The camp felt different.
Not relaxed—just quiet in a way that meant people were thinking instead of rushing. No one joked while checking weapons. No one talked about easy kills. Movements were slower, deliberate, almost cautious.
Body Refining stances were practiced without being told.
Knees bent.
Back straight.
Breathing steady.
Muscles burned, but no one complained. Pain wasn't something to avoid anymore—it was information.
Ironroot returned from his survey with dirt on his hands and focus in his eyes. He didn't call for attention. He simply knelt and began drawing on a flat patch of stone.
"This," he said, tapping a narrow line between two jagged rock faces, "is where we fight."
People gathered around.
"A natural choke point," Ironroot continued. "Steep walls. Uneven ground. A fallen tree halfway through."
He looked up. "A stampede can't pass through here. Not at speed."
Someone frowned. "What about the rest of the herd?"
"We don't fight them," Ironroot said simply. "We don't touch them."
Unbroken nodded slowly. "We lure the edge. Break contact fast."
This time, no one argued.
Warbound listened carefully, then spoke only to assign roles—who would lure, who would hold the line, who would pull back first. His voice stayed calm. No shouting. No pressure.
Lin Yuan stood slightly apart, observing.
When the plan finished, a few people glanced toward him, waiting for approval.
He met their eyes.
"If you believe this works," Lin Yuan said, "proceed."
Nothing more.
No encouragement.
No warning.
Just permission.
The first team moved out quietly—six people, no more. They stayed close to the terrain, stopping often to listen. Far off, the low grunts of Warhogs echoed through stone corridors, heavy and constant.
They spotted a small group near the edge of the basin.
Eight Warhogs. Maybe nine.
Large. Thick-skinned. Dangerous.
But not a thousand.
A stone clattered against rock downhill.
One Warhog lifted its head. Then another.
The small group turned and charged together.
"Now," Unbroken said.
They ran—not in panic, but with purpose.
They led the Warhogs straight toward the choke point Ironroot had marked. As the path narrowed, the beasts slowed. The fallen tree forced them to bunch together, their size becoming a weakness instead of an advantage.
The first Warhog stumbled.
Unbroken stepped forward.
The impact shook his bones. Pain flashed through him, sharp and immediate—but Body Refining held. He didn't get thrown aside this time.
Weapons moved together.
Not wildly.
Not desperately.
A blade slipped into a joint.
A spear jammed beneath a tusk.
The Warhog screamed and collapsed sideways, blocking the narrow path completely.
The others crashed into it, momentum gone.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then the fallen Warhog dissolved into drifting Qi.
Silence followed.
No cheers.
No shouting.
The team pulled back immediately, exactly as planned. Heavy breathing. Shaking hands. Focused eyes.
Behind them, the larger herd shifted uneasily but did not pursue.
When they returned to camp, no one celebrated.
Ironroot nodded once.
Unbroken sat down hard, breathing through clenched teeth.
Lin Yuan glanced at the system interface as it updated.
The camp did not erupt after the first kill.
That alone felt strange.
In any other game, someone would have cheered. Someone would have shouted about progress, about momentum, about finally figuring it out. Here, no one did.
They just breathed.
Unbroken remained seated on the stone, eyes half-lidded, breathing slow and controlled. The pain hadn't faded yet. Body Refining dulled the worst of it, but it didn't erase impact. His ribs still throbbed. His arms trembled faintly.
And that was fine.
Ironroot crouched again, adjusting his crude map with careful movements.
"One," he said quietly. "One is proof."
A few people nodded.
No one rushed to volunteer for the next attempt.
That, too, was different.
Warbound glanced around the camp, noting the change. People weren't scared—but they weren't overeager either. They were measuring themselves, checking limits, remembering how fast things had gone wrong last time.
"This pace works," Warbound said. "We don't need speed. We need control."
Someone near the back muttered, "Five hundred is still insane."
Ironroot didn't disagree. "It is. If we're sloppy."
Gachagami shifted where he sat, rubbing his arms.
"…So we're just gonna do that," he said uncertainly. "Like… one at a time?"
Ironroot looked at him. "Sometimes two. Maybe three. When the ground allows it."
Gachagami blinked. "That sounds… really slow."
"Yes," Ironroot replied without hesitation.
Lin Yuan listened from a short distance away.
He said nothing.
This was the part he could not rush for them.
Slow meant survival.
Survival meant progress.
If they learned that now, the mountain would stop being an executioner and start being a test they could actually endure.
"Rest," Lin Yuan said finally.
The single word cut through the low murmurs.
"Practice Body Refining," he added. "Eat. Drink. We move again when you're ready."
Not now.
Not soon.
When you're ready.
That mattered.
As people dispersed, the distant grunts of Warhogs echoed again through Broken Cloud Mountain—unchanged, numerous, patient.
Five hundred was still five hundred.
But it no longer felt impossible.
Just expensive.
And for the first time since they set foot on the mountain, Lin Yuan allowed himself a single thought he did not voice aloud.
This sect might actually survive long enough to be built.