Chapter 1973: Entering the Game

At the border of Xuanguo, a million-strong army stood in confrontation. Military formations were arrayed on both sides, setting up camps that stretched for dozens of miles. Soldiers swarmed like ants, and tents dotted the landscape like a forest. After countless battles, the land in front of both armies' formations was stained with blood. The blood seeped into the ground; digging just three feet deep would reveal dark red soil. The number of fallen soldiers was countless, a truly horrifying sight.

As the morning sun began to rise, the battlefield was already filled with the thunderous cries of battle. Within the Yan Kingdom's main camp, there was a hill from which the entire battle could be overlooked. The commander's tent was pitched there. In front of the commander's tent, Yulang and several other generals stood by a railing, facing east, the crimson morning glow washing over them. Everyone wore a solemn expression, gazing at the heart of the battlefield.

Years of military life had etched a change in Yulang; his brow now held less scholarly elegance and more an air of steely resolve. He watched the fighting soldiers with a troubled heart, his gaze unintentionally drifting south.

Not far to the south was a strange peak, taller than the hill they stood on, and even better suited for observing the battle. It was considered one of the highest vantage points on the battlefield. However, mortals were not permitted to ascend that mountain. Everyone knew this was a sacred mountain, home to newly constructed palaces where the Immortal Masters resided. Even on stone platforms and sheer cliffs, one could occasionally glimpse the figures of Immortal Masters meditating. Mists swirled around them, their forms appearing and disappearing, exuding an ethereal, immortal aura. Whenever the soldiers caught sight of this mountain, their faces would show reverence.

The enemy camp also had a similar location. Yulang's concern was not that their side's cultivators were inferior to the enemy's; quite the opposite, after dozens of battles, they had won more than they had lost. What truly troubled him were the ever-increasing casualties and the seemingly endless slaughter. The central battlefield resembled a demonic abyss, devouring countless lives, an insatiable maw that no amount of blood could fill.

Over the years, Yulang had witnessed so much death that he had become numb, yet at this moment, he still felt extreme reluctance. In his view, many of the casualties were meaningless. The involvement of cultivators, far from ending the war swiftly, had actually intensified the casualties. If there were no cultivators involved in the formations, he was confident he could make a decisive push, achieve victory in one fell swoop, and crush the enemy army, instead of this endless entanglement.

In fact, he had not expected to remain the commander for so long. He had assumed that once cultivators intervened, the conflict would inevitably escalate into a struggle between them. On the battlefield, cultivators were bound to suffer casualties; casualties bred hatred, escalating from individual grievances to disputes between sects, and ultimately to a clash between righteousness and evil. Both sides would summon allies, and grudges and animosities would become a tangled mess, drawing in more and more individuals and factions. Most conflicts evolved in this manner. Once Nascent Soul cultivators entered the fray, who would still care about mortals? Once the powerful cultivators from both sides determined a victor, the mortal world would naturally align itself, falling under the control of the triumphant party.

However, reality defied his expectations. Both the righteous and evil factions exercised extreme restraint. Apart from the Nascent Soul Grandmasters stationed at the center of their armies, who served to intimidate the enemy, no cultivators of the Core Formation stage or above appeared on the battlefield. Even if a cultivator fell in battle, those dispatched from their sects for revenge would not exceed the Foundation Establishment stage. As long as it could continue this way, it would be fine. As Foundation Establishment cultivators, these individuals, bound by their sects' commands, would not openly defy his orders as the commander.

Yulang had exhausted his efforts, gradually compressing the enemy's forces, finally bringing about the decisive battle. Yet, as the great battle approached, powerful cultivators began to emerge like mushrooms after rain. Yulang now had no idea how many Core Formation and Nascent Soul cultivators were on the mountain. These powerful cultivators weren't merely there to observe the battle; they had also brought some "treasures." At this very moment, a faint crimson mist permeated the battlefield, accompanied by intermittent gong sounds.

