*Rumble—*
*Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!*
Across the vast expanse of the grassland, a chaotic tapestry of warfare unfolded: routs, counterattacks, pursuits, encirclements, clashes between massive legions, and skirmishes between scattered bands.
Cavalry tangled in close quarters; stray arrows darkened the sky.
On its retreat toward the Royal Court, the main Black Qiang host had absorbed nearly a thousand routed men from Nagulu's detachment, but there had been no word from the messengers sent to summon Batur back to the ranks.
Before long, however, remnants of Batur's force galloped in on exhausted horses, bringing grim news to Yuan Dingle: the bulk of Batur's detachment had already been encircled by the Iron Eagle Cavalry and the Chengyuan Army.
Yuan Dingle cursed furiously, yet made no move to turn back and reinforce them.
After a night's rest, during which even more scattered horsemen deserted, Yuan Dingle pressed onward. It was then that his army slammed directly into the main force of the Zhenxi Army under Feng Jing advancing from the west, joined by eight thousand troops of the Wuben Army.
Aware that the White Qiang were close on his heels, Yuan Dingle dared not hesitate. He raised his whip and pointed forward.
"Our parents, our wives and children, our brothers and sisters are right ahead!"
"Kill!"
The remaining Black Qiang iron cavalry surged toward the Zhenxi Army like a tidal wave.
Having linked up with Peng Hu's Wuben Army, the Zhenxi force now numbered nearly thirty thousand men. Bolstered by the tens of thousands of warhorses seized after the fall of the Black Qiang Royal Court, Feng Jing's strength had grown rather than diminished.
"Deploy the Wild Goose Formation! Crush the enemy!" Feng Jing bellowed.
"Crush the enemy!" the soldiers roared in unison.
Black Qiang cavalry and the Zhenxi Army collided in violent slaughter.
Yuan Dingle turned to look back at Shi Mo. "Master Shi!"
Shi Mo nodded, glanced at Qubi Amu beside him, and then turned to Zhaixingzi and Zhuixingzi. "Brother Zhaixing, Brother Zhuixing, lend me a hand! Once this battle is won, your standing in the Black Qiang will equal mine!"
Zhaixingzi and Zhuixingzi exchanged a glance and nodded.
Shi Mo had wanted to bring Yuwen Haojie along as well, but Yuwen Haojie had vanished somewhere along the westward march after breaking camp. In a disordered army of over ten thousand men, Shi Mo had searched for a moment to no avail and knew the man had slipped away, abandoning the Black Qiang.
Shi Mo knew full well that even if the Black Qiang survived this disaster, their strength would be severely crippled, perhaps even forcing them to seek shelter under the Xiongnu as dependents. This was no time for grievances.
And so, blending into the surging sea of troops, the four dashed toward the Zhenxi Army, colliding with the enemy battle line in moments.
"Kill!"
The four suddenly burst forth like sharp arrows piercing through the Zhenxi Army's ranks, lunging straight for the central command where Feng Jing stood.
Zhenxi soldiers shouted alarms, yet for some reason, when they saw the four breaking through, the archers only loosed arrows from afar and the shield-bearers did not step forward to block them. Consequently, the four met only token resistance before reaching the vicinity of the central banner.
Even more unexpectedly, Feng Jing's personal guards did not fight to the death; instead, they parted to make way.
The next instant, Shi Mo's pupils contracted sharply. He caught sight of several figures clad in white fur coats—people who should never have been here.
"The Tianshan Sect!" Shi Mo blurted out in shock.
Gu Nanfeng roared with laughter. "Shi Mo, let this old man test your mettle!"
In the next breath, Gu Nanfeng drew his sword. The Seventy-Two Forms of Wind and Snow conjured a blinding flurry that pierced straight toward Shi Mo.
"Gu Nanfeng!" Shi Mo shouted harshly. "Are you not afraid I will lead an army to wipe out your Tianshan Sect?"
Gu Nanfeng's voice arrived with his blade: "I'm not afraid! My master isn't dead yet!"
Hearing him invoke Ye Tianlin's name, Shi Mo spat out a vicious curse. With a flick of his wrists, a pair of White Bone Claws appeared in his hands. A sinister, eerie aura suddenly radiated outwards, accompanied by waves of chanting Sanskrit that buzzed in Gu Nanfeng's ears.
