Amid the shattered ruins, Chen Sanshi gripped his silver spear tightly. On its blade still lingered the residual power of Han Xiang and Zou Hu, emitting a faint, trembling hum.
Inside his mind, the Dragon Scripture, already deeply ingrained through countless battles, suddenly grew even clearer.
In the midst of that brutal duel, the final of the Eight Upper Divine Aspects—long dormant—began to awaken.
A crimson light burst forth from Chen Sanshi's mouth.
Tongue Spirit!
Name: Liang Zhi, styled Dao Qi, length seven inches, clothed in red!
The eighth Divine Aspect—awakened!
At that instant, all eight Divine Aspects came alive together, linking like opened meridians, awakening the divine power dormant within the human body.
The Breathing Method activated.
The spiritual qi flowing through his meridians circulated endlessly. Under the transformation of the Eight Aspects, it formed a five-element, eight-trigram pattern within his body, refining spiritual qi into true force, and through special breathing rhythms, igniting the trigrams into blazing flame.
Fire Element Breathing Method!
[Technique: Dragon Scripture (True Force—Initial Stage)]
[Progress: 0 / 500]
[Effect: Fire of Li — the power of the five elements, transforming spirit into flame]
Breakthrough!
True Force Realm!
Streams of fiery serpents erupted from all seven orifices of Chen Sanshi's head, coiling upward before merging into the Dragon Gall Silver Spear.
Standing amid the sandstorm, he looked like a god of fire descending upon the mortal world.
"Breakthrough… during battle?!"
Zou Hu's pupils trembled violently. Only now did he finally understand what had felt so off during their fight earlier.
This bastard—
He'd been using him to train!
Every clash, every strike, every exchange—Chen Sanshi had been cultivating, refining his power through combat, using Zou Hu as a living training post!
From the very beginning, he'd been nothing more than a stepping stone!
"Damn you!"
Zou Hu's killing intent solidified, his golden Metal Qi turning tangible, but along with it came a deep heaviness.
He had already struggled to suppress a man one whole realm lower.
Now that Chen Sanshi had broken through mid-battle… this fight was about to get far worse.
"Chen Sanshi!"
In the air, Han Xiang's cold eyes burned with disdain and fury. "A man who leads troops dares to gamble with danger? If I'd arrived just half a stick of incense earlier, you wouldn't have broken through—you'd already be dead beneath my sword! Such arrogance! You think yourself fit to bear the title of 'War Saint'?!"
"Gamble?"
Chen Sanshi raised his flame-filled eyes and met Han Xiang's gaze head-on. "When did I ever gamble?"
A commander indeed should never take reckless risks—unless there was no other path left. Even then, never a blind gamble.
Back when he deduced that seventy percent of the enemy's grain stores were in Wucheng, he hadn't moved until Liao Fang confirmed it. Only then did he march his troops in a surprise assault.
He never gambled.
"Never gambled?"
Han Xiang's expression twisted. "You mean to tell me you knew I'd choose to attack Gengyang Prefecture instead of rushing to Wucheng's aid? On what basis?!"
In his mind, both options had been perfectly balanced. A fifty–fifty choice on the chessboard of war.
"On what basis?"
Chen Sanshi's voice rolled through heaven and earth like thunder. "I already told you—your chess pieces are dead, while my men are alive!
"A chess master never cares about the lives of his pieces. If you don't care, how could you ever fight to the death?!
"Without the courage to risk your life, how can you ever win through danger?!
"Han Xiang!
"You calculated everything, but you forgot the simplest truth—"
He paused. His voice dropped low, then erupted like the decree of a fiery god:
"On a narrow path, the brave one wins!"
Han Xiang had always stood outside the battlefield, seeing his soldiers as nothing more than disposable pawns.
But Chen Sanshi's men—he fought with them, bled with them.
That was why Han Xiang would always play it safe. Why he had chosen to attack Gengyang Prefecture—the less risky path.
Thus, Chen Sanshi's breakthrough in the midst of battle was no accident, but the inevitable result of seeing through the War Immortal's fatal flaw.
A true commander—must have the resolve to live and die beside his soldiers.
Without that resolve, how could one ever command victory through the unexpected?
A surprise army?
He himself was the greatest surprise of all!
Han Xiang's expression darkened further, the fury twisting his features. "Enough nonsense! Even if you've broken through, you're still wounded! Together, Zou Daoist and I can still crush you!"
"Daoist Zou—strike!"
Han Xiang's sword flared, light swelling like a falling galaxy as he poured his full might into it.
"Boom—!"
A dragon's roar shook the heavens!
