CHAPTER 169: CH-169: MISTAKEN

Below, disciples rushed to reinforce the barriers, their fear sharp as the storm in the air. Elders whispered hurriedly, debating whether to confront the intruders directly.

But Tian Shen’s lips curved into a grim smile.

"Let them come closer," he murmured. "The storm doesn’t chase. It waits—until it breaks."

And deep inside, the Core purred with anticipation.

...

The first light of dawn was swallowed by gray clouds rolling over the skies above the Feilun Sect. Winds howled across the mountain peaks, carrying with them a heavy, oppressive weight that was not natural. Disciples standing on the watchtowers felt their hair rise, as if unseen hands brushed against their souls.

At the heart of the mountain, Tian Shen stood upon the stone steps leading to the Sect’s main plaza. His gaze was locked on the horizon, where the faint shimmer of distorted qi pressed against the sect’s wards. The intrusion was not violent—not yet—but it was deliberate, brazen, and unmistakably foreign.

Feng Yin appeared at his side, her robes whispering in the wind. Her eyes narrowed as she traced the direction of the disturbance. "They test us like wolves circling a fence. Their intent isn’t simple intimidation. They’re measuring our defenses."

Tian Shen’s fingers tightened at his side. His Core, newly ascended into the Utopian realm, throbbed with an instinctive response, like a beast sharpening its fangs. The breakthrough was fresh, his foundation still settling, but even so, the violent tide of power in his dantian surged at the scent of challenge.

"Then let them measure," Tian Shen said, his tone quiet yet cutting. "When the blade falls, it won’t be against wood, but steel."

Word spread quickly. Within an hour, the Sect’s upper council was gathered in the Elder Hall. Ancient incense burned, its smoke curling like pale serpents toward the carved rafters. Elder Su presided with a heavy expression, his presence commanding silence even among the sharp-tongued elders.

"The barrier has held," one of the warding masters reported, bowing low. "But the pressure was unmistakable. Whoever they are, they masked their identity. I cannot trace their origin."

"They’re not testing only our defenses," another elder muttered. "They’re testing our resolve. If we show hesitation, the foreigner clans will think us weak."

A sharp wave of murmurs rippled through the hall. The word foreigners carried more than geographical weight. Beyond the Central Region lay lands scarred by chaos—nomadic cultivator clans, exiles, and warlike sects who thrived on conquest rather than order. They rarely dared to provoke the great sects openly, but the current age was shifting.

Elder Su’s gaze fell on Tian Shen. "You felt it, didn’t you?"

Tian Shen met his elder’s eyes calmly. "It was no ordinary probe. Their qi was layered, ancient—like the breath of those who have crossed countless bloodied fields. They didn’t come to barter."

The hall fell silent. Even the more skeptical elders found no words to dismiss his assessment.

Lian Hua, standing quietly near the side, finally spoke. "The Void Hand failed in their infiltration. Perhaps this is no coincidence. The foreigners may smell weakness here, believing us vulnerable after internal strife."

Her words struck like arrows. The Feilun Sect had only recently purged corruption and battled enemies hiding in their own roots. Though victorious, scars still lingered, visible to those with eyes keen enough.

Elder Su’s voice rumbled like a low drum.

"Then we must ensure those scars are not mistaken for open wounds."

Tian Shen excused himself from the hall soon after. Discussions of strategy and diplomacy mattered, but the storm inside his body demanded solitude.

He returned to his cultivation chamber, the stone walls etched with protective runes. Sitting cross-legged, he closed his eyes. Immediately, his Core surged, pulling him into its inner world.

There, he stood within a boundless stormscape. The golden sphere of his Utopian Core floated before him, pulsing with violent light. Rivers of qi cracked like lightning across the void, tearing space itself in small rifts.

It was unlike the stillness of the Reinforcement Realm. This realm was alive, breathing, demanding. Every pulse of the Core wanted release, wanted to prove itself against the world.

Tian Shen’s jaw clenched. So this is the weight of the Utopian Core... Not peace, but war in its purest essence.

The foreign intrusion had ignited something. The Core seemed to sense the challenge as intimately as he did. His entire being hummed like a sword trembling on the edge of being drawn.

