Chapter 520 - 290: Prelude to War(4)

The shattered subterranean corridor hissed with lingering lightning, the pungent ozone momentarily driving back the nauseating stench of rotten flesh, dried sweat, and decades of putrid defilement.

Pulverized stone dust drifted through the air like gray snow, illuminated by the radiant, blinding halo descending around Qian Yunxi.

From the shadows of the broken wall, the two crones who had been thrown aside scrambled to their feet like twisted, rabid rodents.

Their sunken, yellowed eyes burned with hysterical fury, venomous malice sloughing off them alongside flakes of dried bodily fluids and rotting skin.

The intrusion had not only shattered their pleasure chambers; it had ruptured the dark, sacrificial Yin-extracting ward they had nurtured for generations.

"Impudent, meddling harlot!" one shrieked, her voice grinding like rusty iron against wet bone.

Dark, diseased-filled spiritual energy erupted from their withered frames, causing the stone walls to weep black, corrosive fluid.

Four soul manifestations—twisted, weeping demonic infants carved from clotted blood and defiled Yin essence—burst from their crowns, shrieking with sonic malice that vibrated the bedrock.

Long, blackened fingernails curved into jagged talons soaked in corpse-poison as they lunged forward simultaneously, tearing through the air from four directions to rend Qian Yunxi’s pristine flesh and gouge out her radiant eyes.

Yet Qian Yunxi did not flinch, nor did the righteous wrath on her sculpted face flicker for a fraction of an instant.

FZZZZZZT!

But, at that moment, the damp cavern was suddenly swallowed by an apocalyptic burst of divine, solar brilliance.

Spanning out from her back with a deafening hum of heavenly law, six colossal wings forged from pure, condensed auric light unfurled, their feathered edges burning with celestial fire that instantly vaporized the creeping black mold covering the stone.

The pressure radiating from the wings was so immense that the shrieking Soul apparitions withered on the spot, their necrotic forms hissing and melting before they could even cross three paces.

"Die!" Qian Yunxi moved.

There was no sound of air parting, no gust of wind, and no visible trajectory, space simply bent around the flash of gold.

To the blurred senses of the attacking crones, she did not fly; she ceased to exist in one coordinate and manifested in another, leaving behind an afterimage woven of burning feathers.

Slash! Shhk! Shhk!

A clean, crystalline arc of silver sword light whispered through the subterranean gloom.

It was a singular, liquid motion—a dance of absolute execution that severed the neck, the heart meridians, and the nascent souls of all four hags in the exact same microsecond.

For a heartbeat, the crones hung suspended in mid-air, their talons outstretched, their rotting mouths frozen in hideous sneers.

Then, thin threads of golden fire snaked out from their collars.

Their heads slid smoothly from their shoulders, followed by their torsos splitting down the center.

Before their foul blood could even splatter against the ground, the golden celestial flames clinging to the blade’s edge detonated, burning their corpses, their decayed bones, and their defiled souls into sterile, white ash that scattered into nothingness.

"Hmph. How weak."

She flicked her bloodied sword and stepped smoothly to the stone slab, the unsheathed blade vanishing back into its scabbard with a sharp, echoing click.

With a delicate sweep of her sleeve, a burst of pure, gentle sword qi sliced through the heavy, rusted cold-iron shackles binding his emaciated wrists and ankles.

The blackened needles piercing his punctured dantian were plucked out by threads of warming spiritual energy, instantly staunching the trickle of dark blood.

She caught his brittle, skeletal frame before it could collapse onto the filth-covered floor, immediately pulling a clean, wide cloak of snow-white silk from her spatial pouch and wrapping it tenderly around his bruised, shivering body.

"Hold on, Qing Yan," her voice was as gentle as morning dew, yet laced with the urgent tension of an active war zone. "We cannot linger in this vile pit for another second."

Looking up with tear-filled, glassy eyes from the safety of her arms, his cracked lips trembled as he tried to speak, but she softly shook her head.

"Save your breath and preserve your remaining strength," she said, her eyes flashing toward the rumbling ceiling as distant shockwaves of high-level martial arts rattled the subterranean chambers. "When I discovered where this cult dragged you, I rallied the City Lord and mobilized the vanguards of the three local righteous sects to lay siege to their mountain compound. The battle outside is raging at its peak. The Grand Elders of the Ishtar Divine Cult have unleashed their blood-sacrificing arrays, and the skies above are drenched in fire. We must break out through the perimeter before the cult’s high priests collapse the tunnels!"

