Chapter Seventy-One: Human-Based Kinetic Weapons

From the sky, Easter Island appears like a colossal hand, its rugged surface crowded with towering stones, many carved into the likeness of human faces.

This vast, solitary island set in the ocean serves as the most critical base of the Blue Dream Corporation. Through the efforts of two generations—a father and his son—it has long since been transformed from a pristine wilderness into an uncompromising military stronghold.

Steel, gunpowder, and silvery metallic structures are visible everywhere. The camouflage that once concealed them beneath trees and grass has been stripped away, and the gaping muzzles of black cannons seem to issue an unspoken warning.

Along the shore, in addition to coastal artillery, stands the pinnacle of human technological achievement to date: the unparalleled, ten-thousand-ton battleship, the Augusta, flagship of Blue Dream’s private fleet—a force formidable enough to annihilate several mid-sized nations.

Without exaggeration, as long as the island’s resources have not been depleted, even if the Crimson Cloud Empire and the Dawnstar Alliance combined their entire fleets, they would not be able to seize this massive island.

Even should one manage to break through the defenses and set foot on the island, the myriad traps awaiting would surely bring unpleasant surprises to any intruders.

“It truly does look perilous, like an impenetrable fortress—for an ordinary person, that is,” Liu Tian remarked, arms folded across his chest as he stood atop the highest point of the ship, gazing at Easter Island. As the two prismatic relics containing the greatest fusion of power in the world drew near, he could feel the one pressed against his chest growing noticeably hotter, a faint white light streaming constantly from it.

A mysterious force of attraction was building between the prism in his hand and the one on the island—or rather, between all prisms on earth. At that moment, every prism, discovered or yet to be unearthed, began to glow simultaneously. Their centers slowly approached one another, converging toward the midpoint between Liu Tian’s prism and the one on Easter Island, their speed increasing visibly with every passing second.

Night had fallen. The Holy King of the Bright Moon gazed up at the sky. The stars shone with unprecedented clarity, and yet the heavens had never seemed so chaotic—no longer could one divine the future from the constellations. But one thing was certain.

“That nightmare is drawing ever nearer,” the Holy King said quietly. “The heavens now make it unmistakably clear: the leader of Blue Dream, Blue Dream himself, is the root of all impending chaos.”

“When the scattered pillars of mystery across the world are united into one, the gate to divinity will open once again.” The Heavenly Way, uninterested in the Holy King’s cryptic pronouncements, merely glanced up at Liu Tian, focusing on the white light spilling from his chest. “This prophecy, translated from the ancient Blue Way martial scriptures, may not be mere nonsense. Tian, are you truly going to bring that thing onto the island?”

“Why not?” Liu Tian vaulted down, toying with the prism in his hand—compressing it, twisting it, spinning it. Yet no matter how much force he used, even as sparks of electricity danced between his palms, he could do nothing to damage this relic of the Lost Empire. “Master, look—even now, I can’t harm it in the slightest.”

“If the Lost Empire of ten thousand years past devised some grand design, how could we, mere mortals, hope to alter the course of fate they set in motion?”

“Rather than fleeing like cowards, living each day in dread, why not seize what little initiative we have? At least that way, if we die, we die with dignity.”

“Since when did you become so fretful, Master?” After more than two days of rest and the ship’s doctor’s expert care, Bai Ciman, whose physical resilience surpassed all imagination, had regained the mobility of an ordinary person and now stepped onto the deck. “Fate does not bow to the weak. Hesitation, tears, and fear are all meaningless. Instead of dithering, make a resolute choice—even if you’re wrong, it’s better than doing nothing. If you must die, die advancing!”

“That was the first lesson you taught me: why hesitate now, wavering over what has not happened and cannot be changed—like some old woman?”

“Has the peaceful life of these past years turned the great white shark of the seas into a goldfish in a bowl?”

“So, a goldfish could be the first to achieve a breakthrough no modern martial artist has managed?” Liu Tian interjected, not bothering with the “family drama” between master and disciple. “Or, Master, have you secretly turned the Martial Way of Killing into the Martial Way of Tea in my absence?”

“Bright Moon, do it.” Liu Tian shook his head. “Your trump card is perfect for this situation, is it not?”

Without replying, the Holy King of the Bright Moon raised his hand, fingers poised like a blade, and swept downward. An invisible wave rippled forth, reaching up to the heavens.

