338 To War

33

8 To War

[POV: Bai Rong]

To say their situation was unfavorable would have been a mercy; Bai Rong knew it was far worse than that. The Seven Imperial Houses had once stood as pillars of dominion and bloodline pride. Now? They were fractured, desperate, and backed into a corner.

He understood well that to rely on outside forces, especially the Heavenly Temple, was to admit weakness, to trade sovereignty for survival. But even he, proud as he was, knew they no longer had the strength to stand alone. The only path left was to cooperate… yet never surrender the leash entirely.

‘We will make use of them,’ he thought grimly, ‘but never let them use us.’

His gaze swept toward Jia Sen, the old fox cloaked in authority and aloof confidence. The man had appeared like an uninvited specter, and now stood before them as though time had never passed, as though their suffering these past decades was inconsequential ripples beneath his irresponsibility.

“While we’d love to rely on your wisdom,” Bai Rong began, his tone cutting and precise, “what makes you think you can simply walk back to us and impose your will?” He leaned forward, his voice growing sharper. “Where were you the day we attacked Mount Qingshi? Where were you when the trap we laid for Da Wei was sprung?”

The question echoed through the chamber, silencing the restless murmurs of the other clan heads.

Bai Rong moved with deliberate calm, descending to his seat on the dais. The gesture was one of composure, but the fire in his words betrayed the tempest beneath. “Clearly, you serve the Heavenly Temple’s interests, not the greater good of the Empire. So tell us, Jia Sen… why are you really here?”

“The last time I fought with Da Wei,” began Jia Sen, his voice calm but carrying the weight of an old wound, “I realized the extent of his mobility… the speed, the unpredictability, and the freedom that impedes all control.” His tone darkened. “That man… cannot be contained through strength alone. So I sought a way to bar his movement. For the past century, I have scoured techniques, formations, and arts to pin down even the most elusive of foes.”

He paused, his aura flaring briefly, enough to make the air thrum. “At the same time, I raised my cultivation to its utmost peak. I may not have been here when you suffered your losses, Patriarch Bai, but I was preparing the means to end him, permanently.”

The tension deepened. The clan heads exchanged glances, some impressed, others doubtful.

Jia Sen’s gaze swept across them once more. “I have kept watch of your progress all this time,” he continued, “but this… is the first I have heard of the Hollow Star.”

“The Hollow Star is an artifact of my clan,” began Xun Li, his one arm clenched tight, voice laced with pride. “It—”

But Jia Sen’s hand rose, silencing him. His eyes gleamed with faint irritation. “I am well aware of what the Hollow Star is,” he said coolly. “It is a treasure the Heavenly Temple has long sought to destroy. Its existence distorts the balance of fate itself.”

A murmur rippled through the hall, unease mingled with curiosity.

Bai Rong’s expression hardened, though inwardly, his thoughts were already racing. If the Heavenly Temple sought the Hollow Star’s destruction, then Da Wei’s possession of it was no coincidence.

He leaned back on his throne, speaking slowly, his tone laced with venomous calm. “Then allow me to inform you, Grand Elder… During our battle at Mount Qingshi, Da Wei declared his desire for one final battle.”

The room grew still.

Bai Rong’s voice lowered, cold and deliberate. “He named Riverfall as the stage… and called it his coronation.”

It was a provocation of the highest order. Bai Rong still remembered the moment Da Wei had torn Mount Qingshi from its roots and carried it into the heavens, as if to mock their failure. As if to add insult to injury, the barrier that sealed the Empire at the Seven Imperial Houses’ design then broke.

With the current situation, they were forced to make a cruel choice… to commit to one final, bloody war… or to seek the bitter path of diplomacy.

The very word left a foul taste in their mouths. None among the Seven Imperial Houses wished to bow or plead, least of all Bai Rong. Yet the reality was as clear as the sun over the sands. Their armies were tired, their morale hollow, and their faith fractured. The Sky Clan was in disarray, and its matriarch was captured. The Black Clan had fallen silent, its people filled with whispers of self-destruction.

Yes, their forces had replenished their numbers, but numbers were not enough. Against Da Wei,  every soldier knew that victory was a dream.

‘And yet,’ Bai Rong thought bitterly, ‘if we delay, we will only continue to lose.’

If the rumors of the Hollow Star were true, then Da Wei’s coronation would grant him dominion beyond their understanding. When that day came, submission would no longer even be an option. Nongmin, that cunning emperor turned counselor, would ensure they were exterminated.

It was Jia Sen who broke the silence first, his voice calm and distant, as if discussing the fall of kingdoms was a mere matter of arithmetic. “If my understanding of the Hollow Star is correct, then Da Wei intends to crown himself in a starless night under a dark moon.”

The air shifted. Xun Li, his one arm tightening over his chest, frowned. “Why? I know the Hollow Star better than anyone. It is my clan’s burden. What purpose would there be in waiting for such a moment?”