The silver spear burst into flame, transforming into a blazing dragon spirit that tore skyward. True force surged, fire roared—and the dragon pierced through the descending sword light, shredding it apart and evaporating it into mist.
The blinding sword aura disintegrated instantly, leaving only a trail of white smoke.
Han Xiang staggered, his flying sword nearly slipping from his grasp. He hastily cast spell after spell, burning through talismans to pull it back under control. The sheer backlash flung his body backward, tumbling hundreds of zhang through the air like a broken kite.
Before he could recover, the air around him blazed red-hot.
The fire dragon ripped through the fading sword light, rushing straight toward him.
Its fanged maw loomed larger and larger.
Han Xiang's hands flashed through seals, activating five defensive talismans at once. In front of him, five golden shields flared into existence, layer upon layer.
All of them were high-grade talismans.
The fire dragon crashed down.
A sharp, glass-like cracking sound filled the air as each barrier shattered one after another. Only at the fifth layer did the spear's momentum slow—barely holding for the span of a single breath.
But that was all the time Zou Hu needed.
His Heavenly Vajra Rings whirled together again, weaving into a blazing chain-whip that struck downward, glowing with violet-gold light.
Han Xiang simultaneously threw out another black chess piece, pressing down from above like a mountain.
Their combined assault struck as one.
The explosion shook heaven and earth.
But when the light cleared, both men were sent flying in opposite directions, blasted away by the sheer power of Chen Sanshi's true force.
"Boom!"
Zou Hu crashed like a falling meteor, slamming into the ruins below. The remaining section of wall collapsed with him, rubble raining down. His chest and torso were charred black, his flesh burned and smoking—his clothes reduced entirely to ash. He looked half-cooked, the smell of scorched meat rising from his body.
Not far away, Han Xiang fell too. His hair came loose, black strands whipping wildly in the wind. Just before he hit the ground, he summoned a massive chessboard to catch himself, barely avoiding death.
The white-robed figure, his body wreathed in flame, faced two True Force masters at once. Despite his injuries, he moved without strain, landing lightly amid the rolling yellow sands as his battle spirit surged even higher.
"Cough… cough…"
Zou Hu pushed aside the rubble pressing against him, dragging himself upright from the ruins. The corners of his mouth twitched into a cold, bitter smile. In that smile was self-mockery—and fury. All his doubts, his unease, the flickers of hesitation that had haunted him—they vanished, burned away, leaving only one thing behind: a killing intent vast and pure.
"Good!"
"Good! Very good!"
"So this is the calamity fated for me, Zou Hu!"
"So be it!"
"We martial cultivators walk against heaven itself. Our path is never smooth!"
"Only by facing death can one be reborn!"
"Only then can we advance another step forward!"
"Chen Sanshi!"
"You dared to fight with your life, to break through in the midst of battle!"
"How could I—ever fear a fight?!"
"Today, I'll use my very foundation as fuel—and fight you to the death!"
With each word, the golden, metallic killing aura swirling around Zou Hu sank deeper into his body, burning itself away—each strand sacrificed to sharpen his killing intent to its peak.
This was his martial path.
He had trained in fists since childhood, began cultivation at fifteen, and by twenty-five he had become a Martial Saint. With nothing but his two fists, he carved out his own domain as the Fist Saint, once slaughtering a thousand men single-handedly in the capital—killing nobles and shaking the world. Later, he entered Tianshui Prefecture, where he inherited the dying legacy of another martial cultivator and broke into the True Force Realm before turning thirty-five. Now, not yet forty, he was ready to walk the path of the Fist Sovereign.
Any obstacle before him—
He would crush with his fists!
"Buzz—"
"Crack—crack—"
As the killing aura gathered, Zou Hu's body swelled several times in size, bursting his tattered clothing apart. The ten Heavenly Vajra Rings scattered again—but this time, instead of orbiting both fists, they all gathered onto his right arm. Gold and violet light intertwined, twisting into a spinning vortex that drew the entire sandstorm toward it.
He moved.
Each step shook the ground, his body like a divine tiger descending from the heavens. The vortex around his right arm grew, until it became a storm of pure slaughter that stretched from earth to sky—everything it touched was ground into dust.
"True gold fears no fire!"
This punch—
Blotted out the sun!
Within the raging storm, Chen Sanshi stood tall. His white robe whipped in the wind, the flames from his seven orifices and from his spear flickering wildly in the storm's pressure. He simply stood there, calm, waiting, watching the storm rush toward him.
The golden tempest swallowed him whole, his figure vanishing completely—until, in the swirling sands, a single spark appeared.
Then—
Flames devoured heaven and earth.
