Chương 71: The Roar of Xiwen

It was two days later when the young lord took firmer control over his Sect, while I spent the time recuperating from my wounds and healing, until I stood in tip-top condition to join the active preparing Xiwen. The city still echoed with the ceaseless rhythm of hammers striking stone and carpenters shouting orders as they raised new beams upon the shattered walls. Dust and smoke hung thick in the air. Yet beyond the gates a different kind of life had taken root.

An ocean of white and grey tents stretched across the plain as far as the eye could see. Between them stood long rows of barrels filled with freshly forged glaives that gleamed coldly under the end of winter sun. Neat stacks of armor waited beside them like silent soldiers already prepared for war. From every village, every mountain path, and every distant corner of the Dao Nation the burning-eyed common folk answered the call.

Young boys barely old enough to hold a spear marched beside grey-haired farmers who had not lifted a blade in decades. Their numbers swelled hour by hour until nearly five hundred thousand souls stood ready beneath our banners. I walked among the tents and felt the electric tension in the air. Veterans with scarred faces and hardened voices drilled the newcomers without mercy. The clash of practice blades rang out constantly. Commands barked across the field created a living symphony of preparation.

This astonishing speed of mobilization and the fierce burning desire to display the Dao Sect's ultimate might came from one man alone. The one-point-seven-six-meter-tall Zixuan-Dao moved like a flame that refused to die. He stood shoulder to shoulder with the veterans and trained the young beside the old with exactly the same unrelenting intensity. Sweat soaked his robes. Dark circles lay heavy beneath his eyes from lack of sleep. Yet his broad shoulders carried the undying inner spirit of the Dao.

That spirit kept him going as fresh columns of warriors continued arriving from distant provinces. His voice never faltered. His commands cut through the chaos and gave every man purpose. I trained apart on the lonely cliffs far from the main camp. As a Suren with pale skin and my dark red hair, even with the new fame on me, I did not truly belong here even though I had helped save the city. The new leader made that clear.

Every time I approached him to request a proper battle for training he declined with cold words. He told me he had no time to play with a Suren. His voice carried clear disdain. Still he tolerated my presence within the host. That small tolerance was the only mercy I received. At first, I was furious and wanted to mock him into a duel. However, Feng-Dao came to me and pleaded with me to restrain my inner recklessness and simply accept the situation. Hearing his pleading tone and voice, I calmed down and let it go.

So I trained in isolation. My body moved through the forms of Cor Flamma Vestuto, while the new Soul Attribute armor flickered uneasily at the edges of my control on my lingering thoughts. Feng-Dao kept watch over me whenever his duties allowed. His silent presence offered a small measure of comfort. After every exhausting session I would descend to eat simple, but good food, such as the guokui, a dense, heavy slab of war bread filled with vegetables and meat.

Then I returned once more to observe the growing sea of tents. Eventually they reached their absolute limit. Five hundred and forty thousand soldiers now stood assembled. The new arrivals received orders to reinforce the borders while the rest continued their brutal training. Inside the central command tent Zixuan-Dao held his Xiwen conference with all the generals. I stood at the very edge and listened as his voice rang with absolute conviction.

He argued for a full frontal assault against the Moyonge capital itself.

"They possess only one hundred thousand truly trained warriors," Zixuan-Dao declared firmly, his voice cutting through the thick air of the command tent like a drawn blade.

"The rest are nothing more than conscripts and cowards. A long strategic campaign would bleed away our momentum. The enemy would eventually discover that our numbers are partly a bluff. We cannot allow that. Therefore we strike with overwhelming force at their heart." All the generals roared their agreement in unison, the sound rolling through the tent like distant thunder. The decision was final. They would launch the attack on the nineteenth of February. In three days the great march would begin.

Until then every unit, trained or untrained, would drill relentlessly on the use of our legendary steel ladders. Each ladder measured one hundred and forty-five meters in length. Their reinforced construction made them almost impossible to burn. These were the keys that would open the gates of Moyonshi, the enemy capital. Vengeance burned in every heart like an unquenchable fire. For three full days the training intensified without rest.

Only the strongest warriors in each unit received the honor of carrying the massive ladders. They practiced racing up them at full speed under the winter sun, scaling the tops in single breathless surges, and immediately engaging rows of practice archers and outpost guards in brutal close combat. Sweat flew in glittering arcs. Muscles screamed under the weight of steel and armor. Men slipped, cursed, rose again, and climbed harder.

Yet with every repetition their movements grew sharper, their timing more precise, their killing intent colder. Whenever my isolated training allowed, I watched from the edges of the cliffs. The new Soul Attribute armor still flickered uneasily across my skin whenever I activated it. I had only summoned it twice so far, far away from the tents, and discovered that I couldn't control it. It seemed to fight subconsciously.

