CHAPTER 176: CH-176: NO

The plateau was silent in the wake of war.

Ash drifted from the sky, glowing faintly as it descended upon broken stone and blackened corpses. The air stank of blood and burned qi, the taste of iron and smoke thick enough to choke even the strongest cultivators. Where once the mountain ridges of Feilun had shone with proud formations, now their surfaces were scarred by craters and blood, rivers of ruin cutting across the land.

Yet still, the Sect stood.

The barrier’s fractured runes glowed faintly, humming with weakened life. Disciples staggered back into their lines, some clutching wounds, others helping comrades who could not walk. Spirit beasts whimpered from their pens, their bodies scorched from their violent charges. Elders moved swiftly among them, stabilizing qi flows, healing where they could.

And at the center of it all was Tian Shen.

He stood upon the same plateau where the foreign leader’s gauntlet had fractured. His spear rested against the ground, silver flames guttering low, but his back was straight, and his gaze sharp. His robes were torn, blood soaked into the fabric, yet his eyes were untouched. Silver light still pulsed faintly within them, unwavering.

Feng Yin approached, her expression pale but calm. She sheathed her sword, stepping close enough that only he could hear.

"You held him back," she murmured, her voice carrying a blend of relief and warning.

Tian Shen didn’t look at her. His eyes were still on the horizon, where the enemy banners had vanished into shadow. "No," he said, his voice quiet, as if speaking to himself. "He retreated on his own terms. Which means he will return, stronger."

Feng Yin’s jaw tightened, but she did not argue. She knew he was right.

By nightfall, the Sect’s survivors gathered in the Grand Assembly Hall.

The chamber’s once-pristine jade pillars bore cracks, their surfaces scorched by the resonance of the battlefield. Yet the hall still stood, its spirit flames flickering defiantly. Elders lined the sides, their robes marked with ash. Disciples stood in hushed rows at the back, eyes flicking between exhaustion and determination.

Sect Master Feilun sat upon the dais, his presence steady as a mountain though his aura dimmed from the day’s exertions. To his right, Elder Su stood with hands folded, calm as ever. To his left, Lian Hua from the Azure Phoenix Sect—her robes stained with blood not her own—watched the gathering with sharp, hawk-like eyes.

And Tian Shen, though he wished otherwise, had been placed at the front of the hall. His name carried across whispers like a tide. Disciples who had once seen him as another rising figure now looked with reverence, awe, even fear. They had seen him hold the line, seen him crack the gauntlet of the foreign leader.

When the Sect Master spoke, his voice rolled like stone.

"Today, the Feilun Sect stood against the tide of foreign invaders. Today, our roots did not break. But hear me well—this was no victory. It was the beginning."

Murmurs rippled through the hall. Elder Mu scowled, his face stern. "Their obelisks... their soldiers... their formations are not of our Central lands. We fight an enemy with laws of qi unlike our own. If they march again with greater numbers, we will not hold as we are."

Another elder slammed his staff against the floor. "Then we must call upon allies. The Eastern Sects will not ignore this, nor can the Western ridges turn a blind eye."

Yet others shook their heads. "Allies bring weakness. Once word spreads that foreigners crossed into our borders, the vultures among our rivals will circle. Feilun’s pride may not survive politics, even if we survive war."

The debate grew heated. Voices rose, some demanding swift retaliation, others calling for secrecy, still others urging retreat. The hall, already heavy with grief, threatened to collapse into discord.

It was then that Sect Master Feilun turned his gaze upon Tian Shen.

"You fought him directly. Tell us what you saw."

The hall silenced.

Tian Shen lifted his head, silver light flickering faintly in his eyes. For a moment, he remained silent, his thoughts replaying the clash—the weight of the gauntlet, the crushing arrogance, the fractured but disciplined qi.

"He is not like us," Tian Shen said finally. His voice carried across the hall with an authority he had not intended. "His qi is fractured, but not unstable. It is woven from something foreign—shards of a greater law, bound by artifact and blood. It is not one man’s power, but the strength of a nation forged into him."

Disciples shivered. Elders exchanged uneasy glances.

