At the Agate River, Tuoba Deyu, the Martial Saint of the Tuoba tribe, pulled the reins of his horse and stopped amidst the boundless snow. He stared at the countless corpses spread across the frozen plains, unable to comprehend what had transpired here.
It was a massacre beyond imagining.
He ordered his men, "Send word to the capital—immediately."
Liangzhou.
The bloody mist had already descended to within several dozen zhang of the city's rooftops. No birds flew anymore.
Flocks of crows gathered thick on the eaves and rooftops, black shapes blotting out the light. The streets, buildings, even the people's skin all seemed to glow with a faint, sickly red. The air reeked of iron and rot, pressing heavily upon the chest until one could hardly breathe.
The vast city had fallen silent, deathly and strange.
Inside the Marquis of Martial Righteousness Manor, the maids Siqin and Mohua trembled uncontrollably, their faces pale.
"Master…"
Zhaozhao stared at the sky, watching the blood mist creep ever closer. "Wh-what should we do? Are we all going to melt into blood? I heard even Chen Sanshi's master is trapped inside and can't escape!"
"His master may be trapped," murmured Ning Xiang, her gaze calm and distant, "but there's still him, isn't there? This isn't just Liangzhou's calamity—it's a calamity for the entire world."
The Great Wall.
"What… what are we supposed to do now?!"
Sixth Prince Cao Huan paced restlessly, his ceremonial crown askew, hair in disarray.
He had only recently been released after more than ten years of confinement—barely had he returned to court when the world itself began collapsing into catastrophe. If things continued this way, he feared he would soon dissolve into blood along with everyone else.
"How's the situation in Youzhou?"
"Still holding, Your Highness. Within a few days, we should capture Licheng Prefecture."
"And after Licheng Prefecture comes Zhutuo Pass!"
Cao Huan's face twisted with despair. "Zhutuo Pass is the hardest to break. I fear… it's already too late!"
"Yes…"
Second Senior Brother Cheng Wei absently flicked the beads on his abacus. "Zhutuo Pass holds 100,000 defenders, not to mention several Martial Saints and Immortal Masters. Meanwhile, Jiang Yuanbo and the others from the capital are still en route. Relying only on General Lü Ji and his troops… victory seems impossible."
"First the white robe falls, then Liangzhou itself collapses. Is Heaven truly set on destroying my Great Sheng?"
"Your Highness," interrupted Fang Qingyun, "we still haven't received General Chen's battle report. It's too soon to speak in despair."
"General Fang," Cao Huan sighed bitterly, "you don't need to defend him anymore. Even if he disobeyed orders, he's already died for the country. No one will blame him now."
He lowered his head, voice heavy with grief. "Only… my poor Twelfth Brother!"
Prince Cao Zhi—the King of Yan—he had watched him grow up.
They did not share the same mother, but among all his siblings, Cao Zhi had always been the closest to him.
If only he'd known…
He never should have let Cao Zhi go with the Hongze Battalion. No—he never should have allowed him to come to Liangzhou at all!
"Report!"
"A dispatch from the Agate River!"
"Oh?" Cao Huan straightened, hope flashing in his eyes. "Quick—are my Twelfth Brother and General Chen still alive?"
At this point, even a handful of surviving officers would be a blessing. A partial loss was better than complete annihilation.
The messenger trembled slightly as he read the report aloud.
"Ten days ago, General Chen led a desperate battle and personally beheaded Yu Wen Jingwen. Afterwards, the Hongze Battalion crushed 50,000 enemy troops and captured the Agate River. They are now advancing directly toward Yin Mountain."
"What did you say?"
For a moment, Cao Huan couldn't process the words.
Yu Wen Jingwen… That name echoed faintly in his mind before the realization struck like lightning.
Yu Wen Jingwen—the Martial Saint stationed at the Agate River! The strongest warrior of the Yu Wen clan!
And now he was dead—killed by Chen Sanshi.
A Profound Manifestation cultivator… killed a Martial Saint?!
The room fell utterly silent.
Everyone present stared wide-eyed in disbelief.
"This must be false intelligence," said Zhao Wuji, forcing a dry laugh. "You could say someone at the Tempering Bone stage killed one at Tempering Organs, fine. Or a Transforming Strength expert killing a Meridian-Connecting master—hard, but believable. But Profound Manifestation killing a Martial Saint? That's absurd!
"If that's true, then what face do the Martial Saints have left? Could this be some barbarian trick?"
"General Zhao, you're being foolish," said Fang Qingyun sharply. "Would a gyrfalcon messenger carry false news?"
