CHAPTER 162: CH-162: SHATTERED WILL

The mountains trembled with the echoes of battle.

Where dawn had once broken with quiet splendor, now smoke rose in choking columns. The clash of steel and the screams of men bled into the wind, carried down the ridges and valleys like the toll of a funeral bell.

At the heart of it all, Tian Shen fought.

His spear was no longer merely a weapon. It had become a storm given form. Lightning cascaded down its shaft, arcs of violent energy dancing across his arms as though the heavens themselves had been bound to his flesh. Every thrust cracked the air, every sweep tore through armor and bone alike.

He moved as if the battlefield belonged to him.

And yet, opposite him, the wolf-banner general pressed forward with the fury of a beast unchained. His armor was painted white, yet streaked red with the blood of friend and foe alike. His curved spear flashed with murderous qi, every strike carrying the bite of a predator that had killed its way through countless wars.

Their clash was no duel—it was the collision of storms.

When their weapons struck, the shockwaves toppled riders and split the earth. The wolf-banner’s warriors faltered, their charge broken as the ground heaved beneath their mounts. Feilun Sect disciples steadied themselves in formation, their fear tempered by the sight of Tian Shen standing tall, lightning raging at his back.

Still, the wolf-general laughed.

"Good! Good!" he bellowed, his voice carrying across the din. "I see why the serpent fell to you. But fangs are not serpents, boy. Fangs tear! Fangs devour!"

His curved spear lashed outward, a crescent of force slicing through the air, cleaving the earth into a deep scar. The shockwave raced toward the Feilun Sect ranks like a predator lunging for its prey.

Before it could land, Tian Shen’s spear split the air, lightning bursting forth in a violent arc that shattered the crescent apart. Dust and smoke exploded outward, but Tian Shen’s silhouette remained, unwavering.

He spoke, his voice cold as steel.

"Fangs break."

Then he surged forward.

...

The wolf-general roared, meeting the charge head-on. His spear twisted, intercepting Tian Shen’s thrust with brute force. Sparks cascaded like falling stars, the impact rattling the bones of every man within reach. The two titans pressed against one another, locked in a contest of strength and will.

The wolf-general’s face twisted with exertion, his teeth bared like the beast he embodied. "You burn bright, boy, but fire dies quick. I’ll tear that spear from your corpse and use it to break your Sect!"

Tian Shen’s eyes narrowed, his voice calm amidst the storm.

"You talk too much."

The words were followed by action. His spear pulsed, lightning detonating in a violent surge. The wolf-general staggered, forced back a step, his armor scorched, the bones beneath it rattled.

But he did not fall.

With a guttural roar, he lunged again, his spear curving like a fang seeking flesh. The weapon bit toward Tian Shen’s throat with merciless precision.

Tian Shen twisted. The fang missed by a breath, sparks scraping across his shoulder as he retaliated with a brutal upward thrust. The blow caught the wolf-general’s chest, denting his armor and hurling him back several paces.

The battlefield paused, all eyes on the duel. Soldiers held their breath, for the outcome here would decide everything.

Feng Yin fought nearby, her sword a cold arc of death. Each strike she unleashed cut down enemies who dared near the Sect’s formations. Yet her eyes never strayed far from Tian Shen. She saw the violence in his movements, the storm roaring louder with each exchange.

He was not only fighting the wolf-general—he was tempering himself against the very limits of his new realm.

And it terrified her.

Still, she did not falter. With a sharp cry, she rallied the disciples, her voice slicing through fear. "Stand firm! Our Sect’s strength is here! Fight, and the mountains themselves will remember our name!"

The Feilun Sect answered with a roar, striking back against the wolf-banner riders, blades and qi shining through the chaos.

The wolf-general recovered quickly, his laughter echoing despite the blood trickling from his mouth. He spun his spear, qi condensing into a massive projection—a spectral wolf formed from smoke and flame, its fangs bared, its body vast enough to blot the sun.

"Die beneath the Fang!"

The spectral wolf lunged, jaws wide, swallowing the battlefield whole. Soldiers screamed, the sheer aura of the technique sending weaker disciples to their knees.

But Tian Shen did not kneel.

He planted his feet, lightning searing across the ground, burning runes into the shattered earth. His spear rose, its tip glowing brighter, brighter, until it seemed the storm itself had narrowed into a single, merciless point.