An ocean of fire erupted from within the golden storm, consuming it entirely. The air temperature within a hundred zhang soared, leaping from spring warmth to blazing midsummer in the blink of an eye.
The storm vanished.
The sands melted.
Through the haze, Zou Hu saw a fire dragon rushing straight at him. He didn't flinch, didn't retreat. He roared—a sound that shook heaven and earth—and hurled his right fist forward, the Heavenly Vajra Rings blazing with divine might.
"Boom—!"
The ground split apart.
The wind reversed.
The sky trembled as two forces collided.
When the dust settled, the Fist Saint of the Tianlong Kingdom and the Gun Saint of the Eastern Victory Continent stood back-to-back, having switched places. Both were silent, unmoving.
"Huuh…"
Zou Hu exhaled softly, raising his eyes to the burning sun above. "My path… ends here."
As his words fell, the mighty figure began to shrink, his body collapsing inward as if drained of all blood and vitality. The Vajra Rings on his right wrist dimmed one after another, clattering to the ground like falling stars. Finally, his massive body toppled backward into the dust.
A cloud of sand rose gently, drifting in the sunlight—weightless, quiet.
Only now could everyone see his front clearly.
His skin, his bones, his very organs—charred black, burned to ash. There was nothing human left in him.
"True gold fears no fire," Chen Sanshi murmured, "but it still depends… on what kind of gold—and what kind of fire."
Even as he spoke, he swung his spear up over his head—just in time to catch a strike from a sword falling silently from behind.
"Clang—!"
It was Han Xiang, launching a surprise attack.
His first strike failed. A white chess piece appeared before him, expanding rapidly in the air until it loomed like a mountain, then came crashing down.
True force surged. Flames exploded skyward.
Chen Sanshi thrust his spear upward, shattering it all.
Han Xiang was sent flying. Even with his chessboard beneath his feet to stabilize him, he tumbled hundreds of zhang before regaining balance. The side of his neck and half his face were burned to raw, smoking flesh.
Enduring the agony of burning skin, his long black hair flying wild, Han Xiang pressed his palms together and formed a new seal. Before him floated his flying sword, and around him, two chess pieces—one black, one white— spun in orbit, embodying the pattern of yin and yang.
The Chessboard and the Chess Pieces—these were Han Xiang's true life-bound artifacts.
Heavenly Chessboard.
Ten-Thousand Phenomena Pieces.
But unfortunately—
These were growth-type artifacts. Their power depended entirely on the cultivator's realm.
At Han Xiang's current level, he could only forge two pieces and one board.
Now, his lifeblood poured out in torrents, feeding into the twin pieces. They spun faster and faster, the yin-yang fish patterns glowing as vast dual forces gathered upon the hovering sword.
"You're right."
Han Xiang's voice thundered like a bell, heavy and resolute despite his half-burned face. "On a narrow path, the brave one wins! Between you and me—let this final strike decide victory!"
With that roar, he drove the chessboard forward, sword and black-white pieces blazing with light, diving straight at the white-robed man in a storm of divine might.
Chen Sanshi did not move.
But this time—
He truly didn't strike back.
The full force of Han Xiang's attack slammed into him head-on. His body shattered apart, vanishing into ash—without a drop of blood.
From the swirling dust, a single, half-burned talisman drifted down.
Illusory Body Talisman.
One of the two charms he had bought long ago in Fish Dragon Market from Old Mo Zhu—one a Flying Swallow Talisman, the other this.
And not only that—
The white-robed figure was a talisman illusion.
So was the War Immortal Han Xiang.
After that single strike—
All of Han Xiang's artifacts lost their light and clattered to the ground. His form dissolved, leaving behind only a single spent talisman.
His real body had already reappeared hundreds of zhang away—
a gecko shedding its tail, abandoning his weapons to mislead the enemy and seize the chance to flee.
But only after flying some distance did Han Xiang realize—
the white robe hadn't been fooled at all.
Down on the ground, Chen Sanshi surged forward, his flames burning brighter with each step. His speed was relentless, and when a white horse galloped from the sand to merge beneath him, a flash of light burst forth—his speed instantly matched Han Xiang's!
"Hsss—"
Like lightning through a crack, the white steed soared into the sky.
Chen Sanshi stepped on the saddle, using the rebound to leap high once more. In that instant, he caught up. The silver dragon spear in his hands ignited, true force flooding from his heart like a raging tide.
Han Xiang had spent all his talismans, lost his artifacts—no strength left to resist. Desperate, he forced his trembling hands into a seal, summoning a shield of interwoven vines before him.
The wooden shield ignited and burned away in a single breath. The spear, unimpeded, pierced forward like a blade through paper—
straight through the War Immortal's heart.