Both sides deployed three thousand soldiers. The crimson mist emanated from the Blood Essence Banners held by the Yan Kingdom soldiers. The gong sounds came from the bronze gongs held by the enemy. The enemy had formed a semi-circular formation. At the rear stood a Foundation Establishment cultivator, holding a large, gleaming golden gong, flanked by five hundred soldiers, each holding a palm-sized bronze gong. The gongs roared incessantly. These soldiers, surrounding the cultivator, focused solely on beating their gongs, despite their side being clearly outnumbered in actual combatants.

However, the gong sounds possessed a strange power. Rings of light burst forth, landing on their comrades at the front of the formation. Instantly, their teammates' morale surged. Their bodies emitted a bronze glow, as if cast from iron, and they faced the dragon-shaped blood energy condensed by the Blood Essence Banners without the slightest hesitation. In contrast, the Yan Kingdom's formation, affected by the gong sounds, began to show signs of disarray.

Previous battles had followed a similar pattern. The losing side's three thousand elite soldiers were either slaughtered or captured, while the cultivators often managed to escape. Both sides had sent various treasures and spells, yet the victor was to be decided by the flesh and blood of mortals, at the cost of innumerable lives. Yulang was unaware of any agreement between the righteous and evil factions, but he knew that if this continued, more and more people would die needlessly.

"It's happening again!"The grand chessboard had been divided into smaller ones, and even the smallest chessboard had its players and pieces. No matter the game, mortals were merely pawns, manipulated at will. This was precisely what Yulang detested! He had once believed he could bring about change, but now he only felt powerless. His position as commander was not just for show; troop deployment and formation strategies were all his decisions. Yet, after every battle, regardless of victory or defeat, Yulang felt only sorrow in his heart.

"Can Master change the situation?" Yulang gazed at the vast, clear sky, pondering quietly. In his heart, his Master was omnipotent. He hadn't encountered danger himself, but for the sake of his beliefs, he had unhesitatingly used a bamboo slip.

"Roar!" A furious roar suddenly echoed across the battlefield. The roar came from the Yan Kingdom soldiers, like the dragon's roar emitted by the dragon-shaped blood energy, comparable to thunder, shaking the very soul. Struck by the roar, the gong sounds faltered for a moment. The Yan Kingdom seized this fleeting opportunity, charging forward abruptly and shattering the enemy's formation in one swift blow.

"Clang! Clang! Clang!" The cultivator frantically struck his gong, but seeing his own side falling into increasing disarray and unable to regroup, he immediately abandoned his soldiers and fled as a streak of light. He dared not linger, for if he were caught by the dragon-shaped blood energy, his fate would be grim. The Yan Kingdom's side returned victorious, their faces beaming with joy.

A flicker of sorrow passed through Yulang's eyes, and he sighed inwardly. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a figure. "Master!" He had suddenly seen his Master, whom he had not seen in a long time. In that instant, Yulang was overcome with mixed emotions of sorrow and joy. He suddenly wondered if it would have been better if he had chosen, like his senior sister, to return to the peaceful Qingyang Temple.

"You have done very well," Qin Sang said, scanning the battlefield, not sparing his praise. These words were no empty flattery; Yulang's ability to become the commander of a million-strong army truly exceeded Qin Sang's expectations. Qin Sang knew that his disciple had done his utmost. What was most commendable was that despite his trials, Yulang had not changed his original aspirations. Although Yulang's original aspirations differed from his own, Qin Sang felt profound comfort that his disciple had managed to uphold them.

"Master..." Yulang's eyes blurred as countless emotions surged within him. They stemmed from his Master's affirmation, but even more so from his experiences over the years.

Just then, the defeated enemy sent forth another contingent, entering the battlefield and issuing a challenge. From a distance, all the soldiers could be seen wearing wooden armor, made from an unknown type of wood, with branches and green leaves even sprouting from some parts. Once these soldiers formed their ranks, they became as stable as rooted rocks, unshakeable by any force.