One second… two… three… four…

As the seconds ticked by, the clouds above suddenly parted. A streak of fire blazed down from the sky like a meteor, crashing brutally into the ten-thousand-ton battleship Augusta.

Boom!

As if replaying an earlier scene, a flash of light, a miniature mushroom cloud, and the sea itself rocked violently. Before the defenders could draw breath, thousands of trained martial artists, ready and waiting, relayed streaks of fire across the sky, blanketing the island in a devastating bombardment.

Velocity times mass equals destruction.

This was the Holy King’s trump card: a divine punishment strike platform, comprised of nearly ten thousand martial artists trained to fly with objects.

It was his innovation, the ace that gave him the confidence to hold the martial arts tournament.

Never before had a martial artist accomplished such a feat—not for lack of numbers, but because while martial artists could fly using mental force, they could not stray far from solid ground, only reaching a few hundred meters at best. Attempts to ascend using hot air balloons only allowed them to reach the balloon’s altitude—no higher.

But with the advances of modern science and the proliferation of aircraft, the number of discovered martial artists soared. The invention of the airplane narrowed the gap between ordinary people and martial artists, but also revealed to the Holy King a crucial secret: what limited martial artists was not the earth itself, but the solid metal masses upon it.

Hot air balloons were too light, but multi-ton airplanes sufficed. With aircraft, martial artists could ascend to unprecedented heights, several hundred meters higher than even the highest-flying planes.

After much training, this system was born: the Divine Punishment Strike System.

Planes would carry martial artists skyward; those at the highest altitudes would drop tungsten rods with full force, while others at various heights would accelerate and steer them with mental power.

Though even the highest altitude achieved with this method was but a thousandth of the theoretical human-made orbital strike platforms of Liu Tian’s previous life, with psychic force unavailable in that former world, the power of this makeshift kinetic weapon was anything but feeble.

The countless shells fired from Easter Island’s defenses—the overlapping barrages—failed to intercept even a single strike, sliced through like butter by a hot knife. The entire island trembled under the unprecedented assault of this human-powered kinetic weapon.

“Such power… Slow to unleash, but if I were struck by several at once, I wouldn’t survive.” Bai Ciman, previously locked in a childish staring contest with his master, now turned to watch, intrigued. “So this is your trump card for challenging me, Bright Moon? An amusing toy.”

Yes—a toy.

Though its might surpassed even Bai Ciman’s limits, the slow activation and obvious prelude made it impossible to hit someone who could move at near-sonic speed.

Unless—

“But if I restrict your movements, it ceases to be a toy.”

Since his trump card was revealed, there was no need for secrecy. By laying his intentions bare, he could also warn Bai Ciman—others in the world could take his life; he should not act with complete impunity.

“Control me? Are you courting death?” Bai Ciman shot a glance at the Holy King, an intangible pressure radiating from him—a spectral tiger shark flickering into view. Clearly, his battle with Liu Tian had not been fruitless.

“All that I am was granted by this planet, so I might protect humanity and forge the future. Especially after I discovered the secret of martial artists’ flight,” the Holy King declared solemnly. “If it becomes necessary, I will not hesitate to lay down my life.”

“Neither you nor the Heavenly Way—if I’m willing to pay the price, none can survive before me with this system in hand.”

“Could you at least not exile me from the ranks of humanity?” Liu Tian yawned, breaking the tension. “With your current strength, even if you risked your life, you couldn’t restrain me for more than a second. So don’t think about trading your life for mine—it’s not that easy.”

Do you really consider yourself human?

At Liu Tian’s words, Bai Ciman and the Holy King both turned to look at him. They said nothing, but their eyes spoke volumes—a man who could break through at will, without preparation or time, growing stronger by the moment, did he still count as human?

“What? My breakthroughs are perfectly normal,” Liu Tian replied calmly. “All I’ve achieved is thanks to relentless effort at times and places you’d never expect—I’m always striving, always breaking limits. You see, Master never doubted my pace.”

Seeing his junior brother, now far surpassing himself, Bai Ciman suddenly realized he’d been wasting his time. He sighed. “I’m going to rest. If possible, spare Blue Dream’s life.”

No more fiery streaks crossed the sky. Liu Tian, not waiting for the waves to calm, slipped through the surging surf in a single step, leaving behind only a parting remark: “Very well—on your behalf, Master, I’ll try.”