"It's true!" the messenger blurted. "The head—Yu Wen Jingwen's head—was sent back with it! It couldn't pass through the barrier, but it's right outside now!"
"Truly?"
"It matches his portrait. At least eighty percent certain!"
The command tent fell into stunned silence once more.
"Bring the war map!"
"Quickly!"
Cao Huan shouted, snatching the map as soon as it was unrolled.
He pointed at the Agate River. "So they're here. That means in about twenty days, they'll reach the vicinity of Yin Mountain. How many troops can the barbarians muster there in twenty days?"
"Counting the stationed garrison and the reinforcements," replied Cheng Wei after a quick calculation, "around 100,000 troops. Four Martial Saints, plus the Witch God Sect's high-ranking Immortal Masters."
Cao Huan felt his momentary excitement collapse like ice underfoot.
Even if Chen Sanshi had truly slain Yu Wen Jingwen, how could he possibly face four more Martial Saints—and cult Immortals besides?
It was impossible.
Yet even so…
Cao Huan bowed his head. "General Chen… truly a hero and a loyal servant."
He looked down at the map, tracing the Hongze Battalion's route from Tiger Hill Mountain northward. In his mind, he could almost see them marching through snow and storm, step by step, their resolve shining brighter than the sun.
Even if they were but ants trying to shake a tree—they were ants worthy of respect.
"General Fang, you were right."
He exhaled slowly. "Whatever happens, as long as General Chen and his men still draw breath, there remains hope for the Great Sheng Dynasty."
Luotian Mountain Range.
At the edge of the defensive barrier, Immortal Master Deng looked up.
The blood mist was pressing closer and closer to the ground, and even his heart—steady after centuries of cultivation—began to tremble.
He gritted his teeth and threatened, "You're already standing at the edge of death, and still you refuse to see reason? In no more than thirty days, the Blood Sacrifice Formation will fully descend! By then, no matter how high your cultivation is, you'll all turn into nourishment for the revival of the Foul Vein!"
The Blood Sacrifice Formation—if left undisturbed—would have been completed in twenty days. But now that one of its main cores had been destroyed, its progress had slowed drastically. Even so, it was still on the verge of success.
"Bullshit!"
Wen Zhi roared, cursing. "We still have tens of thousands of troops outside! You bastards are the ones who'll fail!"
"Foolish!"
Immortal Master Deng sneered. "You mean that mortal named Chen Sanshi, leading a mere ten thousand men to their deaths? Or perhaps you're talking about that Lü fellow who went to Youzhou?
"Useless!
"Do you think mortal armies move as swiftly as cultivators? By the time they arrive, it will be far too late.
"Sun Xiangzong!
"I'll give you one last chance. Why keep throwing your life away for a mortal emperor? Take your family, come with us instead. We'll grant you Blood Pills to extend your life for a few more years—wouldn't that be better than dying here?"
Ahead of them, the old man sat cross-legged, breathing steadily, paying him no heed.
"Stop wasting your breath!"
Shao Yuqing snapped, "If we die, you're dying with us!"
"You dying is certain," said Immortal Master Deng coldly, "but me? Not necessarily…"
"Buzz—"
Before he could finish, a transmission talisman in his sleeve lit up with faint golden light. He held it up, listening. His pupils flickered with surprise for a moment—but soon, his expression shifted back to mockery.
'That mortal surnamed Chen… killed a cultivator at the Peak of Mortal Shedding?'
"Yiled!" he called, turning toward the High Priest of the Witch God Sect. "You heard that, didn't you? Don't tell me your men are so useless they couldn't stop a mid-stage Mortal Shedding cultivator?"
"Immortal Master, rest assured," said the Witch God Sect's High Priest confidently. "By the time he arrives, the army will have already surrounded the area. The Martial Saints from each barbarian tribe will be there, and the High Priest of my sect will personally oversee the defense. Even if that Chen Sanshi had divine power itself, he wouldn't make it within half a step of Wolf Juxu Mountain!"
"He'd better not."
Immortal Master Deng's voice turned as cold as winter steel. "If the Foul Vein fails to awaken, the consequences won't fall on just my Ancient Demon Clan. You humans of the so-called Heavenly Race will be trapped in these barren wastes forever!"
"I understand!"
The High Priest of the Witch God Sect nodded quickly, swearing his loyalty again and again.
As they spoke, several Embroidered Uniform Guards—light-footed and wind-swift—rushed into the tent.
"Your Majesty!"
"Good news!"
Inside the imperial tent, the Emperor Longqing sat cross-legged upon a meditation cushion. The Dragon Abyss Sword, resting before him, trembled softly—resonating with the disturbance of the Blood Sacrifice Array.