Her slender arm supported his frail, trembling shoulders, while her other hand channeled a steady, warming stream of pure Yang vitality straight into his shattered meridians to keep his flickering soul-lamp from going dark.

The six golden wings behind her back flared with blinding intensity, and with a thunderous sonic crack that shattered the remaining cavern walls into gravel, she shot straight upward through the jagged fissures of the compound, rocketing toward the open sky and leaving the dark pit of humiliation far behind.

*

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Far to the south, beneath the towering canopy of primeval ironwood where the ancient sword intent still hummed through the damp moss, the silence of the hidden hollow was broken by the rhythmic, unified rustle of leather armor and cold steel.

Clad in her simple, practical azure robes, Shen Xinye stood upon a weathered stone outcropping near the edge of the forest.

Across her knees hung her slender, iron-bound blade, its surface quiet and unpretentious.

Yet, behind her, arranged in neat, disciplined rows across the village square, stood more than three hundred figures.

Every single one was a master of the blade.

They wore frayed, dark ash-gray garments, their faces weathered and marked by decades of harsh, ascetic isolation, but their eyes were terrifyingly sharp—each pupil reflecting the cold, unyielding gleam of Lord Ascalon’s ancient heritage.

Their hands rested firmly upon the pommels of their weapons, their breathing so perfectly synchronized that they seemed to share a single, colossal spiritual sea that bent the wind around the clearing.

She turned her head slightly, her gaze sweeping over the assembled warriors.

"Elders, brothers and sisters," Shen Xinye spoke, her clear, melodious voice cutting through the rustling leaves with calm solemnity. "The world beyond this canopy is not the peaceful domain you have known. A great war is tearing through the world. My Young Master has sounded the decree to gather all forces to crush the local powerrs. If you cross this boundary, blood will be spilled, your quiet life will be broken, and many of you may never return to these woods. Are you truly willing to take up your blades and follow me?"

Not a single man or woman flinched. Not a single gaze wavered. In absolute unison, the three hundred swordsmen bowed their heads, their right hands pressing their sword hilts against their chests in a crisp, metallic salute that made the air tremble.

The aged village elder stepped forward from the front rank, his weathered hand gripping an ancient, notched greatsword.

"Great Successor," the old man rasped, his voice carrying the deep, rumbling sorrow of centuries of exile. "Ten thousand years ago, the cowardly orthodox sects feared our ancestral sword arts and united to drive our lineage into this lightless wilderness, erasing our name from the historical scrolls of the continent. We have hidden in the dirt, chewing on bitter leaves, waiting for the true master of the Dance of the Sword God to unseal the gates. We did not preserve our sharp edges merely to rot beneath these trees! If the you commands blood, we shall paint the northern skies red! It is time for the world to remember who ruled the heavens!"

Shen Xinye nodded.

There was no need for grand speeches or empty boasts, just a quiet, terrifying resolve that settled into her silver eyes.

She stepped off the stone outcropping, her boots leading the way toward the spatial tear opening at the edge of the woods, while behind her, three hundred silent, lethal phantoms melted into the shadows of the forest to follow her march.

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All throughout the world, the summons resonated.

Across the vast geography of the lower plane, spanning scorching deserts, frozen tundra, ancient battlefield graves, and the shattered boundaries of falling kingdoms, every academy tokens of every students pulsed in unison.

The scattered scions, enforcers, and prodigies of various clans who had been dispersed across the provinces to conquer, plunder, and temper their Dao foundations all ceased their solitary campaigns.

In the jagged, storm-swept canyons of the Thunderous Northern Crags, the colossal carcass of an ancient, primeval azure dragon stretched for over three thousand meters across the shattered rock, its scales steaming with purple lightning.

Standing proudly atop the beast’s severed horn was Shen Tao.

His towering, muscular frame was bare to the waist, covered in fresh, burning draconic blood that hissed as it sank into his golden skin.

He was chewing on a piece of roasted dragon meat, yet the moment the token at his waist pulsed with Haoran’s order, he didn’t even bother to harvest the priceless dragon-crystal.