"If Ye Tianlin or Ling Feiyun had come, I might show some deference. But what kind of worthless thing are you?!"
With a ferocious roar, Shi Mo's White Bone Claws tore through the air in a blur of afterimages, unleashing shrill howls. His moves were insidious and uncanny. In just three exchanges, he ripped apart the swirling flurry of wind and snow, thrusting a claw straight toward Gu Nanfeng's face.
"Good! A Xiantian Grandmaster indeed!" Gu Nanfeng slashed his sword at an angle and twisted his body sideways to evade, riposting with a thrust toward Shi Mo's ribs.
Though Gu Nanfeng had not stepped into the realm of a Xiantian Grandmaster, he was nearly seventy years old and had been tutored by Ye Tianlin. To call him peak Xiantian was no exaggeration; he was not someone Shi Mo could easily brush aside.
Qubi Amu moved to assist, but no sooner had he leaped than he was forced down—Xin Yilong barred his way.
"I hear your talent is exceptional, your martial arts even greater than Yao Changgeng's?" Xin Yilong asked with a smile. "Let me see just how many Liu Wuchens lie between you and Fang Shaobai!"
"Courting death!" Qubi Amu shouted, thrusting his pair of judge's pens straight toward the major acupoints on Xin Yilong's chest.
"Well met!" Xin Yilong thrust his sword forward. It was also the Seventy-Two Forms of Wind and Snow, yet like a divine dragon of ice and gale, it swept Qubi Amu into a vortex of swirling blades.
Zhaixingzi and Zhuixingzi exchanged a glance. Before they could decide whether to press on toward Feng Jing or retreat, Yang Weiming and Feng Rigan stepped in front of them.
"Old Man Xingxiu is a man of high virtue and prestige, his name revered across the martial world. Yet you two aid a tyrant in doing evil—truly a disgrace to his esteemed name," Feng Rigan said coldly.
Enraged, Zhuixingzi thrust his iron staff toward Feng Rigan's chest, a pulling force evocative of celestial stars surging forth. "We harbor a blood feud with the Prince of Zhenxi's Manor! Why shouldn't we seek vengeance?"
Zhaixingzi sprang into the air, striking his left palm toward Yang Weiming's Yunmen acupoint on his shoulder. "The Xingxiu lineage bears no grudge against the Tianshan Sect. Step aside, and we will let this matter rest."
Yang Weiming shook his head. His sword slid from its scabbard, unleashing the Cold Light of the Ice Spirit. Appearing slow yet blindingly fast, like a shooting star trailing an icy wake, it pointed straight at Zhaixingzi's throat. "Regrettably, I cannot comply."
A chill capable of freezing the soul radiated from the tip of Yang Weiming's blade. Knowing this was the Tianshan Sect's superior Ice Spirit Divine Sword technique, Zhaixingzi dared not be careless. He instantly shifted from palm to finger, pushing his inner strength to its peak, and tapped the flat of Yang Weiming's blade.
*Clang!*
A sharp metallic ring echoed as Zhaixingzi flipped backward through the air. The sword in Yang Weiming's hand trembled twice; he drew a breath and lunged forward once more.
Zhaixingzi's inner strength ran deeper than Yang Weiming's, yet his martial intent could not shatter Yang Weiming's Cold Light of the Ice Spirit.
"To think that after ten years, your martial arts have regressed rather than advanced," Yang Weiming said calmly. "A pity indeed."
"Ten years ago, I could have bested you within thirty moves!" Zhaixingzi snapped. Shifting his footwork to trace the stars, he flickered to Yang Weiming's right in the blink of an eye and jabbed a finger toward his Jianzhen acupoint.
Yet while Zhaixingzi's Star-Chasing Steps were formidable, Yang Weiming's Tianshan lightness skills were equally adept. Twisting his body, he swung his sword on a gust of wind to shear off the man's wrist.
Seeing Gu Nanfeng and the others tying down Shi Mo's group of four, the Three Steeds of Tianshan vaulted off their horses. Moving like the wind, they swept past the dueling masters to intercept a squad of Black Qiang soldiers who had breached the Zhenxi line behind Shi Mo.
The Seven Swords of Tianshan had all joined the fray!
Aside from Gu Nanfeng being pressed at a disadvantage against Shi Mo, none of the other clashes caused any concern. Yang Weiming and Feng Rigan held the upper hand against the Twin Stars of the Xingxiu Sea, whose martial arts had degraded alongside their physical impairments.