He slowly opened his eyes. Instead of taking the scroll offered to him, he said calmly, "Read it."
"Your Majesty, this—"
Eunuch Hou, trembling with excitement, read the dispatch haltingly.
"He… he actually crossed the Agate River."
Emperor Longqing narrowed his eyes slightly. "Profound Manifestation killing a Martial Saint… that's a first in all under Heaven."
He didn't linger on the statement but asked instead, "And Lü Ji?"
"He's attacking Licheng Prefecture. He swore to take it within ten days."
Youzhou.
Licheng Prefecture.
Under a sky thick with black clouds, enormous boulders rained down from trebuchets, smashing through the barbarian ranks and turning countless soldiers into pulp. The once-solid walls of the city now stood riddled with gaping craters, fire spreading from one district to another. The city was chaos incarnate—smoke, blood, and screams everywhere, the image of hell itself.
The Liangzhou Army's siege had raged for several days.
Fortunately, progress came each day—slow, but steady.
Inside the command tent, Lü Ji, his armor drenched in blood, looked up as Fan Hailing rushed in. "Report."
Fan Hailing saluted, "Before retreating, Mister Xu secretly weakened the northern wall's foundation. After several rounds of trebuchet bombardment, half the wall collapsed outright! The barbarians can't even repair it!"
"Well done. Mister Xu did well."
Lü Ji praised once, then grabbed his Fangtian Halberd.
"General Pei!"
"General Fan!"
"Follow me—first over the wall!"
"Kill!"
"Kill them all!"
The Liangzhou cavalry, like a flood of black steel, surged toward the city walls. At the forefront rode the three leading generals—Lü Ji with his halberd gleaming like molten gold, Fan Hailing grinning with his massive saber in hand, and Pei Tiannan, leaping dozens of zhang high, brandishing his curved blade as he struck downward.
"General!"
"Lü Ji's troops are breaking through!"
"Hold the line!"
Within the city, two barbarian Martial Saints remained behind to defend.
They met the charging generals head-on.
True qi clashed violently, and even the shockwaves alone killed hundreds of nearby soldiers.
The walls, already crumbling, lasted barely the time it takes to drink a cup of tea before collapsing entirely with a deafening roar.
Pei Tiannan and Fan Hailing joined forces to pin down one of the barbarian Saints, while Lü Ji faced the other alone—a Murong clan Martial Saint wielding twin blades.
Every swing of Lü Ji's Fangtian Halberd roared like a dragon and crashed like an elephant. Its force carried the weight of ten thousand catties, pressing the twin-blade Saint to his limits. The barbarian's arms bled from torn palms, his grip faltering under the crushing pressure.
After ten rounds, both fighters leapt apart.
Then Lü Ji charged again. He drove the halberd's blade deep into the earth, used it as leverage, and launched himself skyward like a dragon twisting its body.
He tore the halberd free midair and came crashing down from dozens of zhang high.
"Boom—!"
This time, the Murong Martial Saint couldn't withstand the blow. His twin blades were ripped from his hands, his body hurled backward like a broken kite, smashing through rows of soldiers and wooden defenses before finally hitting the ground. Blood gushed from his mouth in torrents, staining the ground crimson.
Both were Martial Saints—yet in front of Lü Ji, this one hadn't lasted ten exchanges.
Seeing this, every barbarian soldier froze, panic gripping their hearts.
Lü Ji stepped forward again, surging with domineering qi, ready to end the Murong Saint's life.
But just as he raised his halberd—
A crimson beam of light suddenly shot down from the heavens.
"Hm?"
Lü Ji twisted mid-motion, slamming his halberd into the beam.
In an instant—
A terrifying force surged through Lü Ji's weapon, the impact so fierce it sent him skidding backward uncontrollably. His boots gouged deep trenches—each more than ten zhang long—into the stone-paved road before he finally stopped.
He looked up sharply.
That crimson light—it was a blood-red flying sword, saturated with murderous qi.
Floating in midair was a figure cloaked in black robes. Dark veins crawled across his pale face, and his eyes glowed like twin pools of blood. He seemed utterly calm as he lazily crooked a finger, summoning the flying sword back to hover before him.
"This…"
"This is the so-called 'Immortal' the barbarians invited from another realm?!"
The Liangzhou soldiers were stunned, gaping at the sight.
"Monster, die!"
Only Lü Ji showed no fear. He wrenched his Fangtian Halberd from the ground and ran straight up the ruined city wall. Then, pushing off with both feet, he shattered half the wall and soared into the sky. His halberd roared with power, true qi surging like a storm, coalescing into the phantom of a massive dragon-elephant that blotted out the sun.