The blood caught in Han Xiang's throat evaporated in the heat. His body went rigid, then fell from the sky like a collapsing pillar, crashing onto a jagged stone spire that speared clean through him, pinning him to the earth.
"Hah… hah…"
He could no longer feel pain. His limbs went numb one by one. His sight dimmed until all he could see was the flame descending before him.
"Why…"
Han Xiang's voice trembled, weak and ragged, heavy with unwillingness. "You'll die too…"
He wasn't wrong.
The white robe had won—
but this was a fight of life and death.
Chen Sanshi's injuries ran deep.
Breaking through mid-battle carried immense risk—death had been only a hair's breadth away.
Was it worth it…?
A chess player didn't die with his pieces.
Even if this game was lost—there would always be another.
But if the player himself died—
there'd never be another game.
"You still remember the first time you led troops?"
Chen Sanshi's calm voice echoed through the dust.
"The first time I led troops?"
Han Xiang's body was failing, but his mind was strangely lucid. His thoughts drifted through the haze of memory, finding one tiny speck of dust buried deep within.
The scene grew clearer.
That was his past life—
his beginning.
He had loved military strategy since childhood, dreaming of becoming a master of war. But his family was poor and remote. After his parents' deaths, he could barely find enough to eat, reduced to begging for meals, earning a filthy reputation.
Then came chaos.
The world fell into rebellion.
He joined a local militia, hoping to serve as a strategist. But they made him a common soldier instead—and soon, a foolish commander sent him to die in a hopeless assault.
So, he deserted.
He fled into the mountains and met a band of outlaws.
There were barely a hundred of them—but they admired his cunning, his wit. They followed him down the mountain to seize their fate.
And then—
Han Xiang's memories flickered.
With just one hundred twenty men, he captured an entire prefectural city.
That victory earned him the attention of a local noble lord, who took him in and granted him command of two thousand soldiers.
That day—
was the happiest of Han Xiang's life.
He and his brothers from the mountain drank until they passed out, celebrating their first true triumph.
After that… came endless wars.
Rebellions rose and fell.
He no longer remembered how many battles he fought.
He only knew—
he had never once lost.
Not once.
His troops grew from a mere hundred to ten thousand, then to a hundred thousand, then to a million.
But those mountain brothers—
every last one of them died along the way.
And after that…
Han Xiang had nothing left to care about.
Only strength.
Only war.
The rivers and mountains became his chessboard.
The black and white pieces—his enemies and his men.
In every battle, the field turned into a vast board in his mind. Every life became a number, every command a move.
He always won—
because he always traded pieces.
He stopped remembering what those pieces meant.
He stopped caring.
He just remembered—
hundreds of battles, great and small—
never a single defeat.
He felt like a god,
one who ruled the world through the art of war.
Later, he unified the Central Plains, crushed seven kingdoms, and rose to fame—
only to earn the emperor's jealousy.
So Han Xiang took the fortune he'd gained and entered the cultivation world.
After that, he meditated every day—
but the deeper he cultivated, the emptier he felt.
Even when playing chess against other brilliant strategists, the game brought him no joy.
He had joined this mission not because he needed the Foundation-Building Pill—he was already an inner disciple—but because he wanted to feel that old thrill again.
The thrill of command.
The pulse of war.
But when he fought Chen Sanshi, after that brief spark of excitement—
he felt only emptiness again.
He thought it was calm born of confidence.
But now, as he lay dying, he understood.
The reason he hadn't felt excitement for years…
Wasn't loneliness for lack of worthy foes.
It was because somewhere along the way—
he'd lost something vital.
Something human.
"Chief…"
Han Xiang's pupils dilated, the world fading from view. He stared blankly at the sky, whispering his final words:
"Little Xiangzi… really did become a master of war."
With that—
his breath ceased.
Chen Sanshi walked forward, severed Han Xiang's head cleanly, and without wasting a single breath, turned back toward the battlefield. On the way, he passed Zou Hu's corpse, slicing off his head as well. When he reached the city wall, he leapt upward in a single bound, landing atop one of the few remaining intact sections.
From the highest point, he gazed down at the chaos below. The silver spear in his hand lifted both severed heads high into the air as his voice thundered across heaven and earth.
"Han Xiang and Zou Hu are dead!"
"Those who refuse to surrender—will be slaughtered without mercy!"
The words resounded like divine judgment.
In truth, after the walls collapsed, the furious soldiers of Hongze Camp had already stormed into the city.
The Western Qi garrison inside the fortress had been on the brink of collapse even before that.
Now, seeing the heads of their two commanders hanging from a spear, their morale completely shattered.
Within just two hours, the entire fortress of Wucheng fell.