Seeing that the Black Qiang had no other experts left, Zhao Rong did not stand idly by. The long saber at his waist cleared its scabbard. In a flash of movement, he closed in on Shi Mo, his blade sweeping in grand, sweeping arcs like a fiery cloud enveloping his foe.
Zhao Rong was Zhao Zheng's sworn brother, having held up the Prince of Zhenxi's Manor for ten years following Zhao Zheng's injury. Though he rarely drew his weapon, he had never suffered defeat once he did, and had held his own even against Zongjian that day.
As the saying went, a true master reveals his caliber the moment he strikes. With that single stroke of the Fire Cloud Saber, all present could tell that while this man was slightly below Shi Mo and Gu Nanfeng, his martial arts were half a cut above Yang Weiming's.
"Superb bladecraft!" Gu Nanfeng praised.
One wielding ice and the other fire, the two showed exquisite coordination despite fighting together for the first time, managing to hold Shi Mo to a standstill.
Furious, Shi Mo unleashed his White Bone True Qi, which swirled about him as his White Bone Claws shifted relentlessly.
Each of these White Bone Claws was two feet long, sculpted at the tip in the shape of skeletal talons. The middle finger could thrust upward; the index finger and thumb formed a loop on one side to grab and lock; the ring finger hooked and pecked from the other side; and the pinky pointed forward to pierce and chisel. It was a weapon of immense versatility.
Shi Mo moved like a specter, and the White Bone Claws struck like phantom talons. While his White Bone True Qi was neither as blazing as Zhao Rong's nor as freezing as Gu Nanfeng's, it carried a marrow-deep chill of annihilation that clung like rot to bone, eroding flesh and soul.
Gu Nanfeng and Zhao Rong were among the realm's foremost experts, yet against the ghostly Shi Mo, they found no easy opening.
With a flick of his left claw, Shi Mo knocked Zhao Rong's saber aside. Twisting sharply, his right claw stabbed from an impossible angle toward Gu Nanfeng's Jiquan acupoint under his arm.
That spot was exceedingly difficult to defend. With his sword out wide, Gu Nanfeng could only leap backward.
Shi Mo dropped low, closing the distance like a demon made of bones, and thrust both claws toward Gu Nanfeng's throat.
This strike had been long in the making. Having seized the perfect opening, Shi Mo intended to inflict nothing less than a crippling wound.
Yet in the next heartbeat, Gu Nanfeng's body snapped abruptly in midair. As if treading on the wind itself, he drifted leftward without any foothold or leverage, slipping cleanly past Shi Mo's assured strike.
Shi Mo's pupils contracted sharply.
He was familiar with the Tianshan Sect; exceptional as their lightness skills were, they possessed no technique that allowed a warrior to pivot midair without purchase.
Gu Nanfeng beamed with satisfaction.
Under normal circumstances, he spent three hundred and fifty days a year away from Mount Tianshan. After the sword competition, however, he had stayed on the mountain for several months, studying the manual Wang Yu had provided—*Swallow Carrying Spring*—alongside Ling Feiyun to merge it into the Tianshan lightness skills.
Having successfully integrated it, he had naturally mastered the technique. He had hardly expected to put it to use in his very first battle after descending the mountain.
An instant later, Zhao Rong's blade swept in from behind.
Shi Mo could not break through the combined front of Gu Nanfeng and Zhao Rong, and his three companions fared no better against their opponents.
With Shi Mo unable to reach Feng Jing, how could the Black Qiang cavalry—their morale already in shambles—withstand thirty thousand Zhenxi soldiers fresh from victory? The Black Qiang formations began to crumble, and men started fleeing in disarray.
Just then, the thunderous rumble of hooves rolled in from the east. The White Qiang cavalry had arrived.
"Kill!"
Asuli cracked his whip. Atuke, Huona, Tasa, and the other generals and warriors led the White Qiang cavalry in a ferocious charge into the Black Qiang rear.
"Well, well, isn't this the Xiantian Grandmaster, Senior Shi Mo?"
—
A mocking laugh rang out, a voice that made Shi Mo and Zhaixingzi grind their teeth in pure hatred. But before they could even spot Wang Yu, a snowy white silhouette darted into the fray.
"Shi Mo! I've come to settle the score for that palm strike last year!"
Chapter 124