"A mere mortal at the Mortal Shedding Realm, and you dare bare your fangs before me?"
The Ancient Demon Clan cultivator in the air didn't flinch. With a flick of his sword hand, the blood-red blade shot forward, colliding with the dragon-elephant head-on. The air itself twisted and warped under the force of the impact.
After only a few breaths, the blood sword pierced through the dragon-elephant. Lü Ji fell from the sky like a meteor, slamming into the ground amid tens of thousands of soldiers. The impact left a massive crater—half a man deep. He landed on one knee, struggling to rise.
But before he could move, the ground beneath him rippled.
Blood-colored vines erupted from the earth like living chains, wrapping tightly around his legs and arms, binding him in place.
At the same time, the blood sword whistled through the air again, streaking straight toward his chest.
"Boss!"
Nie Yuan shouted in horror.
But he was too far away—and two enemy generals were blocking his path. He couldn't reach in time.
In that instant—
Lü Ji's entire body burst into radiant violet qi, surging like a storm. The violet light burned like flames, melting away the crimson vines in seconds. The fire spread over his body, his hair rising like a crown of blazing energy.
From afar, it looked as though violet fire had ignited across his entire being.
Even the dragon-elephant phantom formed from his true qi was no longer faint or illusory—it pulsed with a solid violet glow, its massive claw slapping the blood sword aside. The sword tumbled through the air, spinning wildly before it could return to its master's hand.
"Fragrance Dao?"
The Ancient Demon cultivator's eyes widened slightly. "You actually practice the Path of Incense and Faith as well? Heh, I suppose it makes sense. In this land starved of spiritual energy, that's probably the only Dao one can still cultivate. But unfortunately… you're still too weak! Hm?"
Before he could unleash another spell, the sharp whistle of steel cutting air sounded behind him.
The Ancient Demon cultivator whirled around, lifting his sword just in time to block—
But two figures had already struck.
Fan Hailing and Pei Tiannan.
Two Martial Saints attacking at once—their combined strength unstoppable.
The Ancient Demon cultivator was overwhelmed instantly. The impact sent him spiraling downward toward the ground. He chanted rapidly, forming seals, and spectral wings of foul qi burst from his back, keeping him aloft at the last moment.
But as he stabilized himself—
The Fangtian Halberd was already waiting.
The three Martial Saints—Lü Ji, Fan Hailing, and Pei Tiannan—moved in perfect unison, striking as one against the Ancient Demon cultivator.
"You lowly martial brutes—how annoying! Enough, I'm done playing with you!"
Unable to endure their assault, the demon cultivator finally retreated. He conjured a thick cloud of poisonous mist that forced the three back, then seized the severely wounded Murong Martial Saint and shot skyward.
In a flash, he disappeared beyond the horizon, his mocking voice echoing in the air.
"If that's all the strength you three have, you'd best abandon your dreams of taking Zhutuo Pass. Wait quietly instead—for when my kind descends upon the Eastern Divine Continent, you'll all be refined into nourishment!"
"These damned monsters can fly—what are we supposed to do?!"
Fan Hailing cursed loudly.
Ignoring the retreating enemy, Lü Ji and Pei Tiannan plunged back into the chaotic battlefield.
With one enemy general dead and another fled, the barbarian defense collapsed completely. The Liangzhou Army stormed the walls and captured Licheng Prefecture.
"General Lü," said Fan Hailing, wiping the blood from his face, "in this battle, we slew ten thousand enemies, captured another ten thousand, and about thirty thousand fled last night before the fall. They're likely retreating toward Zhutuo Pass."
"Good. Clean up the battlefield first." Lü Ji ordered, then paused. "By the way—any word from the Agate River? My junior brother hasn't run into trouble, has he?"
"General!"
"The report from the Agate River arrived just before our battle began!"
"General Chen crushed the enemy at the Agate River, slew Yu Wen Jingwen, and has already marched toward the Yin Mountain Range."
"Wait." Lü Ji's expression froze. "Who did you say General Chen killed? Yu Wen Jingwen?"
"The message is confirmed?"
Fan Hailing gawked. "If I recall correctly, the Agate River had fifty thousand troops! Yu Wen Jingwen was one of the Yu Wen clan's fiercest warriors! And General Chen… he's only at the Profound Manifestation Realm. He killed Yu Wen Jingwen?!"
"What about the details?" asked Pei Tiannan.
"We don't know," the scout admitted, "but the report's genuine."
"Hiss—"
Everyone drew a sharp breath.
