance was wrong.

“If you want to know who he is, one arrow will tell!” Sun Meng smiled at the screen. With his manifestation summoned, his entire bearing was elevated—handsome, in the popular parlance!

“Killed Yellow Turban second-rate commander Li Da Mu, rewarded with five merit points.”

“Li Da Mu—just the name marks him as a bit player.” Sun Meng scoffed. It was a trait of the rebels: unless they were crucial figures or those with steadfast beliefs, they’d adopt nicknames or outright false names. Some did so to protect their families; others were mere pawns of a clan. Of course, some were just commoners, with no good name to choose.

Li Da Mu, who had just been slaughtering left and right, was killed in an instant, his head severed by a single arrow.

“Revenge for the commander!” Some elite Yellow Turban soldiers shouted, gathering to retrieve Li Da Mu’s corpse. But at this moment, few Yellow Turban soldiers remained on the wall, and the defenders, invigorated, surged forth, roaring as they cut down the elite rebels.

Sun Meng drew his bow again, but this time released not an arrow, but a blast of air mixed with internal energy, exploding above the wall. The miniature air arrows instantly killed the Yellow Turban soldiers below—a move he’d developed as he mastered aspects of his manifestation.

With this, the morale of the Yellow Turban troops yet to climb the wall collapsed. They had no idea what killed their comrades, and terror spread rapidly. The first to flee appeared, then a mass rout ensued.

Truthfully, if they had continued their assault, Sun Meng couldn’t have stopped them. He had techniques for mass attacks, but against ten thousand, they would hardly suffice.

“Brothers, slay the rebels and defend the nation!” A young commander atop the wall shouted, pursuing the Yellow Turban soldiers who failed to escape in time. The troops’ spirits soared, but they had no intention of chasing the routed enemy beyond the city. Killing the few hundred rebels on the wall was enough to elicit cheers.

At that moment, Sun Meng hovered above them. “Can you tell me where I am?”

His sudden appearance silenced the wall. To stand in midair—this was the highest standard of martial prowess in the Han.

“Make way! Everyone, make way!” came an urgent voice.

A man dressed as a civil official, in his thirties, stepped before Sun Meng. “I am Guo You, humble servant, at your service, Master!”