Jia Sen gave a short, disdainful scoff. The sound echoed like a whip. “It is to avoid the eyes of the highest immortals in the heavens,” he replied coldly. “By crowning himself beneath that sky, he ensures his ascension goes unnoticed. No heavenly gaze, no divine interference. His rise will be his alone, unchallenged, unblessed, and unrestrained.”

Kang Nuan, seated with her arms crossed and eyes burning, leaned forward. “Just how powerful is this… Hollow Star?” she asked, her tone caught between awe and suspicion.

Xun Li exhaled slowly, his gaze distant, haunted. “From the legends of my ancestors,” he said, “to possess it is to claim sovereignty over the entire Hollowed World.”

Lu Wang slammed his hand against the arm of his chair, his voice rising in disbelief. “Surely that’s an exaggeration! No treasure can grant such dominion!”

Jia Sen turned his head toward him, his eyes sharp and ageless, carrying the weariness of one who had seen too much.

“It is no exaggeration,” he said quietly. “The Heavenly Temple once dealt with its appearance every few millennia. Each time it manifested, it drew calamity with sects destroyed, immortals consumed, and heavens overturned.”

His gaze flicked toward Xun Li. “And your Seeker Clan, boy… it was your ancestors who were given the sacred duty to retrieve it and to hide it from all existence. To ensure that no mortal, no immortal, and no god would ever touch it again. And your clan failed.”

Xun Li was gritting his teeth in anger, but he didn’t lash out at Jia Sen, who had superior cultivation.

“Many powers in this world could be traced back to the Heavenly Temple in one way or another,” Bai Rong said slowly. “To say we are allies in confidence is no lie. We are friends here. So when I tell you I came with a single intent… to kill Da Wei… understand that I mean it. The Heavenly Temple cares little for an Empire ruled by the lot of you… They care about Da Wei, and perhaps Nongmin. If we secure an audience with Da Wei, I will do everything in my power to finish him.”

Jia Sen continued with a thin smile that did not reach the depths of his eyes. “We have tens of thousands of soldiers poised beyond the Riverfall border,” he offered. “A Heavenly Legion, if you will… warriors forged by angelic rites, seasoned to challenge immortals. If that comforted you not, understand that I brought two Tenth Realm masters hidden in plain sight. Combine them with the Tenth Realm strength already present… Xun Li, Kang Nuan, Lu Wang, Feng Shuren, and you, Bai Rong… and our force is formidable.”

Feng Shuren’s reply was wind-wrapped logic. “We are not blind to your offer. But Da Wei is not a common Perfect Immortal. He possesses profound arts. He walks with two powerful masters: a dark-haired curses specialist and a silver-haired fox of uncanny cultivation. The wind speaks plainly to me… both should be Perfect Immortals. And as for us… We only have your word.”

At that, a flicker crossed Jia Sen’s face, the barest twitch at the mention of a fox. It lasted less than an instant, and he smoothed his expression so casually that no one but Bai Rong, watching for the smallest tells, might have noticed.

“I pity your ignorance,” said Jia Sen, voice like a frosted blade. “Even among Perfect Immortals, there are layers. In depth and technique, I tower beyond Da Wei. Two more immortals change nothing. What are two additional lights against an ocean I command?”

He felt his words land and ripple. Pride fed pride; he would not be the one to cower at rumors. He watched the faces before him from the taut jaw of Xun Li, the restless glare of Kang Nuan, Lu Wang’s calculating stare, and Feng Shuren’s cool reserve.

“And yet,” Bai Rong continued, the cold rationality of a politician regaining its place, “Da Wei’s circle includes disciples and newly-broken masters. Nongmin stands with him, and I have heard whisper of Zhu Shin breaking the Tenth Realm. Before we decide how to move forward, I want the rest of you to know that the only move forward for us… is to attack.”

“I don’t think so,” said Lu Wang as he rose slowly from his place.

“What is it, Patriarch Lu?” asked Bai Rong.

“There is little honor in swagger if it bankrupts you,” Lu Wang said, voice dry. “We gamble on war and lose lands. We gamble on politics and lose lives. What profit is there in pressing on to slaughter if the prize is ash?” His eyes slid across the gathered heads, calculating. “I propose we consider surrender.”

Silence snapped like a broken string. Faces turned to Lu Wang with immediate visceral fury and shock that a clan head would utter such defeat, fury that he would speak the very word none dared allow. Even Jia Sen and Bai Rong stared at him, the former with cold curiosity, the latter with a flash of pure, startled disdain.

“You would have us kneel?” Kang Nuan’s voice was low, dangerous. “You merchant-souled cur—”

“Shut your mouth,” Bai Rong hissed, baring the full weight of his contempt. He felt betrayal burn hot and immediate. To him, surrender was not merely dishonor; it was the surrender of the future his ancestors had carved in blood.

