CHAPTER 161: CH-161: CLASH

The mountain mists curled across the peaks like pale serpents, veiling the early dawn in a fragile stillness. The air was sharp, touched by the lingering violence of the night before, as if the earth itself remembered the clash of two spears and the death of a general.

Yet the Feilun Sect did not rest.

The disciples roused themselves with tired but determined faces, the echoes of their celebration gone, replaced with the weight of what lay ahead. The halls, the training grounds, even the courtyards—everywhere rang with the scrape of weapons, the murmur of mantras, the thunder of footsteps.

At the center of it all stood Tian Shen.

He was not in the training fields this morning, nor among the disciples drilling themselves in rigid formation. Instead, he was on the cliff edge beyond the main hall, where the sky stretched unbroken. His spear was planted in the ground beside him, its shaft black and scarred, its tip faintly aglow with suppressed lightning.

He was still.

But stillness did not mean peace.

Lightning whispered across his arms and shoulders, threading through his veins like restless serpents. His breakthrough into the Utopian Core realm had not yet fully settled; his qi surged wildly, sometimes too much for his body, sometimes collapsing inward with violent hunger. The tribulation had left its brand on him, and though he stood, unshaken, Tian Shen felt the truth in his bones.

This power was raw. Untamed.

And the storm outside the Sect would not wait for him to master it.

...

"Shizun," a voice came carefully from behind.

Tian Shen did not turn immediately. He recognized the voice—Xiao Lan, one of the core disciples, earnest and sharp-eyed, though too young to hide the tremor in his tone.

"Speak."

"The elders convene," Xiao Lan said, bowing low. "They request your presence in the council chamber."

At last Tian Shen pulled the spear from the earth, its metal ringing faintly as it left the stone. He slung it over his shoulder and moved past the boy without another word.

The boy’s gaze lingered on him a moment, awed, uncertain, before following.

...

The council chamber was filled with voices before Tian Shen even entered. The elders sat around the stone table, their expressions grim, their arguments sharp. Maps were unfurled across the surface, ink marks scrawled hastily, noting enemy encampments, supply lines, the serpent-banner forces that had withdrawn but not vanished.

"They will regroup," Elder Wu was saying, his heavy brow furrowed. "Losing their general may stall them, but an army of that discipline will not scatter."

"And when they return," another elder snapped, "what will we have to stop them? One man? Even Tian Shen cannot stand against a tide forever."

"Do not underestimate what he has achieved," Feng Yin’s voice cut in. She sat straighter than the others, her tone measured but carrying an edge of steel. "One man held our gates last night. One man sent them fleeing. That is no small thing."

"It is not enough!" Elder Wu slammed his fist against the table, rattling ink pots. "The Sect cannot hinge on one spear."

Tian Shen stepped into the chamber then, silence falling like a hammer.

Every gaze turned toward him—some with hope, some with doubt, some with naked dependence that made Tian Shen’s jaw tighten. He crossed the room, planting the butt of his spear on the floor beside the table.

"Speak clearly," Tian Shen said, his voice flat. "What is it you expect of me?"

It was Elder Wu again who answered, his tone still rough but respectful. "We expect what you already know, Tian Shen. That the serpent-banner army will not be the last. Scouts report three other banners moving through the valleys—hawks, wolves, dragons. Each led by generals of comparable strength, perhaps greater. What we faced was but the edge of the blade."

"And you want me to be the shield."

"Who else can?"

The words stung—not for their arrogance, but for their truth.

Tian Shen looked at the maps, the markers of enemy advance pressing like teeth toward the Feilun Sect. His eyes lingered on the serpent-banner’s retreating trail, then on the others. Four armies. Four generals. A siege that would not end until one side was broken.

"Then we prepare," Tian Shen said simply.

The elders murmured, but no one argued.

Feng Yin’s gaze caught his, searching, but Tian Shen gave nothing away.

The Sect entered a storm of preparation.

Disciples were drilled until sweat drenched their robes and blood cracked their hands. Blacksmiths hammered night and day, reforging weapons, mending armor. The alchemy hall burned constantly with the work of pills, elixirs, and talismans. Scouts swept the valleys, their reports carried on falcons’ wings.

