Sword Saints Should Go Tank - Chapter 1 - A Strange Barbaric World

I am a what, and where is my little friend? No, give it back right now!

What, back in a lab again? What a load of bull.

Finally, I’m dying... No, I got revived again.

Becoming a weapon for a kingdom? Meh, they can try and control me.

Medieval weapons? I like that. Give me all of them.

An Angle cult? Let’s destroy that.

Pure Dragons? I want one for myself.

One day, Song Shuhang was suddenly added to a chat group with many seniors that suffered from chuuni disease. The people inside the group would call each other ‘Fellow Daoist’ and had all different kinds of titles: Palace Master, Cave Lord, True Monarch, Immortal Master, etc. And even the pet of the founder of the group that had run away from home was called ‘monster dog’. They would talk all day about pill refining, exploring ancient ruins, or share their experience on techniques.

However, after lurking inside the group for a while, he discovered that not all was what it seemed…

- Description from Novelupdates

This is the first part, the second part is “Playing Fish Trapped in a Secret Room (密室困游鱼 Mi Shi Kun You Yu)”.

In 2007, at the WCG Asian Tournament in Singapore. In just a few hours time, between left and right hands, there goes a life and death battle. In the Chinese team that year, there is a professional player who’s only 15 years old, nicknamed “God’s Left Hand”. At that match, he sits right next to her.

Their professional lives start from 14 years old until they retire, disappear, at 25 years old.

In these non-mainstream tournaments, where a small niche of the population follows closely, their only possessions are a mouse, keyboard, and headphone each. There they won gold medals one after another for China.

The protracted ’witch hunting’ had faded into silence with the end of the Seven Years’ War, and the mysteries of the East Coast had begun to conceal themselves, yet gunpowder was on a rapid rise. Mo Qishang, who should have been utterly confounded, stood at the crossroads of destiny in the name of Arthur. He stared in astonishment at the charging knights, the wizards atop the high towers, and the bizarre wilderness. He felt the sharpness of the longsword and the recoil of the firearm, both clear and unfamiliar. At last, he excitedly shook his robe and, with a smile on his face, said— “Do not believe what I say, for to believe is to exist!”