Of the 20,000 defenders, more than 10,000 were killed or wounded, 8,000 surrendered, and around 2,000 fled into the wilderness. The Martial Saint Mo Xuepeng was captured alive.
The cultivators who could fly managed to escape; those who couldn't were slaughtered where they stood.
Only one was spared—Lan Xiangu, Zou Hu's Dao companion.
When her spiritual power was completely exhausted, she chose to self-destruct beside Zou Hu's corpse, ending her life willingly.
Thus ended the Battle of Wucheng.
Meanwhile, at Gengyang Prefecture, the war still raged on.
After several waves of large-scale assaults, both sides suffered heavy losses.
Even without one full-stage Qi Refining cultivator, the Western Qi forces still held the advantage in sheer numbers—especially with so many mid- and late-stage cultivators. Under the relentless rotation tactics, Wang Jun's spiritual power was rapidly being depleted.
"Junior Brother, we should withdraw!"
Qu Yuanxiang looked down at his cracked flying sword, his voice tense. "Han Xiang went to Wucheng—Chen Sanshi must be dead by now! If we don't leave soon, we won't make it out alive!"
"Wait a little longer!"
Wang Jun gritted his teeth, his voice hoarse but firm.
It was the same stubborn reasoning—
there was only one chance at a Foundation-Building Pill. Unless he had no other choice, he would never give it up.
After several more rounds of intense spell exchanges, the Western Qi cultivator Zhu Gui withdrew momentarily, swallowing a pill and clutching a spirit stone to recover his power as quickly as possible.
In mortal wars, every day cost ten thousand taels of gold.
For cultivators, every battle consumed spirit stones just as quickly—it was no less terrifying.
"Brothers and sisters!"
Zhu Gui shouted to rally his allies, "Hold on for just half a day more! Senior Brother Han will return with Chen Sanshi's head, and once that happens, the defenders inside will collapse!"
"Alright!"
The other cultivators and martial experts shouted in unison, morale rising once again.
But just then, a severely wounded cultivator stumbled through the clouds, barely keeping himself aloft. He crashed into the camp with a thud, coughing up blood as he gasped out, trembling, "Senior Brother Zhu—bad news! Senior Brother Han… Senior Brother Han has been killed!"
"What did you say? You must be seeing an illusion!"
Zhu Gui's face went pale. "Wucheng only had Chen Sanshi and a few mundane warriors! Senior Brother Han and Zou Hu were both there—how could he be killed?!"
"It's… true!"
The wounded man's voice quivered with fear. "Chen Sanshi broke through mid-battle—he's entered the True Force Realm! He killed Zou Hu first, then beheaded Senior Brother Han! Wucheng must already have fallen by now!"
"Wucheng… fallen?"
Zhu Gui's heart plummeted.
That was the grain depot—the supplies for 300,000 troops.
Three hundred thousand!
If the grain was gone, what army could they feed? Within three to five days, the starving soldiers of Western Qi would riot!
"Senior Brother Zhu!"
The wounded cultivator continued urgently, "After breaking through, Chen Sanshi became unstoppable. No one can face him! If we don't retreat now, we'll all die here!"
Panic swept through the ranks.
"Retreat first!"
At last, Zhu Gui made the decision. "We'll fall back to the nearest city and regroup!"
"Retreat!"
The Western Qi army's formation disintegrated. The vanguard was abandoned, the center turned into the rear, the rear surged to the front—all scrambling to escape. The once-mighty army withdrew in chaos.
Atop the city wall, Qu Yuanxiang shouted, "If you're not going, I'm leaving!"
But before he could finish, he saw the Western Qi army below suddenly blowing horns to signal withdrawal.
Moments later, word reached them.
Han Xiang was dead.
Chen Sanshi had truly taken Wucheng.
"Send out a detachment to pursue them!"
The forces that had been lying in ambush outside joined with those inside Gengyang Prefecture, forming a pincer strike that crushed the retreating enemy. Tens of thousands were killed in the rout.
It was only by relying on the backup escape plans Han Xiang had prepared before his death that the remaining Western Qi forces managed to flee and take refuge in a few nearby fortified cities.
Back in Wucheng, the battle was over.
What had once been a sturdy city had become a sea of rubble.
"Sir!"
The heavily wounded Chu Shixiong rushed over, bowing deeply toward the white-robed figure who stood like a god of war. "Sir, what are your orders now?"
"Burn half of the grain," Chen Sanshi commanded calmly. "Take the other half and move it out. Then we march back to Gengyang Prefecture. When the Western Qi army collapses, we'll strike again and finish them."
A war of this scale could not end in one night.
