Chapter 255: Attack on the South

Rising high above the lush, fog-shrouded valleys of the Southern Hashian Mountains, Mount Mysaria pierced the sky like a giant, jagged sword carved from dark crimson granite.

It was a place of breathtaking, ancient majesty—the ancestral home and seat of power for the Crimson Key Sect, the undisputed ruler of the southern mountain range.

Across the vast slopes and sheer cliffs of Mount Mysaria, dozens of magnanimous, temple-like stone buildings were scattered with artful precision.

Constructed from blood-red marble and heavy obsidian, their towering pillars, sweeping pagoda roofs, and intricate dragon-entwined arches gleamed under the warm southern sun.

Grand stone staircases with thousands of steps slithered up the mountainside, connecting expansive open-air training plazas, medicinal gardens, and ancient scripture libraries.

On the outer training grounds, hundreds of disciples in dark red robes were hard at work.

Some were sitting in deep, meditative postures atop icy stone pillars, channeling spiritual energy through their meridians to break through their cultivation bottlenecks.

Others sparred fiercely with spirit-infused weapons, their shouts echoing off the mountain walls as they strove to evolve their martial techniques and secure their places within the sect’s hierarchy.

Outer disciples loitered near the grand arched gates, chatting lightheartedly and trading spirit stones, completely blissfully ignorant of the storm gathering on their horizon.

Yet, high above the bustling plazas, inside the grandest temple-like sanctuary that served as the Sect Leader’s private council office, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense.

Heavy incense burned in bronze cauldrons, but its sweet scent failed to mask the sharp aroma of anxiety that filled the room.

Five core grand elders were seated around a massive, circular table made of carved ironwood, their expressions grim and burdened with heavy lines of stress.

The sole reason for their urgent, closed-door gathering lay on the table before them: a golden, wax-sealed decree delivered by the fast-scout envoys of the Church of the God of the Sky.

The message was clear and uncompromising.

A grand inquisitorial fleet of investigators and holy paladins was currently marching down from the Northern Hashian Mountains, preparing to cross into southern territory to hunt, interrogate, and execute any suspected followers of the blasphemous God of Beast.

However, the decree went far beyond a mere request for passage.

The demands laid down by Cardinal Ryoger were outrageously heavy—demanding that the Crimson Key Sect open its gates, surrender its border posts, submit its disciples to divine soul-searches, and, most egregiously of all, declare the Church of the God of the Sky as the official, sole state religion of the Southern Hashian Mountains so that “heresy could no longer find refuge.”

It was an indirect, arrogant ultimatum for complete religious and political subjugation.

“This is madness! Absolute madness!” Elder Vane slammed his wrinkled fist onto the ironwood table, his voice trembling with furious indignation.

“They dare demand that we bow our heads and adopt their foreign god?! The Southern Hashian Mountains have maintained religious freedom and regional neutrality for over twelve centuries! If we accept this decree, we are no longer a sovereign sect—we become mere vassals to overseas zealots!”

“Listen to yourself, Vane!” countered Elder Garos, his eyes wide with sharp, pragmatic fear as he leaned across the table.

“Look at the reports coming out of the North! Tens of thousands dead, cities razed, and the Glorious Mythical Sect didn’t even dare to raise a sword against them! They have an Angel of the heavens marching at their vanguard, accompanied by ten Martial Lords and a Martial Saint Cardinal! If we refuse, Mount Mysaria will be burned to ash before the week ends!”

“So your solution is to surrender our pride, our ancestors’ legacy, and our very freedom without firing a single arrow?!” yelled Elder Mani, the third elder opposed to the Church. He stood up abruptly, his crimson aura flaring in agitation. “Garos, you are letting fear rot your spine! We are not defenseless, nor are we alone!”

Elder Balthazar, the second elder supporting compromise, let out a weary, frustrated sigh and shook his head. “Pragmatism is not cowardice, Mani. We are weighing the survival of our sect against empty pride. Compromise is the only logical path. We allow their investigators limited entry, acknowledge their Sky God in public ceremonies, and buy ourselves time. To fight them is utter suicide.”

“Empty pride?!” shouted Elder Miraj, the third opposing voice, her eyes burning with fierce defiance.

“They want to search our disciples’ souls! Do you have any idea what soul-searching does to young cultivators?! It ruins their martial foundations forever! Besides, have you forgotten the pacts we hold?! The Myriad Heaven Sect will never allow the Sky Church to swallow the South! They are already mobilizing their eastern fleets. If we hold our ground, the Myriad Heaven Sect will back us!”

“The Myriad Heaven Sect is weeks away!” Garos snapped back, his voice rising to a frantic pitch.

“The Holy See’s paladins are at our doorsteps now! Will the Myriad Heaven Sect rebuild Mount Mysaria after the Angel of Dawn incinerates us all?!”

The heated argument raged back and forth, turning the grand office into a arena of harsh insults, slammed tables, and clashing spiritual pressures.

The three elders fiercely rejected the Church’s overbearing demands, standing firm on sovereignty and their alliance with the Myriad Heaven Sect, while the two pragmatic elders pleaded for compromise to prevent total annihilation.

Throughout the entire fiery debate, one figure remained completely silent.

At the far end of the sanctuary, standing before a massive, floor-to-ceiling arched window that overlooked the sweeping red temples and misty valleys of Mount Mysaria, was the Sect Leader of the Crimson Key Sect.

His hands were clasped tightly behind his back beneath his dark crimson robes, his long silver hair falling silently over his shoulders.

He stared out into the distance, his eyes deep and unreadable as he let his grand elders exhaust their arguments.

Finally, the shouting reached a crescendo, and all five elders turned their eyes toward his back.

“Sect Leader!” Elder Vane spoke up, his voice raspy from shouting. “We await your judgment! The fate of the Crimson Key Sect rests on your command! Do we stand and fight for our freedom, or do we kneel before the Sky God?!”

The room fell into an expectant, breathless silence.

The five elders held their breath, waiting for the leader of the Southern Hashian Mountains to deliver his decisive decree.

The Sect Leader did not immediately turn around.

He took a slow, deep breath, his chest rising as he prepared to part his lips and speak.

BOOM…!

Before a single word could escape the Sect Leader’s mouth, a violent, deafening tremor ripped through the earth.

The entire foundation of Mount Mysaria shook violently.

The massive obsidian pillars in the office groaned under sudden, immense pressure, and the ironwood table rattled as tea cups slid and shattered against the floor.

Outside the arched window, the ancient red stone temples swayed precariously, and the panicked screams of hundreds of disciples echoed up from the training plazas below.

“What is that?!” Elder Garos gasped, losing his balance and clutching the edge of the table.

“An earthquake?!”

“No…” the Sect Leader whispered, his eyes widening in rare, genuine shock as he stared out the window.

The sky above the southern horizon had turned a terrifying, suffocating blood-red.

And from the distant valleys surrounding Mount Mysaria, a sound began to rise.

A guttural, thunderous roar composed of millions of beastly voices, accompanied by a march so vast that it was shaking the very tectonic plates of the Southern Hashian Mountains.