Lu Wang did not so much as flinch. His gaze remained clinical, untroubled by the venom aimed his way. “I am a businessman,” he said plainly, as if reciting credentials. “I have no love for ruins. I have no loyalty to the concept of nobility that costs coin and children alike. The only thing I measure is profit and preservation. There is nothing to be gained by pushing further into a maw that swallows all. We surrender to preserve our lines, our wealth, and perhaps, in time, reclaim what we can.”

Feng Shuren, who had been reserved until now, inclined his head. “Lu Wang speaks not from cowardice,” he observed quietly. “He speaks from practicality. Loss without purpose is waste. If the Temple guarantees the safety of houses that bend, then perhaps—”

Bai Rong laughed. It was not mirth that escaped him but mockery.

“I thought the two of you would have more spine than that,” he said, eyes gleaming with the fire of divine qi. “Did the Evernight sands grind the courage out of your bones, or were you born cowards pretending to be men of power?”

Before the others could react, Feng Shuren drew his saber with a hiss. A crystalline spear born of Bai Rong’s power materialized in the air beside Feng Shuren, its tip shining with condensed wind essence. He swung his blade and deflected it with an explosion of force. “Watch your tongue, Bai Rong! You think your Immortal Fruit makes you untouchable?”

Lu Wang was already moving, his purple robes billowing as he blinked forward beside Bai Rong. His staff, carved from sacred cloudwood and crowned with spirit gems, whistled down with deadly precision. “How dare you!? You are courting death!”

The staff shattered the marble throne into a thousand glittering shards. But Bai Rong was no longer there.

A chill swept the dais, and then Bai Rong reappeared behind Lu Wang, hand already buried deep in the old man’s back.

“You—” Lu Wang’s voice cracked into a wet gasp. His limbs went rigid as Bai Rong’s hand pulsed with life essence. Veins darkened, his skin began to shrivel like old parchment. The smell of sap and decay filled the air.

“W-Why…?” he rasped, eyes wide with disbelief. “We… we were brothers-in-arms…! I only… wanted to save what’s left…”

Bai Rong’s expression did not change. “Then die knowing you’ve saved us from your weakness.”

The sound of tearing flesh was drowned out by the horrid groan of roots splitting bone. Gnarled tendrils erupted from Bai Rong’s forearm, wrapping around Lu Wang’s withered body. The patriarch’s staff fell with a hollow clang as the roots consumed him whole. In moments, he was nothing more than a dry husk, his face locked in a final expression of regret.

Silence reigned for a second.

Feng Shuren vanished in a blur of motion, his aura exploding into the shape of a gale as he attempted to flee. “You madman!” he shouted, his voice echoing with wind qi. “You’ve doomed us all!”

But Xun Li was already there, intercepting him with sword drawn. Steel screamed against air as the two clashed mid-stride, the Wind Patriarch’s saber deflecting, redirecting, and retreating under the relentless precision of the Sword Pilgrim’s strikes.

“You think you can flee?” Xun Li growled, blade tracing lines of killing intent. “We’ve no room for deserters!”

Their blades clashed again with sparks and streaks of wind essence tearing through the hall. Then, with the roar of a beast, Kang Nuan burst into the fray. Her bare midriff shimmered with glowing runes as she thrust her fist forward, intercepting Xun Li’s strike. The impact cracked the marble underfoot.

“That’s enough!” she shouted, pushing both men apart with a surge of qi. “We can’t afford this! Not now!”

Feng Shuren glared at Bai Rong, breathing hard. “He killed one of our own! Our armies fight side by side, and he devours us like beasts!”

Kang Nuan’s tone was cold but pragmatic. “We will feel the pain of losing Lu Wang’s army,” she admitted, “but we can’t fight each other now of all times. The enemy is just right there. This is not the moment to bleed ourselves dry.”

“‘Feel the pain,’ you say?” Bai Rong replied, brushing off his hand as the last roots withdrew into his sleeve. His smile was a serpent’s. “There’s no need to concern yourselves with Lu Wang’s army.”

“What are you implying?” Feng Shuren demanded.

“I’ve taken them,” Bai Rong said simply. “His men were bound to him by blood essence and spiritual contract. When I devoured his core, I took everything that was his. His army now answers to me.”

Even as he spoke, shouts rose from outside the hall. The gathered clan heads turned sharply as an unnatural tremor rippled through the camp.

They saw soldiers of the Road Clan collapsing, convulsing as black roots tore through their armor and flesh. Their eyes turned glassy, veins crawling with emerald light. The corpses twitched, then stood again, bodies still and silent, awaiting command.

Chaos threatened to consume everything. Screams rose from those nearby, with panic spreading like wildfire. Then Bai Rong lifted one hand and whispered, “Be still.”

The undead froze mid-motion. Then, in eerie unison, they dropped to one knee, roots folding back into their flesh, awaiting their new master’s word.

Bai Rong turned back to the stunned assembly, his tone calm and absolute. “See? Even in death, loyalty endures. We do not need the weak to survive… only the willing to obey.”

No one spoke.

Not even the wind dared breathe.

“Now, to war!”