But without supplies, the rest would be easy. The enemy would crumble. Within two months, they would advance all the way to Mount Mang and bring the campaign to its close.
The army transported the grain back to Gengyang Prefecture.
For several days after, the land fell into a brief, fragile calm.
Far away, in the capital—inside the Zhongjue Hall—
By the timelines, the grain stores at Guandu had already been depleted for half a month. The 150,000-strong army stationed there had either been annihilated or had surrendered to Western Qi. Everything west of the Tianzong Mountains had fallen to the enemy.
"Your Highness,"
Ming Qingfeng reported solemnly, "Within half a month, we'll recover the three prefectures. Although we can't save the 150,000 troops at Guandu, we can at least seal Western Qi beyond the Tianzong range—they'll never breach into the Central Plains."
In just one year,
Prince Cao Huan of Jin had aged decades, half his hair now white. "Good," he muttered. "This prince understands."
"Haah…"
The hall fell silent, filled with the heavy air of defeat.
"One hundred fifty thousand soldiers…"
He whispered the number under his breath, his voice hollow.
"One hundred fifty thousand!"
The territory of the Great Sheng Dynasty was vast—if they really wanted to, they could scrape together two million five hundred thousand soldiers. But most were stationed across the Central Plains. Long-distance campaigns were impossible. The more troops they sent, the more supplies they consumed. Those 150,000 men represented over seventy percent of the Western Army. Losing them meant reclaiming the west would be as hard as reaching the heavens.
"And that Chen Sanshi…"
"Though he came from the Grand Commander's Office, he was still a rare general. If we'd recalled him to the capital, he could've served in future wars. But now, because of the grain crisis, he's dead at Guandu!"
"Bury him with the honors of a marquis."
Prince Cao Huan of Jin pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed. "That's Father's will as well. Notify the Ministry of Rites to prepare the ceremony. Then find a way to negotiate with Western Qi—see if they'll return Chen Sanshi's body."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Once the orders were given, Cao Huan turned to the rear of the hall under Prince Cao Zhi's silent signal. His face was lined with exhaustion. "Twelfth Brother, I'm already preparing to move against the Yan faction. Don't rush me."
Cao Zhi said softly, "Sixth Brother, I wasn't here to rush you. I came to ask—don't you think it's a little early to be planning Chen Sanshi's funeral?"
"Oh?"
Cao Huan froze. "What do you mean?"
"The white robe isn't dead."
Cao Zhi lowered his voice. "I sent someone ahead to Guandu. When the time comes, he'll bring Chen Sanshi back."
"You still have an expert capable of entering Guandu?"
Cao Huan was a little surprised. "If that's the case, why didn't you send him to aid the battle?"
"Adding one man to that chaos would've been a drop in the ocean."
Cao Zhi paused, then continued, "But if we can save Chen Sanshi, he'll owe us a great debt—and with his loyalty and the rage of being betrayed, he'll stand firmly with you. He'll become a powerful weapon against the Yan faction."
"That's true."
Cao Huan nodded thoughtfully.
The Grand Commander's Office still existed in name, but most of its military power had long been stripped away.
Even the Heavenly Strategy Camp, once the old Grand Commander's personal army, had been purged and replaced.
The Hongze Camp under Chen Sanshi was no exception—men like Chu Shixiong were all appointed from the capital.
If Hongze Camp was gone too…
Then he'd have no military strength left at all.
And in the court, without troops, a prince could only survive by finding allies.
Now, it seemed, Prince Cao Huan had gained one such ally in Chen Sanshi.
Just as the two brothers were preparing to discuss how to gather evidence against the Yan faction, a shout echoed from the front hall.
"Victory report!"
"Victory report!"
"Urgent news from the front—delivered by the Ten-Thousand-Mile Divine Eagle!"
Victory report?
What victory?
Could it be that the three prefectures had already been reclaimed?
Cao Huan and Cao Zhi hurried back to the main hall.
There—
The once-noisy chamber had fallen completely silent.
Minister of War Ming Qingfeng stood trembling, clutching a sealed report. Tears streamed down his face, his hands shaking so hard he could barely hold the parchment.
Behind him, the cabinet ministers and civil and military officials craned their necks to read. When they finished, they too were stunned—some shaking, some weeping, others gasping aloud.
"What… what happened?"
Cao Huan stepped forward. "Did Chen Sanshi do something heroic before his death?"
If so, then at least the court of Great Sheng—and the Northern Liang Grand Commander's Office—would have one more legend for the ages.
"Your Highness!!!"
At last, Ming Qingfeng steadied his breath, his voice quivering yet filled with fierce emotion.
"Guandu—has won!"
