Ji Han did not wait. He thrust his hand forward, pointing toward a narrow canyon pathway where the cliffs compressed the stampede path. "Hold the pass at the twelfth gate. Shift all mortal archers to the flanks. Raise the barrier now."
Elder Lie bellowed the command to the lower wall. The Flowing Cloud Valley disciples, their faces pale and their robes scorched, rushed to their new positions. They adjusted their shield alignment to the shifting tide, desperate to restructure the standard formation at the canyon mouth. Ji Han's orders were absolute, and the vassal sect elders pushed their disciples to their assigned array banners, ignoring the cuts and burns that covered their hands.
"Move!" Zhao Kang barked, driving his volcanic lance into the dry ground. He grabbed a heavy, runic iron anchor, his muscles straining as he dragged it through the mud. "Junior Sister Zhang, secure the formation at the eleventh array node. Do not let them slip."