Each time I returned to my senses, I experienced only minor withdrawal symptoms, such as a mild headache and back pain. It had only performed light training in the area, but seeing the charred ground, I deduced that I should only use it as a final trump card. Still, the sight of half a million men moving as one under Zixuan-Dao's unrelenting will stirred something fierce and restless inside my chest like aspiration of awe. Meanwhile, far from our growing host, the Moyonge prepared their own dark reinforcements...

without knowing what Dao was doing. They brought three thousand of their soldiers to the Suren forward in heavy carts that creaked under the weight of iron chains and silent made prisoners. In the heart of their base stood Professor Samuele, a tall white man whose golden goggles gleamed with reflected light. A crisp white vest, already stained with strange chemicals, clung to his frame. Beside him towered an enormous vat of glowing green-black-violet sludge that pulsed like a living thing.

He dipped his wide brush into the mixture and spoke with calm authority.

"Bring your men forward. They will receive the tatouage." from the three hundred... only one hundred units stepped into line. The process was pure agony. The brush drove into their skin like red-hot needles. The thick sludge burned like molten iron poured directly into open made wounds. It fused with muscle and bone in waves of excruciating pain. Men screamed through clenched teeth. Their veins bulged like ropes beneath the skin. Sweat poured down their faces in rivers.

Some collapsed only to be dragged upright again by silent handlers. The professor worked with cold clinical precision, never flinching at the cries. His eyes gleamed behind the golden goggles like a man who had long ago traded his soul for forbidden knowledge. The symbolic lines bled and pulsed as they settled deep into flesh. They could only be awakened later by the talisman of release which they wore on their neck.

Not far away, Liang Fubu, an amber-hued man whose eyes carried the cold touch of death, dragged selected warriors into a dark underground chamber whose entrance swallowed light and sound alike. He closed the heavy gate behind them with a horrid smile that revealed too many teeth. the other one was an honey glazed man that stood behind and wrote on the note looking fiercely at his masters work with awe. the three men were clearly crazed enough in their heads.

Yet their terrible upgrades delivered genuine power that would soon prove itself on the battlefield, soon to be. Far across the border in his modest hall, Huanze-Moyonge received the news of our massive gathering army. The young and brutal leader threw back his head and laughed loudly, the sound sharp and full of contempt. Pride swelled in his chest over the vast new territories he had seized during the last three years over the in his eyes the dreck of a Sect.

"Call in every outpost," he ordered, eyes gleaming with cold fire.

"Prepare for counterattack. These traitors to the original Dao Sect finally dare to attack us openly? Excellent. I will show them the true might of the Moyonge Sect. Our future will be decided in this battle. Raise our forces to two hundred and thirty-three thousand. Summon every veteran and reserve. No more ambush or guerrilla warfare. This is now a Xiwen." Both sides had now swollen their armies to monstrous size. On the morning of the nineteenth the great march finally began. Some men trembled with visible fear.

Others burned with wild excitement. Many stood underslep, t yet refused to show weakness. At the very front rode Zixuan-Dao upon his magnificent brown-and-white mixed horse. Its coat gleamed like polished jade in the morning light. He carried the great banner of the Dao Sect high and rode slowly through every unit so every warrior could see him. His voice thundered across the host like rolling thunder.

"Today our vengeance upon all those long years of humiliation begins. This vile small sect called Moyonge will truly understand what a real sect can and will do, when they play with fire they should know it will burn your skin. This is where we pierce their heart with our glaives burning with pure desire to kill. Here stand with me today the young and the old alike. But age does not matter. What matters is where your heart belongs. If you want to live, fight to kill.

If your deepest desire is to return home, fight to kill. If you want to succeed with eternal glory, FIGHT TO KILL. This is where our difference becomes clear. I can say with utmost pride that we are ready to show our great progenitor Wujiren-Dao that his spirit was never dead. It only slept. Now it has awakened with a new and terrible form of might for DAO." The entire host erupted. Five hundred and forty thousand voices screamed, yelled, and hollered as one thunderous wave.

"DAO. DAO. DAO." Fresh strength surged through exhausted bodies after all the days of relentless training. Special large banners rose high above each unit. We formed perfect square formations and began marching down the long cliffs. I walked at the very front beside Feng-Dao, Zixuan-Dao, and the other generals. They rode on horses while I marched on foot with my hand resting on the hilt of my sword-axe the diamoness, ready to throw an Elsa di Fuoco whenever possible. The cold steel against my palm grounded me.