A Profound Manifestation cultivator… killed a Martial Saint?
Then what had all their years of cultivation been for?!
"Boss," said Nie Yuan with a grin of disbelief, "that little junior brother of ours is a monster. Just two years ago, he was still at the Transforming Strength Stage. Now… hell, do you think he could even spar with you?"
At that, Lü Ji's eyes darkened, a rare gravity flickering across his face.
"But General Chen's situation isn't optimistic," Fan Hailing said, pointing to the map. "After the chaos at the Agate River, the barbarian capital will surely get word soon and mobilize every force they have. By the time he reaches the Yin Mountains, the real fight will begin."
"In that case…" Pei Tiannan said quietly, "General Chen's already done everything he could. The rest… depends on us."
"Most of our strength is already gathered at Zhutuo Pass," Nie Yuan sighed. "We don't fear their numbers—but today's battle showed those demonic cultivators are at least four in number within the pass, plus the barbarian Martial Saints. Breaking their defense head-on will be near impossible. And with the Blood Sacrifice Array growing stronger by the day… what do we do now?"
"Ask Mister Xu," Lü Ji said grimly.
Pei Tiannan turned his gaze toward the old scholar. "Do you still have any brilliant plans for the coming battle?"
"Zhutuo Pass is easy to defend but difficult to attack," said Xu Wencai, shaking his head slowly while fanning himself with his feather fan. "And there's only one route through it. I'm afraid even I am at my wit's end."
"We can't delay any longer," Lü Ji said firmly. "No matter how tough it is, we'll push forward. There's no time left to hesitate."
He slammed his palm down on the map, pointing at a broad stretch of open plain. "Here. This is where we'll make our stand against the barbarian army. Even if the entire army perishes, we'll take Zhutuo Pass and destroy the formation core!"
"There's still one more problem," Xu Wencai said, rising to his feet and pointing his fan toward Liangzhou City.
In their field of view, more than half the sky had already turned blood-red. From afar, only a single narrow gap remained—barely enough for human survival.
He said quietly, "Even if we win and open a narrow path to escape, we'll have only a few days at most before the blood mist consumes everything. How many could actually flee by then? In truth…"
He sighed. "We've already lost."
"At the very least," Lü Ji said solemnly, "His Majesty can escape. So can our master. As for the rest… we'll save whoever we can."
He straightened, his voice cold and resolute. "General Fan, General Pei, Mister Xu—once supplies are ready, set off tonight. Nie Yuan and I will follow shortly after."
"Understood."
Fan Hailing nodded. "But there are still ten thousand prisoners in the city. How should we deal with them?"
"Leave that to me. You just move quickly," Lü Ji urged.
That night, the Liangzhou Army withdrew from Licheng Prefecture, marching toward Zhutuo Pass.
Inside the city, the Black Turtle Battalion and White Tiger Battalion remained behind to cover the retreat.
"Senior Brother," Nie Yuan said, following close beside him, "if there really are three or four more of those demonic cultivators like the one we fought today, we're in serious trouble. Where exactly are you going?"
He watched Lü Ji stride out of the gate.
Outside the walls, the Black Turtle Battalion's formation stood waiting. Within it were the separated groups of captured barbarian soldiers.
"You're right, Junior Brother."
Lü Ji stepped up onto a raised platform and looked down over the soldiers. "With our current strength, we can't match those demons. That's why I need to grow stronger—fast."
"Senior Brother… you mean…" Nie Yuan frowned.
"My Path of Incense and Faith is on the verge of breakthrough," Lü Ji said, his eyes dark and steady. "If I accelerate the process, it'll be ready by the time of the final battle."
Hearing this, Nie Yuan suddenly realized what he meant. "You're going to—"
"Yes." Lü Ji's tone remained calm. "Only the Path of the Evil God, through massive sacrifices, can help me break through quickly."
"Brother, that's… that's not right," Nie Yuan said, uneasy. "The Path of the Evil God is an unorthodox, heretical way."
"Whether it's heresy or not depends on how it's used," Lü Ji said, narrowing his eyes. "And don't forget—these are barbarian captives. They wanted to turn us into their refining materials first. And with our forces stretched thin, who's left to guard so many prisoners? Better to deal with them here. It saves us trouble."
"These barbarians don't deserve pity," Nie Yuan admitted after a pause, though concern still clouded his face. "But what about afterward? When you returned from Mount Ziwei last time, His Majesty granted you the Incense and Faith Cultivation Method of the Righteous God Path. In theory, you could return to the righteous way anytime."
