CHAPTER 182: CH-182: PLATEAU

The plateau of the Feilun Sect glowed beneath a waning moon, its outlines sharp against the looming darkness that spread from the western ridges.

All night, Tian Shen sat in meditation at the edge of the formation altar, spear beside him, the silver flame within his eyes steady and unwavering.

Below him, the Sect’s defenses, newly reinforced by Elder Su’s ancient techniques and Lian Hua’s innovative wards, pulsed like veins of living stone.

Every disciple, every formation, every spirit beast—each element of the Sect now stood bound by purpose, as if the mountain itself breathed in rhythm with their resolve.

It had been three days since the last foreign raid, and scouts now reported an alarming increase in enemy activity across the border. Obelisks of shadow rose from the earth like twisted bone spires, breathing corrupted qi into the air. The enemy was gathering strength, and they would not delay.

As dawn’s first light touched the eastern peaks, a messenger arrived, breathless and bloodied, collapsing at the base of the altar steps.

He barely whispered the report before succumbing to exhaustion. The words spread like wildfire through the camp: the foreigners were massing in force—entire regiments of warlocks and warriors—marching toward the border in staggered formations designed to overwhelm and confuse.

Their leader, though wounded, had sent orders for a renewed assault.

The Sect Master, Elder Su, and Tian Shen convened immediately, joined by Feng Yin, Lian Hua, and the other senior elders. Their faces, though drawn and weary, were marked by determination.

"This will be their greatest attempt," the Sect Master announced.

"We must respond not with panic but precision. Our roots will not splinter."

Tian Shen stood and bowed.

"We have been preparing. The Root Division will take command of the forward defenses. I will meet them at the first ridge, where their formations seek to funnel into the heart of our lands."

The elders exchanged glances, some concerned for his safety. But none openly objected. They had seen the fire in his eyes and recognized the same resolve that had carried them through the last clash.

At Feng Yin’s side, Tian Shen’s presence seemed to steady the air itself. Her gaze met his, and without words, a pact was made between them. Whatever storm would come, they would meet it together.

As the sun rose, banners fluttered across the Sect grounds, and disciples took their positions. Training drills ceased.

Armor was strapped on, weapons checked, spirit beasts were readied with salves and incantations. Formation stones were embedded deeper into the mountainside, their runes glimmering like stars against the scarred rock.

Tian Shen mounted his steed, a massive wind-steed with silver mane flowing like liquid metal. Beside him rode Feng Yin, her sword strapped at her back, eyes sharp with purpose.

The march to the ridge began in solemn silence, broken only by the rhythmic sound of hooves striking the earth.

Disciples whispered prayers, some chanting protective mantras while others clenched talismans against their chests.

When the ridge came into view, Tian Shen raised his spear high. "Stand as one!" he called, his voice ringing out like a bell across the valley. "Let the mountains bear witness—we do not bend, we do not break!"

The disciples echoed his cry, their voices melding into a roar that shook the earth.

Soon, the horizon darkened with approaching ranks. The foreigners came like a tide of iron and shadow, banners snapping in the wind, obelisks pulsing like malevolent eyes.

Their warlocks’ dark spells twisted the air into jagged patterns, and their warriors’ armor bore runes not found in the Central lands.

The first line of enemy scouts reached the ridge’s edge. Tian Shen’s spear flashed like a comet, cutting through the leading wave, scattering them before they could fully form.

Behind him, the Root Division surged forward as one, their coordinated strikes precise and relentless.

The battle began.

The clash of steel and spell, the scream of spirit beasts, the roar of wind and fire—chaos erupted as discipline collided with ferocity. Tian Shen’s spear moved like lightning, carving paths through shadow. Each thrust was a dance of controlled rage, pushing back wave after wave of invaders.

Feng Yin fought beside him like a blade of moonlight, her sword arcs cutting spells midair and shielding wounded disciples. Together, they formed a wall of resistance few could penetrate.

Hours passed like a heartbeat. The foreigners hurled wave after wave of assaults, their formations splintering against the relentless counterattacks. Tian Shen’s eyes never wavered, his breath never faltered.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, the enemy leader appeared once more, now clad in armor reforged from darker ores, his gauntlet blazing with renewed energy. He unleashed a torrent of corruption that spread like wildfire, seeking to choke the ridge’s life force.

Tian Shen stood his ground. His spear ignited with silver flame, and with a roar that echoed like thunder, he plunged into the heart of the corruption, cutting it in two. The enemy faltered. The ridge held.

Night fell.

Though exhausted, the disciples cheered. The ridge stood firm, the enemy repelled once again. But Tian Shen knew better. This was only the beginning of a war that would test not just strength, but endurance, spirit, and unity.

And as he stood beside Feng Yin beneath the crimson dusk sky, spear planted into the earth like a beacon, he silently vowed:

So long as the roots of the Feilun Sect run deep, so long as even one disciple stands, no shadow will claim this land.

The storm had not broken them.

