Chapter 8: Waiting for the Rabbit

The night sky did not merely rain; it executed.
Thousands of violet streams of Sword Qi plummeted from the heavens like a localized meteor shower, tracing glowing lines through the dark valley. Each spectral blade carried the precise, high-density weight of Jiang Chen’s Stage Three Golden Core. They didn't just pierce the obsidian armor of the Black Iron Legion—they vaporized it upon contact.
Shields shattered. Formations imploded. The proud "Mage-Slayer Legion" was reduced to a panicked stampede within a matter of seconds.
However, Jiang Chen did not wipe them all out. With a subtle flick of his wrist, the swirling vortex of swords abruptly halted, hovering silently in the air like a ceiling of glowing executioner blades. He purposely left the rear guard—about ten thousand terrified auxiliary troops and lower-tier supply captains—entirely intact.
"Retreat! The demon is letting us go! Run back to the border!" the surviving captains screamed, scrambling over the rocky terrain as they fled the mountain valley in absolute chaos.
The Knight Captain of the Holy Crown Guild rushed down the steps, his face flushed with awe. "My Lord! Your divine power is unmatched! But... if I may ask, why did you let the remnants escape? If they return to the imperial capital, the Emperor will surely deploy the Three Great Archmagi and the remaining regular legions!"
Jiang Chen casually dissipated the hovering swords with a wave of his sleeve, turning his back to the bloody valley.
"If I chase them down one by one, it wastes my time and my breath," Jiang Chen said smoothly, a faint, calculating smile playing on his lips. "When a nest of hornets is disturbed, you don't hunt every single insect in the forest. You let the survivors run back to the nest to call for reinforcements."
In his past life, this was a classic tactical concept derived from an ancient mortal proverb: *Shou Zhu Dai Tu*—**Waiting for the Rabbit**.
Jiang Chen knew that the Black Iron Empire’s greed wouldn't be curbed by a single defeat; it would only be inflamed by the loss of their legendary general and the temptation of the Holy Crown Guild's supposedly "weakened" state. Instead of traversing the vast western continent to hunt down the empire's hidden vaults and high-tier elites, Jiang Chen intended to make them bring everything straight to his doorstep.
"Clean up the battlefield," Jiang Chen commanded the stunned captain. "Take all the anti-magic obsidian metal from the fallen armor and pile it at the main mountain gate. Then, bring me a sturdy wooden chair and a pot of high-grade spiritual tea."
"A... a chair, My Lord?"
"Yes," Jiang Chen replied, his eyes narrowing as he looked toward the western horizon. "I'm going to sit at the gate and wait for the rabbits to deliver themselves."
---
Three days later.
The main gate of the Holy Crown Magic Guild had been thoroughly stripped of its traditional magical banners. In their place stood a massive, jagged mountain of black iron—thousands of pieces of anti-magic obsidian armor piled up like a grotesque monument of victory.
Right in front of this monument, sitting cross-legged on a simple wooden chair, was Jiang Chen.
A gentle wind whipped through his linen robes. He held a delicate porcelain cup, watching the steam rise from the golden tea leaves. His breathing was deep, rhythmic, and perfectly synchronized with the natural ambient pulse of the mountain. Over the last seventy-two hours of quiet waiting, his Golden Core had completely stabilized, its purple-and-gold luster deep within his dantian becoming as solid as a small star.
Beside him stood the Chief Archmage and a dozen high-ranking elders, all draped in pristine white robes, standing as rigid and silent as stone pillars. They didn't dare to sit, nor did they dare to speak. They simply acted as Jiang Chen's silent attendants, their eyes filled with absolute reverence.
*Thump. Thump. Thump.*
The earth began to vibrate once more.
From the edge of the valley pass, the horizon darkened. The remaining forces of the Black Iron Empire had arrived, but this time, they weren't alone. Three massive, floating magical fortresses—powered by colossal floating mana crystals—blotted out the sun. Standing atop the lead fortress were three figures cloaked in golden-threaded robes, their hands crackling with localized storms of elemental magic.
The Three Great Archmagi of the Empire had arrived, bringing with them the entire core strength of the imperial crown.
"The arrogant brat is actually still there!" the surviving scout captain shouted from the vanguard, pointing his trembling finger at the lone youth sitting in the chair. "He hasn't moved for three days! He's just... drinking tea!"
Jiang Chen took a slow sip of his tea, his eyes remaining closed as his divine sense washed over the incoming imperial armada. A cold, thoroughly satisfied smile spread across his face.
"Look," Jiang Chen murmured softly to the trembling Archmage beside him. "The rabbits have brought the entire nest."