War was coming. The earth itself quaked beneath the synchronized beat of hundreds of thousands of boots, a deep continuous tremor that rose through the soles of my feet and into my bones. For two full days we advanced without pause. The ground trembled continuously under our weight. Dust rose in great clouds behind the endless columns. On the twenty-second of February we crossed into enemy territory. Both sides knew that history would be written anew on this day. The moment had arrived. Clouds parted above us.

The sky opened and smiled down with brilliant golden light that spilled across the ranks and turned every banner and blade into living fire. We moved through the trees and entered the hilly Moyonge terrain. Smaller trees grew here. The soil appeared brown-grey and patches of green leaves dotted the landscape. The air carried a different scent-drier, sharper, laced with the faint metallic tang of preparation for blood.

The banner carriers lifted their voices and began singing the ancient Dao Sect Battle Hymn, the deep melody rolling forward like a second army. Brothers of Zhongguodao, raise your roar! Dao Sect Battle Hymn – "Wujiren-Dao Zhan Ge" (无极仁道战歌) This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Pinyin English Zhongguodao xiongdi, gao sheng han! Wujiren-Dao, wan bing zhi zun! Yi jian po tian, wan qi tong ming! Xue liu wan li, tu di gui wo! Bai sect ju tou, wan bang chen fu!

Wujiren ming, yong zhen ba fang! Zhan qi piao yang, ying hun zhao yao! Can ying sheng guang, yong zhao wo men! Ta shi wan bing zhu, wu di zhi wang! Moyonge gouzei, qin wo shan he! Ci tu yuan shi, wo men zhi di! Di xue ran hong, huan wo men tu! Wujiren ling, wo men qian jin! Dao xin bu mie, zhan yi ru lang! Dao Sect yong cun, wan shi liu fang! Wujiren zhi ming, yong zhen tian xia! Brothers of Zhongguodao, raise your roar! Wujiren-Dao, master of all arms! One swing split heaven, ten thousand weapons sang!

Blood flowed ten thousand meters, the land is ours! A hundred sects bowed, ten thousand kingdoms fell! Wujiren's name forever holds the world! His war banner flies, his shadow gives us light! His remnant shadow shines upon our path! He is lord of weapons, unrivaled king! Moyonge dogs invade our sacred hills! This soil was always ours by ancient right! Enemy blood shall dye red what they stole! Wujiren leads us, we charge ahead! The Dao heart never dies, war will surges like tide!

Dao Sect shall endure ten thousand ages! Wujiren's name shall suppress the world forever! The mighty song rolled like a living storm across the hills and shook the very air even blood flowed ten thousand meters, the land is ours! The mighty song rolled like a living storm across the hills. Hundreds of thousands of voices joined in perfect unison shouting with all. The sound shook the very air and seemed to press against my chest like a physical force.

In immediate response the two Moyonge border outposts, each defended by twenty thousand warriors, attempted to hold their ground. They lasted mere minutes until breach was made. Our steel ladders slammed against their walls with thunderous crashes that echoed across the hills. The strongest warriors raced upward like avenging demons, boots pounding on the cold metal rungs. Glaives flashed in deadly arcs under the golden light. Blood sprayed in wide crimson sheets that painted the stone and the ladders alike.

Archers were cut down before they could loose more than a few arrows. Defenders screamed as they were hurled from the parapets, their bodies tumbling through the air before striking the earth below with wet finality. I climbed with the second wave, my sword-axe already drawn and hungry. The Cor Flamma Vestuto flickered along my arms as I reached the top and cut through the remaining resistance. Within a single hour both outposts were completely obliterated.

Nothing remained but broken weapons, torn banners, and a heavy, ringing silence broken only by the groans of the dying. We marched onward toward the capital without slowing. The earth still trembled beneath our boots. Battle Report Dao Sect Forces Total: 539. 000 Casualties: 12. 847 Notable: Rapid conquest of two border outposts achieved with minimal losses thanks to the devastating combination of steel ladders and overwhelming numerical superiority. Moyonge Sect Forces Total: 233.

000 (including all reserves) Casualties: 41. 392 (vast majority suffered at the border outposts) Notable: Complete annihilation of both border fortifications. Leader Huanze-Moyonge forced to watch some of his main army die for a decisive engagement at the capital. Both armies now stood arrayed for the great engagement. Zixuan-Dao, who had fought like a demon himself during the outpost assault, rode forward alone on his brown-and-white horse.

He drove the great banner of the Dao Sect deep into the earth right before the gates of Moyonshi. His voice rang out like ringing steel across the battlefield.

"This land is Dao land once more. Come and take it back if you dare." The roar that answered him dwarfed every sound that had come before it. Five hundred and thirty-nine thousand throats unleashed a single deafening cry that shook the heavens themselves. The Xiwen, the final decisive battle, had truly begun.