It had forged them stronger.

The next wave would come.

And they would be ready.

...

The night after the battle stretched long and tense. Fires dotted the ridge like fallen stars, their flames dancing in the wind, casting long shadows across the exhausted faces of the disciples. The air smelled of sweat, blood, and scorched earth, but beneath that haze there was something else—an undercurrent of determination that even exhaustion could not dim.

Tian Shen sat beside the great altar stone, spear planted in the ground, its tip pulsing softly with silver flame. The wind ruffled his hair, carrying whispers from distant peaks, but his gaze remained fixed on the darkened horizon where the foreign banners had vanished.

Feng Yin sat beside him, her sword resting across her knees, the edge still faintly glowing from the day’s battle. She did not speak at once. Her eyes, usually bright with challenge, now held something deeper—an unspoken question she dared not ask.

At last, she broke the silence.

"They will come again," she said quietly, not as a question, but as acknowledgment.

Tian Shen turned his gaze toward her. "Yes."

"Will we be ready?"

He smiled faintly, though his eyes remained serious. "We will not falter—not if we hold to what we know. But strength alone is not enough."

She leaned closer, studying him. "You mean... something more?"

He took a breath. "The root is not simply muscle or spellcraft. It is unity. Trust. The will to stand when everything tells you to fall."

For a moment, the wind seemed to still. Feng Yin’s eyes softened, and a small smile curved her lips.

"Then we will stand," she whispered.

The words settled between them like a vow.

Beyond their circle, the disciples tended to the wounded, repairing broken formations and fortifying defenses under the elders’ guidance. Elder Su’s face was grave, but his eyes, calm and measured, gave silent reassurance. The Sect Master Feilun, seated atop the ridge’s command post, gave orders with unwavering authority, organizing patrols and reinforcing supply lines. Lian Hua moved among them with swift precision, weaving wards and restoring talismans where the battle’s toll had frayed their edges.

Even amid weariness, the Sect did not break.

Late into the night, as the moon reached its zenith, Tian Shen rose and began inspecting the outer defenses. He walked the ridges with slow, deliberate steps, every movement controlled despite fatigue. Where younger disciples stood watch with spears and bows, he paused, speaking softly to them, reassuring them with a glance rather than words.

At one checkpoint, a disciple bowed deeply. "Commander, the wounds are grave, but the spirit holds."

Tian Shen placed a hand on his shoulder. "Do not doubt it. This ridge holds because of each of you."

He moved on.

At the farthest edge of the ridge, where the mountains dropped into a deep chasm, Tian Shen paused. Below, dark shapes stirred—spirit beasts awakening to the scent of blood and battle. He closed his eyes briefly, reaching out with his senses. The beasts snarled, but upon recognizing his presence, their fury calmed. He whispered, letting the bond strengthen once more.

Behind him, Feng Yin approached silently.

"They obey you even now," she said softly.

He smiled. "They have always been part of the root."

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Finally, she said, "The next wave—do you believe it will be larger?"

"I do," he answered. "The leader we faced is not a fool. He will not waste a second attempt."

"And what then?"

Tian Shen’s jaw tightened, but his eyes did not waver. "Then we meet it again. We fight harder. We stand deeper."

Feng Yin’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "But standing deeper means strengthening more than formations. It means teaching those who doubt... binding those who fear."

He nodded. "Exactly."

The two stood in silence once more, listening to the wind rush through the mountain passes like a living thing.

...

The next morning broke with a crimson sky, a sign elders rarely ignored. The Spirit Stones along the ridge’s edge pulsed more rapidly, their glow brighter than before. Scouts reported foreign camps deeper into the wastelands, obelisks multiplying like a dark forest reaching toward the heart of the Central lands.

The Sect Master summoned Tian Shen to his post at first light.

"We have received word," he said, his voice low but carrying its weight. "The foreign army grows by the day. Entire clans displaced by corruption seek refuge—but others have been swallowed whole. The enemy spreads like shadow across the ridges."

Elder Su, seated beside him, added quietly, "Their formation patterns are shifting. They adapt quickly, learning from each encounter. We cannot rely on brute defense alone."

Sect Master Feilun’s gaze locked with Tian Shen’s. "You have seen their tactics. Tell us—what must be done?"

Tian Shen stood, his presence radiating calm intensity. "We must do more than brace. We must anticipate. We must train our minds, temper our spirits, and weave bonds that no corruption can unravel."

A murmur ran through the elders. Some frowned. Others nodded slowly.

"Do you propose..." began Elder Mu, suspicion lining his brow.

"I propose we transform," Tian Shen cut in, his tone firm but respectful. "Not merely as soldiers, but as a living root system—one mind, one will, one heartbeat."

The hall grew silent.

The Sect Master leaned forward. "Speak plainly."

Tian Shen’s eyes, silver-lit and steady, swept the room.

"I propose we create a shared resonance among the Root Division—where each disciple, no matter rank, can feel the spirit of the others. Where