The Leng Clan's rise did not go unnoticed.
Years had passed since Tian first began training weak children, and in that time the clan doubled in spirit-users. Yet strength invites enemies, and scarcity of food during harsh winters only increased threats.
News arrived: a small band of raiders—splintered remnants of the Ironfang Tribe, seeking vengeance—moved under cover of snowstorms.
Patrol scouts returned with bloodied mouths. "They number twenty-five… all armed. And two of them… cultivators past Rank 20."
Fear rippled. Women clutched children. But instead of despair, the clan looked one direction—at Leng Tian.
Pale-faced, coughing, frost clinging to lashes, he still rose from mat. His health had steadily worsened, every battle gnawed at his body… but his gaze remained calm steel.
"Prepare the Frost Walls," he ordered. "Tonight, Coldwater does not flee. It is Leng Clan who stands."
Raid Night
Snow fell heavy as raiders came howling into the village. Torches blazed, lighting homes in sickly amber.
But streets were lined with layered frost barriers—disciples had spread ice through alleys in advance, turning familiar ground into traps. Raiders slipped, stumbled, screams filling storm.
Hunters struck from rooftops, archers firing downward. Then Tian moved, weak body shuddering, but spirit glowing. His two rings flared—Frost Veil expanding field-wide, Frost Bind snaring legs of leading raider.
He staggered bleeding mid-use, but behind him thirty disciples added power, weaving overlapping frosts.
Ironfang remnants cursed—what they saw was no longer Coldwater Village. It was an organized clan, united.
Though men of Leng Clan fell, the raiders broke by dawn, retreating bloody and humiliated again.
Later, survivors wept relief, and bowed openly to Tian. Never again did they doubt—the clan had become their shield.
🔥 End of Chapter 39