Boom!
Four simple words crashed through the hall like thunder from the heavens.
Prince Cao Huan stood frozen in disbelief.
Even Cao Zhi was struck dumb.
The grain…
Hadn't it already been lost?
Even if Chen Sanshi resorted to looting and burning, how could he possibly defeat 300,000 Western Qi soldiers?
Cao Huan was still processing the words, but Cao Zhi had already rushed forward, snatching the battle report to read it himself.
Ming Qingfeng's voice rang out loud and clear:
"Your Highness! Half a month ago, Chen Sanshi received intelligence revealing the Western Qi army's supply depot. He launched a surprise strike, captured Wucheng, and personally beheaded the War Immortal Han Xiang along with the defending cultivators. Now the Western Qi army has lost its provisions—they will collapse soon. If our troops pursue swiftly, within two months we can retake the Three Western Prefectures, including Mount Mang!"
"The War Immortal… lost? The War Immortal lost?!"
Cao Huan's pupils dilated. "Then Chen Sanshi waited all this time—not to delay, but to launch a decisive battle after the grain was gone? No… that can't be it.
"And besides!"
"Chen Sanshi was only a Martial Saint. Han Xiang and the Western Qi cultivators had many who surpassed that realm. How could he possibly slay the War Immortal?"
"He broke through."
Cao Zhi lowered the report and said quietly, "Chen Sanshi broke through mid-battle. He's now beyond the Martial Saint Realm. In the way of martial cultivation, aside from immortals themselves, he stands at the peak of the mortal world."
The hall fell silent again.
Faces that moments ago beamed with excitement now turned solemn—and wary.
It had only been two years since Sun Xiangzong's death.
They had not forgotten how fearsome the old Grand Commander had been in his prime.
And now, in the blink of an eye, the Northern Liang Grand Commander's Office had birthed another existence beyond the Martial Saint Realm.
"Gentlemen."
Cao Huan's voice cut through the quiet. "Let us discuss the next steps—how to close the campaign, and how to handle matters once this war is over."
In Wanshou Palace, two cultivators from the Shengyun Sect arrived via teleportation array, stepping into the Eastern Victory Continent straight into the imperial palace.
"Two honored Immortal Masters," the head eunuch greeted them with a strained expression, "I'm afraid… you're too late."
"Too late?"
The cultivators exchanged glances.
Huang Hong, Chief Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonies, explained, "The Great Sheng court has done everything possible. But with the supply shortage, the army at the front must already be in dire peril."
"Damn these heaven-and-earth seals!" one of the cultivators cursed, his voice tight. "The restrictions limit how many and what level of cultivators we can teleport at a time. It's not that we wished to delay!"
"Yes," his companion agreed bitterly. "Our sect has already contacted several True Force martial families—they'll arrive soon. If only your army could've held out a few more days!"
"Two Immortal Masters," said Huang Hong, bowing low. "Why not head straight for Guandu? Perhaps you might still make it in time to lend your strength."
The two cultivators didn't dare delay a moment longer. They immediately mounted their swords and sped off into the distance.
Once they were gone, Huang Hong stepped back into the grand hall.
"Your Majesty," he said heavily, "the front lines are faring poorly. Not long ago, Grand Commander Chen burned his secret correspondence with the traitors, then opened the granaries to calm the troops. It worked—but it also burned through their food supply even faster. By now, it's been at least half a month since they ran out of grain…"
"Alas…"
From behind the gauze curtains came the weary voice of Emperor Longqing, tinged with grief.
"A worthy man returns to the earth, sealed forever beneath heavy soil.
"Lamentable… so lamentable…"
"Please, Your Majesty, take heart," Huang Hong said softly, wiping tears from his eyes. "Prince Jin has already sent men to Guandu to search for the Grand Commander's remains. He will be laid to rest in his homeland, as is fitting."
He bowed low. "But for now, Your Majesty should steel yourself and focus on taking the Foundation-Building Pill. Once you advance your cultivation, you will have the strength to safeguard this realm."
"Falling Leaf Valley," Emperor Longqing said after a pause. "What news?"
"Rest assured, Your Majesty," Huang Hong replied. "The contract Zhu Gui brought back bears the personal seal of one of Falling Leaf Valley's elders. They will not go back on their word. The Foundation-Building Pill should arrive before long."
Suddenly, from outside the hall, came the echoing cry of eunuchs—
"Victory report!"
"Victory report!"
"What victory report?" asked Emperor Longqing sharply.
"Your servant will find out at once."