And Tian Shen trained.

If before his cultivation had been a mountain steadily climbed, now it was a battlefield in itself. His qi surged with violent hunger, straining the limits of his veins, forcing him to temper it with every breath. He fought himself as much as he fought the air, every strike of his spear both a weapon and a cage for the storm boiling inside him.

Day after day, he trained until the stone under his feet cracked from repetition, until the very sky seemed to hum with the rhythm of his spear.

Feng Yin watched often, silent, her expression unreadable. She did not interfere, though once she said quietly:

"If you burn too quickly, you may stand tall for a moment, only to fall when we need you most."

Tian Shen only replied:

"Then I will burn brighter still."

...

The first test came sooner than anyone wished.

Three days after the black-spear general’s death, a scout returned half-dead, carried on the back of his companion. His words spilled between coughs of blood.

"The wolf-banner... they march. Thousands. They—"

He choked, eyes rolling back.

The room froze.

Tian Shen rose from where he sat, spear already in hand.

"Where?"

The scout’s companion answered, trembling. "Through the northern pass. They’ll be at our gates within two days."

The hall fell into uproar. Some cried for fortifications, others for retreat into the mountains. But Tian Shen did not wait. He strode from the hall, and Feng Yin followed, catching his arm as he reached the courtyard.

"You cannot face them alone again," she hissed.

His eyes met hers, sharp, unyielding. "If not me, then who?"

Her grip tightened, desperation flaring. "If you keep throwing yourself into the fire, what will be left of you when the true storm arrives?"

Tian Shen paused then, truly paused, his gaze flicking to her hand on his arm. He said nothing, but he did not pull away. After a moment, his eyes lifted to the horizon, where the northern peaks loomed like jagged teeth.

"Then come with me," he said at last. "Stand at my side. If the Sect is to weather this, it will not be because of one spear. It will be because many strike as one."

Feng Yin’s eyes widened slightly, but then she nodded, fierce and sure.

"Then let’s make them remember the name Feilun."

The wolf-banner came with the dawn.

The northern pass spilled black-armored riders like a river of blades, their banners howling in the wind. At their head rode a figure larger than life, his armor white as bone, his spear curved like a fang. His laughter carried across the valley, cruel and confident.

"You dare bar my path with your broken Sect?" he roared. "Come then! Show me if your hero bleeds as well as he boasts!"

Tian Shen stood at the front gates, spear steady, his presence radiating like a thunderhead ready to break. Feng Yin was beside him, her sword bare, her qi sharp as ice. Behind them, the disciples of the Feilun Sect formed ranks, their faces pale but resolute.

This was no celebration now. This was war.

The wolf-general’s army surged forward.

And Tian Shen stepped into the storm once more.

The clash shook the mountains.

Tian Shen’s spear struck with lightning, tearing riders from their saddles, scattering wolves like dry leaves. Feng Yin’s blade carved arcs of cold brilliance, cutting through armor and flesh alike. The disciples fought with everything they had, their voices rising in unison, not as scattered fighters but as a single, desperate Sect.

The wolf-general charged, his curved spear cutting through the air like a predator’s maw. His strikes were brutal, savage, his qi thick with bloodlust. He roared as he met Tian Shen head-on, their spears clashing with such force that the sky itself seemed to shatter.

The ground split beneath them, shockwaves ripping through both armies. Soldiers fell, trampled by their own mounts, as the two titans fought at the center of chaos.

Tian Shen’s storm surged, lightning exploding with every thrust, every sweep, every clash. The wolf-general met him with fangs of steel, his curved spear snapping forward in vicious arcs that sought to tear flesh from bone.

It was violence made manifest.

Steel. Blood. Storm.

The Feilun Sect watched, their faith, their fear, their very survival balanced on the edge of Tian Shen’s spear.

And as the clash reached its crescendo, as lightning and fang howled together in the heart of battle, Tian Shen’s voice roared above it all:

"This is the Feilun Sect! Remember it as you die!"