A dense barrage of arrows sliced through the air with a howling roar.
Marshal Silver yanked Tripitaka to his side.
In an instant, a vast rain of arrows showered down, raising clouds of dust as each shaft embedded itself in the ground, quivering upright.
Dozens of defenseless monks fell where they stood, blood slowly pooling around the shattered stones beneath their feet.
Tripitaka stared in shock, his eyes wide.
With Marshal Silver at his side, no ordinary arrow could reach him, no matter how many there were. But what about everyone else?
All across the Westside Quarry Camp, misery reigned.
The other monks huddled in cracks between stones or behind ramshackle huts—some sobbing in terror, others clamping their hands over their mouths, terrified that a single sound might give away their hiding spot and bring another rain of arrows.
"Loose!"
Before Tripitaka could recover, another wave of arrows screamed through the air from outside the fence. Another downpour of arrows fell.
In the blood-soaked mud, a monk pierced by several arrows but still alive cried out, trying to crawl toward Tripitaka. He had barely covered a yard before—thud—a shaft punched through his temple. Three more arrows struck his back in quick succession, and dozens landed all around him.
The monk's mouth hung open, words forever locked in his throat. His head lolled to the side, his face frozen in shock, silent. Only a pair of hollow eyes seemed to still gaze in Tripitaka's direction.
At that moment, Tripitaka's hand trembled slightly.
His face showed no trace of fear, yet beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, stark and real.
He gripped his own hand tightly, standing dazed beside Marshal Silver, as if forcing himself to stay calm.
All around, every monk was watching him.
Outside the fence, ladders were set up. A soldier climbed one and peered inside, then turned and gestured instructions to those behind.
"Loose!"
Another sharp cry rang out, and a fresh volley of arrows shot from behind the fence, flying toward the low huts.
In a heartbeat, screams erupted from inside the hut as the already fragile earthen walls were riddled with arrows, left pockmarked and ruined.
With a harsh creak, the door slowly swung open. A monk, riddled with arrows, staggered out, but collapsed after only a few steps.
His trembling hands stretched out toward where Tripitaka stood, unwilling to yield.
Behind him, the hut was already piled high with corpses.
Tripitaka's eyes widened, bloodshot.
Before Tripitaka could react, Marshal Silver moved.
With a gesture across the air, the soldier peering from the ladder instantly coughed blood and fell.
"What are you doing? He's a mortal!" Tripitaka grabbed Marshal Silver's hand.
Turning slowly, Marshal Silver replied softly, "He was watching to see where people inside were hiding, directing the arrows. If he lives, more monks will die."
Tripitaka's hand trembled slightly, then released him.
......
On the hillside, Many-Eyes the Centipede stood motionless, like a nail driven into the earth.
"National Preceptor, they've made a move!"
"What did they do?"
"They killed our spotter from afar!"
"Killed someone from a distance?" Many-Eyes' brow twitched. "So they can hold back after all. Proving a Dao of Universal Salvation? Hmph, nonsense! Let's see how you prove your Dao. Keep shooting! Send more spotters—let them kill!"
"Yes, sir!"
......
Outside the fence, dozens of ladders were raised at once, and heads popped up one after another.
Marshal Silver looked on in disbelief, while the terror on Tripitaka's face could no longer be concealed.
"What do we do?" General Curtain hurried over to Marshal Silver's side.