Moments later, Huang Hong returned, clutching a freshly opened battle report. His voice trembled as he read aloud, "Your Majesty… it's good news! Chen Sanshi has broken through beyond the Martial Saint Realm! He has slain the War Immortal Han Xiang in battle, taken Wucheng, and crushed the enemy forces utterly!"
Behind the curtain, Emperor Longqing's eyes flew open, sharp as lightning.
—
At Guandu, the great war involving hundreds of thousands of troops from both sides had reached its final phase.
In the seventy-sixth year of Longqing, on the twelfth day of the fourth month, Wucheng fell. The Western Qi army lost its entire food supply within ten days and was forced to retreat.
On April 29th, at Shuishi River, they were ambushed—20,000 soldiers perished, and Vice General Gong Yu was killed.
On April 30th, the cultivators of Falling Leaf Valley abandoned Western Qi entirely.
As the enemy crossed the Luo River, they were struck again—losing 50,000 men and six generals. The slaughter was so fierce that corpses and shattered weapons nearly dammed the entire river.
By May 20th, at Yiling, the retreating Western Qi army was caught once more, losing another 60,000 troops. Along the roads, the dead lay in heaps, and the terrified survivors saw enemies in every shadow—every gust of wind felt like death's whisper.
By June 20th, of the original 350,000 Western Qi soldiers, only 150,000 remained. Thanks to Zhong Wuxin's flawless retreat strategy and the last-minute assistance of sect cultivators ordered back by their sects, they finally stabilized west of the Great Wall.
And with that, the Great Sheng Dynasty reclaimed the entire Western Frontier.
During those months, Chen Sanshi gathered vast spoils of war. Among them were the weapons of Zou Hu and Han Xiang—twelve storage pouches in total.
But victory came at a price.
The difference between the Mortal Shedding Realm and the True Force Realm was as vast as heaven and earth.
Chen Sanshi had fought True Force cultivators head-on and survived. Had he prolonged that final duel one-on-one, he might have even won—but the toll on his body had been immense. It was the heaviest injury of his life.
Still, it wasn't fatal. A period of rest would heal him completely—and he continued cultivating the Fire-Devouring Technique without pause.
[Technique: Fire-Devouring Art — Refining Qi, Third Layer]
[Progress: 122 / 800]
For now, Chen Sanshi remained in command at the central camp, while Wang Jun handled all logistics.
In pursuit of the Foundation-Building Pill, Wang Jun threw himself into the work—busier even than Tong Xiaochu.
Soon, the army pushed steadily westward until they reached Chongming Prefecture.
This was the strongest and largest city in the Mang Mountain region. Once their forces occupied it, the entire mountain range would be secured—the heartline of the land itself now in their hands.
Chen Sanshi personally used his Qi Observation Art to survey the area and even hiked deep into the mountains himself. But he found no trace of spiritual energy rising from the peaks.
Clearly, the spiritual veins had not yet awakened.
Even the vein at the Edge of the World had still been dormant when his master unearthed it by force.
The vein was in their grasp now—
and with it, the fear of Falling Leaf Valley raising arms for Western Qi had vanished.
But the Shengyun Sect… that one, he still didn't trust.
That, however, was a matter for another day.
Lost in thought, he looked up—and the towering gates of Chongming stood before him.
The vanguard had already entered. The massive city gates stood wide open, welcoming the army's arrival.
On the city wall, a man in white robes stood with a wine jar in hand. His cheeks were flushed, and his voice rang out boldly across the wind:
"Without me, the White-Robed Strategist, you tens of thousands of soldiers would've been nothing but bones in the dirt! How could you have such victory today?!"
He grinned down. "Black Robe Sanshi, am I wrong?"
"You're right," Chen Sanshi said calmly. "Without Mister Liao, I wouldn't have been so certain the grain was stored in Wucheng."
"Ha ha ha ha!"
Liao Fang laughed until his eyes watered. "That so-called War Immortal Han Xiang! That so-called Grand Commander Chen Sanshi! One fell for my trap, and the other rode my plan to victory!"
After more than a year of humiliation, the strategist was finally in high spirits. He took another swig of wine, then glared down at the man below astride his white horse.
His tone sharpened as he shouted, "You brat, Sanshi!
"How dare you wear a white robe and ride a white horse in front of me?!
"Have you forgotten your promise—that under heaven, there is only one White Robe, Liao Fang, the White-Robed Strategist?!"
"I haven't forgotten."
Chen Sanshi dismounted respectfully.
He didn't care much for this man—but he was still a meritorious strategist. As long as Liao Fang didn't break military discipline, Chen Sanshi saw no reason to argue over petty pride.
"Brat!"
Liao Fang's voice rose again, echoing over the city walls. "Put on your black robe at once! From this day forward, you are forbidden to wear white again!"