"And more will come," Tian Shen continued, his tone sharpening. "Their obelisks twist qi itself. Their warlocks bind formations into flesh and steel. If they march again, it will not be with one leader—it will be with an army bound as one. If we fight as we are now, we will break."

The silence after his words was heavier than any outcry.

Finally, Elder Su stepped forward, his voice calm but edged. "Then we must prepare for a war not of sects, but of civilizations."

His words struck deeper than a blade. Even Sect Master Feilun’s gaze hardened.

That night, Tian Shen walked alone through the quiet ridges. Fires still smoldered where the battle had scarred the land. Disciples whispered prayers as they tended to the wounded, but their eyes followed him as he passed.

He found Feng Yin waiting near the lantern tree, its blossoms swaying faintly despite the smoke in the air. Her gaze softened slightly as he approached.

"You spoke like a commander in the hall," she said quietly.

"I spoke truth," Tian Shen replied. "Truth they needed to hear."

She tilted her head, studying him. "And the truth you carry for yourself?"

He hesitated. His spear leaned against the tree, silver flames dim but steady. He could still feel the clash burning in his veins—the gauntlet’s pressure, the roar of the obelisks, the weight of an enemy whose roots ran deeper than any sect alone.

"The truth," he said at last, "is that I do not fight for speeches or pride. I fight because if we break, there is nothing left. Not for me. Not for you. Not for any of us."

Her hand brushed the hilt of her sword. Her eyes met his, steady as moonlight. "Then we do not break."

For the first time since the battle, Tian Shen allowed himself a breath of silence.

...

In the days that followed, the Feilun Sect transformed.

Disciples drilled from dawn to dusk, Root Division training at Tian Shen’s side with relentless ferocity. New formations were carved deeper into the mountains, runes inscribed with both ancient sect arts and experimental techniques devised by Lian Hua’s Azure Phoenix knowledge. Spirit beasts were bred and tamed at an accelerated pace, their roars shaking the valleys at night.

Tian Shen trained until sweat blurred his vision, every thrust of his spear echoing the memory of shadow and arrogance. Feng Yin sparred with him often, their clashes sharp but fluid, neither holding back. Elder Su guided them quietly, sometimes with a single word, sometimes with silence, his presence like a wall against despair.

And still, the whispers grew louder.

Scouts returned with grim tidings: the foreigners were not retreating, but gathering. Their obelisks multiplied across the borderlands, forming what looked like a chain of corruption stretching toward the Central plains. Refugees from smaller sects fled into Feilun’s protection, bearing stories of entire clans vanishing under foreign banners.

Tian Shen listened, his expression never changing. But within, his Core burned hotter.

He had felt the first storm. He had broken its spear.

But this was only the beginning.

And when the tide rose again, he knew the spear of Feilun would not—could not—falter.

On the fourth night after the clash, Tian Shen secluded himself within the inner sanctum of the Feilun Sect. The chamber was old, carved deep into the mountain’s marrow, where primordial qi veins pulsed like buried rivers. Few disciples had ever set foot here; it was a place reserved for breakthroughs that could alter the fate of the Sect itself.

He sat cross-legged upon the ancient stone dais, his spear resting across his knees. Around him, the air thrummed as spirit crystals dissolved into light, streams of essence sinking into his meridians.

His Core, tempered in battle and reforged through tribulation, now pulsed like a furnace, hungry, ravenous.

The memory of the foreigner’s gauntlet lingered in his veins, a weight he could not shed. Instead of pushing it away, Tian Shen drew it inward, forcing himself to confront the oppressive force.

Every heartbeat, he crushed that memory against his own qi until sparks flew inside his dantian. Silver flames rose from his skin, wild and unstable, licking the chamber walls.

Outside, Feng Yin stood guard, her hand never leaving her sword. She could feel his aura through the sealed doors—it battered against her chest like waves against a cliff. Elder Su watched beside her, calm but intent.

"He pushes too hard," Feng Yin murmured.

"No," Elder Su said softly, eyes gleaming. "He pushes just enough. Only violence can birth a Core that will stand against what is coming."

Within the chamber, Tian Shen’s eyes snapped open—silver fire blazing.