"But the Evil God Path is said to corrupt the heart. Once it takes hold—"
"Don't worry." Lü Ji's voice was resolute. "Just this once. After the breakthrough, I'll return to the Righteous God Path."
"Alright," Nie Yuan nodded grimly. "Given the situation, there's no better choice."
Lü Ji drew a parchment scroll from his robes and handed it to him. "Build the altar as written here. Finish the sacrifice within three days. Then I'll enter seclusion for ten days—enough to complete the breakthrough."
Great Sheng Dynasty.
Imperial Palace.
"Elder Sister, you've been reviewing memorials all day and night. Won't you rest or at least eat something?"
The Empress of Great Sheng looked helplessly at the Eldest Princess, who sat before a desk covered in red-inked documents.
"No need," Gu Xinlan said lightly, her slender hand holding a vermilion brush as she worked methodically. "Didn't you say I should learn state affairs? I'm just following your orders. See? Did I make any mistakes?"
"Enough. I'll go," the Empress said coldly, closing her eyes for a moment. "I promised you I'd take a look at Wolf Juxu Mountain. But I'll only save his life—nothing more."
"Alright then," Gu Xinlan said cheerfully, putting down her brush and taking her sister's hand. "Little Sister, you can't go on like this. No matter how strong you are, you can't turn cold to everyone. He's your brother-in-law, after all. And I saw you on the river that day—you didn't dislike him that much, did you?"
"I'm only doing this for you," the Empress said flatly. "I'll go."
"You can leave the court matters to the old ministers for now. Also, I've placed several female death guards in the palace to protect you. If anything happens, crush this talisman. I'll return immediately."
"Got it," Gu Xinlan said softly, leading her sister toward the rear gate of the grand hall. "Go, quickly."
"Love and affection… what's the point?" the Empress muttered, shaking her head. With a wave of her hand, her royal robes shifted into travel attire, and a flying sword appeared beneath her feet, transforming into a streak of light that vanished into the night sky.
She gazed toward the distant north, where the crimson glow blanketed the heavens.
"I fear none will escape this calamity," she whispered. "When the time comes, I'll find a way to take Elder Sister away from this cursed land."
Wolf Juxu Mountain.
The formation continued running day after day, its pulse steady and ominous.
The weather grew colder and colder, so bitter that one's eyelashes froze solid in moments.
Amid the howling wind and falling snow, a great tent burned with fierce firelight.
Four barbarian khans sat around the bonfire, warming themselves while arguing heatedly about how to divide their spoils after victory.
"When the Foul Vein revives," one boasted, "the Ancient Demon Immortal Master will control the entire Eastern Divine Continent within two years!"
"By then, the Great Sheng Dynasty will belong to the Tuoba tribe!"
"Ridiculous!" another shouted. "Our Yu Wen clan contributed the most in this campaign. The land of Eastern Qing already belongs to us—don't get greedy!"
"Western Qi belongs to my Duan clan!"
"So that means," another laughed coldly, "my Murong clan will just have to make do with taking Southern Xu then?"
"There's no need to argue over scraps."
"The Eastern Divine Continent is vast and full of riches."
"Once we seize the Four Kingdoms, we'll keep pressing forward. Everything under heaven will belong to us!"
"Well said!"
"By my count, there's only a little time left before it's all done."
"The old emperor of the Great Sheng Dynasty is still trapped in there."
"Heh, but the best part is that old bastard Sun Xiangzong. That decrepit Martial Saint slaughtered countless of our kin in his life. Now he'll turn into blood like the rest—serves him right."
"And his disciple?"
"Yu Wen Jingwen—hasn't he killed that Chen fellow at the Agate River by now?"
"Report!"
A scout burst into the tent, gasping for breath. "Urgent report! Bad news—terrible news!"
The khans frowned, their laughter cut short.
"What is it?"
The messenger dropped to one knee, holding up the intelligence scroll. "It's the Agate River battle. Yu Wen Jingwen has been slain! The Great Sheng army under Chen Sanshi annihilated fifty thousand of our troops and now marches straight toward Wolf Juxu Mountain!"
For a moment, the great tent fell utterly silent.
Then Khan Tuoba Hongxin slammed his palm on the table and pointed furiously at the white-haired Khan Yu Wen Jinglei.
"Yu Wen Jinglei! Wasn't your fourth brother hailed as your clan's mightiest warrior? The so-called strongest among the Yu Wen! Yet he led fifty thousand soldiers—and died to a mere Profound Manifestation cultivator?!"
"My brother… my son…"
Yu Wen Jinglei's eyes glazed over in shock. The words struck like thunder, and it took him a long while before he recovered enough to grit his teeth.