He thrust.

The spear pierced the heavens. Lightning cascaded outward in a blinding explosion, the storm erupting into a dragon of thunder that tore into the spectral wolf’s maw. The two titanic forces collided, howling, snarling, clawing at each other with teeth and thunder.

For a heartbeat, the world went white.

Then—the wolf shattered.

Its body exploded into smoke and ash, its fragments scattered to the winds.

The wolf-general staggered, his qi ruptured from the backlash. His chest heaved, blood splattering from his lips. Yet even wounded, his eyes gleamed with manic fervor.

"You—are strong," he growled, raising his spear once more. "But strength alone cannot break a Fang!"

He charged again.

Tian Shen met him.

Their final clash was a dance of destruction. The wolf-general’s curved spear spun in vicious arcs, shredding stone and steel alike, while Tian Shen’s thrusts were straight and unyielding, each one a nail of lightning driving deeper, closer, merciless.

The wolf-general struck Tian Shen’s ribs, cracking bone, but Tian Shen did not falter. He countered, his spear punching through the wolf-general’s shoulder, tearing flesh.

The wolf-general howled, but instead of retreating, he leaned into the wound, his spear plunging toward Tian Shen’s heart in a suicidal gambit.

For an instant, time froze.

Tian Shen’s eyes blazed. He twisted, lightning erupting from his entire body. His spear rotated with him, snapping free from the wound and plunging downward in a brutal, final thrust.

The spear pierced the wolf-general’s chest.

The curved fang shattered.

Lightning exploded outward, consuming the general’s body from within. His scream was cut short as his form disintegrated, burned away until nothing remained but scorched armor and ash scattered on the wind.

Silence.

The wolf-banner army froze, their general’s death ripping the spine from their charge. Fear spread like wildfire.

Tian Shen pulled his spear free, its point dripping with molten fragments of the broken fang. He raised it high, his voice cutting through the stunned silence like a decree.

"The Fang is broken. Go back—or die."

The words struck harder than lightning.

The wolf-banner army broke. Riders turned, trampling one another in their desperation to flee the gates of Feilun Sect. Their banners, once proud, dipped and vanished into the valleys beyond.

The battlefield lay in ruins.

Bodies littered the ground, banners torn, weapons shattered. Blood soaked the dirt until it gleamed black beneath the fading light.

And in the center of it all stood Tian Shen, his spear lowered, his chest heaving, his body marked by fresh wounds—but unbroken.

The disciples erupted in cheers, their voices ragged but fierce. "Feilun! Feilun! Feilun!"

Yet amidst their triumph, Tian Shen’s gaze turned to the horizon.

The serpent had fallen.

The fang had shattered.

But three banners still marched.

And each would be stronger than the last.

Feng Yin approached, her sword sheathed, her face pale with both relief and dread. She touched Tian Shen’s arm gently, grounding him.

"You can’t fight them all alone," she whispered.

Tian Shen did not look at her, his eyes still on the horizon where shadows gathered. His voice was low, resolute.

"Then I will make the Sect strong enough to stand with me."

He turned toward the gates, the storm still raging faintly around him.

For this was not victory.

...

The battlefield quieted, but the silence was heavy, not peaceful. The stench of blood clung to the air, mingling with the acrid smoke of charred qi. Disciples bent to tend the wounded, their hands trembling, their faces pale with exhaustion. Others gathered the fallen, voices hushed as they whispered the names of brothers and sisters lost.

Tian Shen stood apart, his gaze locked on the jagged peaks that hemmed the horizon. His storm had dimmed, but not dispersed—it lingered, restless, flickering along the edge of his spear as though sensing what was yet to come.

Feng Yin joined him, her steps light but steady despite her own bloodied sleeve. She did not speak at once. Instead, she followed his gaze, seeing not the retreating wolf-banner but the shadows beyond. Finally, her voice broke the quiet.

"They will come soon. Hawks. Dragons. Perhaps worse."

Tian Shen’s grip tightened on his spear. His ribs throbbed with every breath, but his eyes remained cold, unwavering.

"Let them come," he said. "I will not bend. And neither will the Sect."

Feng Yin studied him, then nodded once.

The storm gathered again—silent, patient, waiting.

For this was only the second step into war.