"General Qin, please instruct us, who shall we send to meet the challenge!""Yuan Qing of Imperial Dragon Mountain requests to fight!"Long, resounding cries rolled out from the Yan Kingdom's main camp. Yulang looked at his Master. Qin Sang flicked his sleeve, sending a wisp of breeze towards the enemy formation. Immediately, cracking sounds echoed through the air. The three thousand soldiers were horrified to find cracks appearing in their armor, which then broke into fragments and fell away. The feeling of being rooted to the earth and unshakeable vanished. Then, they felt their feet lighten, and they flew backward, tumbling like gourds, screaming in alarm.

"How dare you!""Who are you!"As soon as Qin Sang made his move, it immediately drew countless furious shouts, some even emanating from the mountain to the south. The next moment, streaks of figures flew out from the mountain. In an instant, the sky above the battlefield was densely packed with hundreds of figures, predominantly Core Formation cultivators, but also quite a few Nascent Soul Grandmasters with profound auras. All eyes converged on this spot. Yulang's heart trembled, but by his Master's side, he felt as if he had found his anchor, completely devoid of fear.

"Who are you!" Across from them, a middle-aged man stepped forward from the crowd. He had an ordinary appearance, a pale complexion, and a gaunt figure, looking like someone recovering from a severe illness. But everyone else, upon seeing him, showed respect and voluntarily moved aside.

"Daoist Master Qingfeng?" A voice of surprise also rang out from the south, as someone recognized Qin Sang. Qin Sang glanced sideways, seeing it was Yinhe Qian, and nodded in acknowledgment. Then, he turned to face the middle-aged man, flying into the air with a slight smile. "Both sides have powerful cultivators present," he said, "yet you drag your feet. When will a victor ever be decided? This humble Daoist has no patience and can't wait any longer. Which fellow Daoist would like to step forward for a fight?"

The middle-aged man frowned, looking at Old Ancestor Kuang, his gaze seemingly questioning what was happening. Old Ancestor Kuang summoned Yinhe Qian to his side, briefly questioned him, and then mused, "Is this General Qin's Master, Daoist Master Qingfeng? Indeed, his demeanor is extraordinary..." His figure flickered, and he flew to Qin Sang's side, bowing with clasped hands. "I am Kuang Wujiang, I greet Daoist Master."

"Daoist Fellow Kuang is courteous." Seeing no arrogance from Qin Sang, Old Ancestor Kuang's expression softened slightly. He pointed towards the Southern Mountain and said, "We were unaware of the Daoist Master's arrival and failed to greet you properly. We have brought some spiritual tea and immortal wine from our sect. Would the Daoist Master grace us with your presence?"

"No rush!" Qin Sang waved a hand. "It won't be too late to drink tea after I've captured these evil cultivators."

"This..." Old Ancestor Kuang frowned.

Qin Sang asked, surprised, "What's the difficulty, Daoist Fellow Kuang? Or are you implying that among these evil cultivators, there's someone whose demonic arts are unmatched, and you're afraid to fight?" Hearing this, Old Ancestor Kuang secretly seethed with anger, but suppressed it. "Please, Daoist Master, move to Southern Mountain," he said, "and this old man will explain it to you himself."

"Why bother with such trouble? Even if there's an unprecedented demon lord, this humble Daoist wishes to meet them and learn from their demonic arts! Since none of you are willing to come out, this humble Daoist will go over there myself!" The last sentence was shouted towards the opposing side. Before his words fully faded, a streak of sword light shot out from Qin Sang's sleeve. It wasn't the Grey Oriole Sword, but a spiritual sword he had casually drawn.

"Whoosh!" The sword hummed brightly. Before anyone could react, it pierced straight towards the middle-aged man.

