.[A/N] A Quick Update!
Hey everyone,
Your author here with a hat-tip and a slight apology! School is absolutely kicking my butt right now, and I'm hard-pressed for time.
Because of that, the release schedule will need to slow down a bit. We're looking at around 3 chapters a week, and sometimes maybe even less. I also want to be upfront that some chapters might be on the shorter side as I try to balance everything.
I'm so grateful for your understanding. You guys are the best, and I don't want to put this story on hiatus, so I'll keep chipping away at it! Thanks for bearing with me through the craziness.
Your support keeps me typing!
Boom…. Boom…. Boom….
The rhythmic, earth-trembling cadence of two thousand-four hundred marching boots churned the air, sending dust devils spinning amidst the swirling auras of the colossal army. The force was a tapestry of vengeance and ambition: fifteen hundred warriors of the Fen Clan, five hundred disciples of the Beast Flame Sect who had been held in reserve, and the four hundred remaining elites of the Sword Spirit Sect. Together, they advanced like a singular, relentless beast toward the northern gates of the Qi Clan estate.
At the vanguard marched the leaders, their presence a storm front preceding the army.
Fen Jeuchen was a statue of cold fury, clad in dark armor etched with ancient wind symbols that seemed to siphon the very air around him. To his side, Patriarch Huayen grunted with every step, his face a mask of strained endurance. He was encased in the Fire Thorn Armor, his sect's greatest treasure—a scalding, ruby-red plate that radiated blistering heat waves. Even as a fire practitioner, the armor's power tested his limits. Beneath it, his Ironthorn Robe provided a desperate buffer, but the searing pain was a constant, agonizing reminder of the stakes. He wore this torment knowing that facing Nascent Soul expert Qi Lantian would be a dance with death; a single mistake could extinguish a life, and he had no intention of it being his.
On Fen Jeuchen's right, Sword Spirit Sect Master Hua Piao moved with a ghost's grace. His long white hair and beard flowed like mist over simple, flexible white robes, a stark contrast to the martial splendor around him. His aged eyes, sharp and discerning, were fixed on the distant Qi clan walls, his mind weaving through strategies and suspicions alike.
"Do we lead the charge," Hua Piao mused, his voice a low murmur that cut through the march, "or do we linger in the shadows, waiting for Qi Lantian to show himself before striking from the dark?"
Fen Jeuchen's head didn't turn. "We attack directly. Qi Lantian is no fool. By now, he will have sensed the disturbance at his gates. He is already preparing."
"Hmmmm. You speak with such certainty, Fen Jeuchen," Hua Piao observed, his gaze piercing. "It sounds less like strategy and more like a personal vendetta. The envoys only recently brought news of the beast core. To understand a man's mind so perfectly… it seems you have studied Qi Lantian for far longer than this conflict has lasted."
Fen Jeuchen offered only stony silence, which was an answer in itself.
Hua Piao understood. He was perhaps the only one who did. He remembered the tragedy: Fen Jeuchen's brilliant son, crippled in a duel with a Qi Clan prodigy, later choosing the shame of suicide over a life of weakness. The hatred was fathomable. But the final, emasculating blow came later, when a passing fiery comet had scorched the patriarch's very essence, burning his yang energy to ashes and rendering him incapable of producing an heir. The secret had leaked, as secrets always do, turning the mighty clan leader into a object of silent mockery—a man with no future.
Where else could such boundless rage be directed but at the Qi Clan? Hua Piao sighed inwardly. He is using our sects as the instrument of his revenge. But after all he has lost, can I truly deny him this?but at least even though he thinks we're tools the beast core is real . The Sword Spirit Sect Master let the matter drop. The path was chosen.
"We're almost there," Huayen grunted, his voice strained with pain, shattering the tense silence.
Hua Piao looked ahead. The formidable outline of the Qi Clan estate now dominated the horizon. From this distance, a faint, grinding screech echoed—the sound of heavy gates being forced open.
"It seems we are earlier than expected, Fen," Hua Piao noted.
"There is no perfect plan," Fen Jeuchen replied, his voice cold as steel. "Only adaptable ones."
"Then we wait and attack here?" Hua Piao's tone was solemn. "Our presence is known. Waiting will only heighten Qi Lantian's anxiety, forcing him to make a rash move. Are you certain?"
"He will not come out until those northern gates are fully open," Fen Jeuchen stated with unnerving confidence.
"Why are you so sure?" "Because the human heart clings to hope,even when faced with betrayal," Fen Jeuchen explained, a cruel twist on his lips. "Qi Lantian may suspect that Qi Mo has turned against him, but he will refuse to believe it. To acknowledge it is to be stabbed by a blade he himself forged. He will cling to other possibilities until we are at his very threshold."
"Precisely," Hua Piao murmured, understanding dawning. "He will fool himself until the last possible moment."
"So we wait," Fen Jeuchen concluded, his gaze locked on the slowly parting gates.
A low, dark chuckle escaped Fen Jeuchen's throat, a sound like grinding stones. "Qi Lantian… I hope you enjoy the gift I have prepared for your clan. Heh… heh-heh-heh."
The sound was swallowed by the relentless boom of marching boots, a funeral dirge for a clan that slept on the edge of ruin.