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.