"How dare you!" The middle-aged man was startled and flew into a rage. He slapped his waist, and a greyish-white slender rope flew out. The slender rope was translucent, like a long tendon, but it was not ox tendon or dragon tendon. Instead, it was woven from individual human tendons and was named Soul Tendon.

"Swish!" The Soul Tendon sprang forth, creating gusts of wind with its movement, accompanied by the wailing of ghosts, as if thousands of vengeful spirits followed it, captivating the soul. The Soul Tendon was about to coil around the spiritual sword. Without any apparent movement from Qin Sang, the sword light trembled, suddenly splitting into ten streaks, and then continued to divide, multiplying into countless sword lights in the blink of an eye. The middle-aged man felt a momentary daze, then found himself surrounded by sword lights, which seemed to be everywhere.

"Not good!" The middle-aged man was greatly alarmed and hastily tried to recall the Soul Tendon, but it was too late. All the sword lights vanished from his sight. He knew clearly that the sword lights hadn't disappeared; he simply couldn't see them. There was only one possibility: he had fallen into a sword formation! This formation was precisely the Xuanji Sword Formation, which Qin Sang had learned in the Boundless Immortal Sect, primarily focused on the path of illusionary swords. He was trapped within the sword formation in a single encounter.

Everyone else who witnessed this scene fell into a daze. One should know that the middle-aged man was a top master of the Mid Nascent Soul stage, reputed as the foremost below the Late Nascent Soul stage, yet he was not an opponent for even a single exchange. Just who was this Daoist Master Qingfeng?

"Big Brother!" A young man cried out in alarm, hastily conjuring a demonic saber and cleaving it through the air towards Qin Sang's head. The saber's light was incomparably sharp. Qin Sang, however, remained motionless, glancing sideways at Old Ancestor Kuang. "Are you not going to make a move, Daoist Fellow?"

"I..." For a moment, Old Ancestor Kuang didn't know what to do. The righteous and evil paths had no direct connection to Cloud Capital Sky or Fallen Soul Abyss; they were merely compelled to comply due to the powerful influence of these two major forces. No one wished to fight to the death for the struggles of the two major forces, so they had made a gentleman's agreement, deciding to use mortals as pawns to determine a victor. This also allowed them to avoid excessive casualties. Of course, this was on the condition that the two major forces were satisfied; otherwise, they would have to personally enter the fray. This was also a test of the two major forces' attitudes. Unexpectedly, a disruptor had appeared. Daoist Master Qingfeng was clearly on their side, and Old Ancestor Kuang could not stand idly by and watch him be attacked. He could only conjure his spiritual sword to block the demonic saber.

Qin Sang displayed a playful smile, his sword seals changing rapidly. In the eyes of the onlookers, the inside of the sword formation was a chaotic blur; no one knew what was happening within. Soon after, the sword light retracted, flying back. Within the sword light, astonishingly, a person was enveloped. The middle-aged man's eyes were wide with terror; he had lost all power to resist and had become a prisoner! In an instant, a clamor erupted. The righteous side was also stunned. Only when they heard Qin Sang loudly shout, "What are you waiting for?", did they hesitantly charge forward. The melee erupted in a way no one had anticipated.

Soon, streaks of escape light shot in from all directions. Their auras were stronger than the middle-aged man's; these were all Late Nascent Soul masters and old ancestors from various sects, and upon seeing the situation spiraling out of control, they were filled with a mix of shock and rage. Immediately afterward, a shocking scene unfolded: none of the demonic path experts were a match for Daoist Master Qingfeng; they all fell one after another.

Qin Sang stood suspended in mid-air, gazing across a hundred miles to a distant mountain. On that mountain, Immortal Master Yun and the cloaked figure watched the scene, their expressions somewhat stiff. Since they were so eager to draw him into this game, he would show them what he could do! Not only this time, Qin Sang intended to disrupt the chessboard until he drew out the two Void Refinement Grandmasters!