"Tuoba Hongxin!" he snapped. "You don't know the full story, so keep your filthy mouth shut! Who's to say that Chen Sanshi didn't use some hidden weapon or demonic trick?"
"If I recall correctly," Tuoba Hongxin sneered, "your youngest son's been captured twice already—by the same man, wasn't it?"
He gave a derisive laugh. "Looks to me like your Yu Wen clan is circling the drain."
"You—!"
Yu Wen Jinglei shot up from his seat, trembling with rage, but before he could shout again, another voice cut in.
"Enough, both of you!"
The Khan of the Duan clan raised his hand. "Now's not the time to squabble. What matters is preparation. We can't let that Chen Sanshi reach the mountain. If the formation core suffers even a minor disruption, everything we've built over these years will be ruined!"
"That's right," said the Khan of the Murong clan, frowning. "Why quarrel over a boy? You'll only make us a laughingstock."
He pointed at the map spread across the table. "Look here—Chen Sanshi should be around this area at most. There are still several tribes between him and us. Even if none of them can stop him, it'll buy us enough time to fortify Wolf Juxu Mountain. After all, he's only at the Profound Manifestation Realm."
"Even if we assume he's broken through to Martial Saint, that changes little," said the Duan Khan. "He's got, what, fifteen thousand men at most? We have several Martial Saints here, plus the High Priests of the Witch God Sect. If he dares approach, we'll bury him right here."
"Agreed," said Tuoba Hongxin with a cold grin. "He's cunning, but we won't give him a chance to use tricks. We'll form up here and wait for him to die."
The Snowy Plains of the Northern Wastes.
The Hongze Battalion trudged through the blizzard, each step crunching on frozen snow. The further they advanced, the colder it became.
Even the battle-hardened soldiers, used to daily training, began to suffer frostbite. They had to stop often to build fires and warm their limbs.
"This horse—take it, Senior Brother," Chen Sanshi said, handing over the reins of the Blackwind Horse.
"Ha! Now this is a fine beast," said Wang Zhi, his face lighting up as he patted the horse's neck. "This must've been Yu Wen Jingwen's mount, eh? You won't find many like it even on the steppe."
He looked at the stallion and couldn't help recalling that only days ago, a Martial Saint had been the one riding it.
His junior brother… was truly outrageous.
He still remembered sweating in the command tent, nerves tight as a bowstring, only to hear soon after that Yu Wen Jingwen—the barbarian Martial Saint—was dead.
"General!"
Zhao Kang galloped up, his voice cutting through the wind. "Ahead lies another Yu Wen encampment. Small force—about two thousand men. The commanding officer isn't a Martial Saint."
"General, what are your orders?"
Since the Agate River battle, Chu Shixiong's doubts had long vanished. Now fully integrated into the Hongze Battalion, he grinned fiercely. "No Martial Saint, small numbers—let me lead the charge and crush them head-on!"
"Stand down," said Chen Sanshi, shaking his head. He gestured for the Ninth Prince, Yu Wen Xin, to approach.
The young prince, still bound by his status as a hostage, had no need for iron restraints like before. His Transforming Strength Realm cultivation posed no threat. Under Xu Bin's watchful eyes, he behaved obediently, following the army without protest.
"Chen Sanshi, w-what do you want?" the prince stammered nervously. "I'm… I'm royalty! You can't kill me!"
"I'm not killing you."
Chen Sanshi tossed him a strip of dried meat. "The garrison ahead—do you know who commands it?"
"Of course I do." Yu Wen Xin straightened slightly. "The commander's name is Xiri Goulig, one of my fourth uncle's lieutenants."
"Perfect," said Chen Sanshi. "Then there's no need for a battle. Go there, tell them to open the gates and surrender. Once they hand over their weapons, we'll eat, drink, and move on."
The enemy numbers weren't large—but avoiding needless bloodshed was better whenever possible.
Yu Wen Xin eyed him warily. "If I open the gate for you… will you let me go?"
"You're still our guide," Chen Sanshi replied calmly. "This white wasteland's all the same to us. Without a local, we'd lose our way easily. But don't worry—obey my orders, and I'll keep my word."
He had several barbarian captives traveling with the column, each questioned separately about the terrain to cross-check their answers—no tricks could slip through.
Time was their most precious resource now.
Soon after, under Xu Bin's "escort," Yu Wen Xin rode ahead toward the enemy encampment.
Inside the stockade, a barbarian sentry spotted them and immediately raised his bow.
"Stop right there!"
"Don't shoot! It's me! I'm Yu Wen Xin!"