"Patience," he muttered, sweat beading on his brow. "The blade cannot be dulled on the first strike. We will wait."

But even as he spoke, the storm roared louder.

...

The next day, Tian Shen descended to the sect’s open training fields. Disciples had gathered in larger numbers than usual, their faces pale with tension. Rumors of the foreign qi spread like wildfire, feeding fear and restless energy.

When Tian Shen appeared, silence fell. Every eye turned to him—the newly ascended Core, the man who had led them through bloodshed and root corruption.

He did not speak immediately. Instead, he stepped onto the central platform and released a single breath. His qi unfurled like a tidal wave, heavy and violent, shaking the earth beneath their feet.

The disciples staggered. Some fell to their knees. Even elders watching from afar narrowed their eyes, recognizing the raw, untamed force of a realm not yet fully harmonized.

"This," Tian Shen’s voice boomed, carried by qi across the grounds, "is the power of a foundation unshaken. Foreigners may circle our walls, probing, whispering, threatening. But as long as even one of us stands firm, the Feilun Sect does not bend."

His words struck deeper than any lecture. Fear shifted into awe, and awe into burning determination. Disciples clenched their fists, their spines straightening under the oppressive might of their senior.

Feng Yin, standing among them, allowed herself a faint smile. She had seen Tian Shen wrestle with his own power in silence. To watch him now wield it to kindle hope in others reminded her why she followed him without hesitation.

That night, scouts returned with grim news.

"They’re not a single group," one scout reported before the council. His armor was scorched, his breath uneven. "Two different clans at least. One bears the markings of the Western Steppes—the Ironfang Clan. The other... their qi signature is older. Twisted, like something dredged from forgotten graves."

The hall darkened with unease.

Foreign clans uniting was a rare omen. Their rivalries were brutal; cooperation usually meant they had found prey worth setting aside hatred for.

Elder Su’s eyes gleamed cold. "So, they come not as beggars but hunters."

Tian Shen stepped forward. "Then let them find their prey turns on them with sharper fangs."

Feng Yin studied his expression quietly. There was no hesitation, no flicker of doubt. Yet beneath the steel in his words, she sensed the storm within him still raged, threatening to consume him if not tempered.

Three days passed in taut silence. Each sunrise brought new whispers of movement beyond the mountains. Patrols spotted shadows lingering at the treeline, only to vanish when pursued. At night, drums echoed faintly from the distance—war drums, steady and patient, like a predator circling closer with every beat.

The Sect held its breath.

On the fourth day, the sky split.

A jagged crack of thunder boomed across the heavens, though no stormclouds gathered. Every cultivator in the sect felt it in their bones—the clash of qi beyond the barrier, far stronger than the earlier probes. This was not testing. This was declaration.

Tian Shen was the first to move. His figure rose from the main plaza like a spear thrust skyward, robes snapping in the wind as he ascended. Feng Yin followed close behind, her sword gleaming with restrained frost.

They emerged above the sect’s protective dome, where the distortion shimmered like a veil. Beyond it, shadows loomed—dozens, perhaps more, their auras heavy with foreign brutality. At their front stood two figures.

One was a towering man clad in iron furs, eyes burning with the savage pride of the Steppes. The other was gaunt, draped in black robes, his presence colder than death, as though his veins carried no blood but smoke.

The Ironfang warrior raised his voice, a thunderous boom across the sky. "Feilun Sect! You cling to the Central lands like lords, yet your walls crack from within. We claim tribute. Refuse, and we claim your lives."

The black-robed figure’s voice slithered after, dry as bone. "Surrender, and you may yet be spared. Resist, and you will learn what becomes of sects who face the void."

The barrier quivered as their combined qi pressed against it.

Tian Shen hovered in the air, eyes burning silver. His voice cut through the night, cold and unwavering:

"You have mistaken patience for fear. You have mistaken discipline for weakness. But make no mistake..."

His Core surged. The heavens trembled as the full force of his Utopian qi ignited, blazing across the barrier like a second sun.

"...the Feilun Sect does not bow."

The clash that followed shook the mountains themselves.