He casually swallowed the entirety of the roasted meat, kicked the massive skull into the ravine below, and turned his blood-stained face toward the horizon.

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Deep within the subterranean magma lakes of the Western Desolation, where the heat could incinerate a Golden Core cultivator into ash within seconds, Shen Fei pulled his weapon from a pool of bubbling, molten spirit-iron.

In his hands, a seven-foot-long crimson spear hummed with catastrophic, piercing intent.

Its spearhead was not forged of common metal, but carved from the razor-sharp, indestructible fangs of a slain ancient beast, wrapped in swirling celestial runes.

As the academy token in his leather breastplate vibrated, Shen Fei twirled the heavy spear with a single wrist, unleashing a sonic boom that split the sea of lava in half.

He sheathed the burning weapon across his back, stepped onto a streak of fire-qi, and tore into the clouds.

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At the summit of the Nine Stars Mountain, the grand ancestral palaces of a prominent first-rate sect were completely engulfed in roaring, blood-red flames.

Thousands of disciples and elders lay decapitated across the marble courtyards, their spiritual cores cleanly excised.

Walking slowly down the blood-slicked stone stairs, clad in spotless black robes that bore not a single droplet of crimson, was Shen Jian.

He was wiping a slender, dark-iron rapier with a scrap of silk torn from the fallen sect master’s robe.

When the token at his collar began to pulse, he casually tossed the silk into the burning courtyard, slid his rapier into its sheath, and walked through the burning gates without looking back, leaving an entire mountain of ashes behind him.

*

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Across the muddy plains of the Grand Yan Empire’s southern frontier, a clash between two colossal mortal and cultivator armies had turned into a one-sided slaughterhouse.

In the dead center of the chaos, surrounded by mountains of crushed armor and severed limbs, Shen Ji fought like an untamed demon god.

His eyes were entirely bloodshot, his armor dented and soaked in black gore, his twin curved sabers spinning in violent, meat-grinding whirlwinds that shredded hundreds of enemy vanguards every second.

Yet, the instant the rhythmic, calm resonance of Haoran’s message echoed, the berserk madness in his eyes evaporated in a second, replaced by chilling discipline.

He brought his blades to a dead stop, completely ignoring the terrified enemy soldiers scrambling away from him, and turned on his heel toward the staging grounds.

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Above the boundless gray waves of the Eastern Mist Ocean, three peak Nascent Soul rogue cultivators were burning their lifespan in pure panic as they fled for their lives.

Gliding effortlessly through the clouds barely a hundred yards behind them, wrapped in a mantle of dark, devouring shadow-mist, was Shen Hei.

His pale hands held chains of black soul-iron, ready to reel them in like fish.

But as his academy token flared, he paused mid-air.

He looked at the fleeing figures with cold disdain, deciding they were no longer worth the seconds it would take to flay them.

With a flick of his wrist, he vanished into the void, abandoning the hunt.

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In the subterranean depths beneath an ancient desert kingdom, Shen Cai was holding a glowing golden compass, surrounded by puppet-excavators that were uncovering a colossal, untouched vein of top-tier celestial spirit jade spanning hundreds of miles.

The wealth before him could fund an empire for ten generations.

Yet, the moment the notification flashed across his token, he didn’t hesitate for a heartbeat.

He tossed down three destructive formation flags, sealing the cavern behind a self-destruct ward to ensure no native could touch the treasures, and immediately ascended back to the surface.

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Standing casually atop the tallest watchtower of an ancient provincial capital, Shen Bai carefully pulled the final core stone from the city’s grand defensive barrier, tossing the priceless talisman into his pouch.

Below, the glowing barrier flickered and died.

Within seconds, the deafening roars of millions of ravenous demonic beasts surged from the surrounding wild forests, crashing into the defenseless walls while rival sects charged in from the flanks to loot the fallen city.

Shen Bai didn’t spare a second glance at the screaming chaos unfolding beneath his boots.

His token was vibrating, and he knew that it was time to gather.

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The arrogance, the solitary pursuits, the individual slaughter, and the plundering of a world—all of it was cast aside in an instant.

Across the four corners of heaven and earth, thousands upon thousands of terrifying streaks of celestial light tore through the clouds, converging with terrifying synchronicity upon the coordinates where Shen Haoran stood waiting to end the game.