Amid the howling snow, the Ninth Prince shouted at the top of his lungs. "Go, call Xiri Goulig out to see me!"
"Your Highness?!"
Inside the stockade, Xiri Goulig stared in shock. The sight of the prince wrapped in a fur-lined cloak wasn't entirely unexpected—he'd already received word of the disaster at the Agate River, but he hadn't thought the aftermath would arrive so quickly.
There were only about 5,000 soldiers left in the camp.
He knew they couldn't hold out for long, yet he still clenched his jaw and said, "Your Highness, don't worry! I'll lead the men to fight to the death if I must. I'll do everything in my power to protect you!"
"Open the gates!"
The Ninth Prince's voice carried through the storm. "Lay down your weapons and you'll be spared! The Hongze Battalion only wants food and rest. Once they're full, they'll leave on their own."
"Your Highness… what did you just say?!"
Xiri Goulig thought his ears had deceived him.
"You've got only 5,000 men and can't hold this place," Yu Wen Xin said matter-of-factly. "Why throw your lives away? Let the Hongze Army march to the capital and die there instead!"
Xiri Goulig was speechless.
When their own prince said something like that, how could any soldier still have the will to fight?
At this point, resisting would only lead to a massacre.
He gritted his teeth and obeyed.
The gates creaked open.
The Hongze Battalion entered the camp and quickly lit dozens of bonfires, using the barbarian stronghold as a resting post from the bitter cold.
Chen Sanshi, meanwhile, sat cross-legged before his furnace, continuing his cultivation.
[Technique: Dragon Spear of Nation-Suppression — Martial Saint Progress: 60/100]
His battle against Yu Wen Jingwen, a Martial Saint, had given him deep insight into the nature of power and qi. Under normal circumstances, he would need another 2 months to break through.
But time was something he no longer had.
The next morning, the Hongze Battalion marched out once again, while Chen Sanshi and Qianxun found a secluded spot away from the troops.
They lit the fire and set up the furnace—time to refine True Martial Pills.
If successful, he was confident he could break through to the Martial Saint Realm before reaching the Yin Mountains.
A crimson flame dragon roared to life.
The temperature around them soared, melting the snow within a wide radius until the ground steamed with warmth.
Chen Sanshi carefully began adding rare spiritual herbs and precious minerals one by one, following a precise sequence.
When the timing was right, he pressed both hands to the sides of the furnace, pouring his mana into it, guiding and stimulating the reaction inside while extending his spiritual sense to perceive every change.
"Boom!"
The furnace exploded with a muffled blast.
Chen Sanshi snapped his eyes open—his second attempt at refining a True Martial Pill had failed.
Taking a deep breath, he reignited the flames.
This time, he adjusted the ratios and controlled his qi with greater precision. The process lasted longer. But just as success seemed within reach, the furnace erupted again with another deafening crack.
He exhaled slowly. "Almost there."
Opening his storage pouch, he checked the remaining ingredients—only enough for 2 more attempts.
But he had faith that this next one would succeed.
Crimson fire flared once again. The furnace's array lines lit up like veins of molten gold.
Chen Sanshi's control was calm and steady. He balanced the 49 major transformations and the 64 minor ones perfectly. His divine sense sharpened, allowing him to perceive the subtle flow within the flames more clearly than ever before.
A resonant hum echoed through the air.
Hours passed.
The alien flame dimmed, and the array marks slowly faded.
Chen Sanshi's heartbeat quickened as he opened the lid of the furnace.
Inside, at the very bottom, lay a single jade-green pill, faintly glowing with an inner radiance.
True Martial Pill.
[Skill: Alchemy (First Tier)]
[Progress: 0/500]
[Effect: "Perfect Pill Refinement" — any pill successfully made will be of supreme grade, never inferior or flawed.]
A smile crept across Chen Sanshi's face.
With this new ability, he would no longer have to fear wasted materials. If he could maintain precise control, he could even refine multiple pills in one batch—all perfect quality.
It was a complete success.
He carefully removed the pill and swallowed it in one motion.
Immortal-grade pills required no chewing; they dissolved the instant they entered the mouth, turning into a stream of pure spiritual light that coursed down his throat and spread through his body.
Within moments, a cool current diffused from his core, threading through every limb and bone, nourishing his meridians.
He could feel it—his eight extraordinary meridians shifting, expanding, transforming. His inner qi condensed into something denser, more refined, as if it was about to undergo a fundamental metamorphosis.
Chen Sanshi put away the furnace, picked up his spear, and began practicing his techniques under the morning sun.
After more than 3 years of martial cultivation—
He was finally about to step into the realm of the Martial Saint.