Chapter 742: The Cruel Chaotic Mountains
Tianliang Commandery was the most famous prefecture on the continent. A thousand years ago, it was home to the Liang Manor, the Chen Clan, the Zhu Faction, and the long-declined Wang Clan. Both the previous and current imperial dynasties of the continent originated here, and countless legendary figures had emerged from this land—emperors, Chen Xuanba, Zhu Luo, and now Wang Po.
With the founding of the Great Zhou Dynasty, Tianliang Commandery's status became even more special. It was regarded as the ancestral land, enjoying the best treatment in both taxation and civil administration. The Dao Temple in Xunyang City held the highest status among all national Dao Temples, and its territory had expanded year by year, gradually becoming the largest prefecture on the continent.
On the map, Tianliang Commandery now resembled a short sword. Hanqiu City was the hilt, Xunyang City the crossguard, and above them stretched a vast expanse of land like the blade.
This sword thrust straight northward, toward the boundless snowy plains—the territory of the demon race.
Of course, the northernmost thousand li of Tianliang Commandery, aside from a dozen military stockades and the locations of two military headquarters, was sparsely populated and extremely desolate. Humanity had never established effective control here, nor could they make this place prosperous, because it was too close to the demons.
No matter how the world's situation shifted, in northern Tianliang, the war between humans and demons had never truly ceased for a single day.
Since the demon army's southern invasion in early spring of last year, the situation here had grown even more tense and bloody. The once-barren wilderness was now covered in dust and smoke. Countless cavalry charged and clashed against each other. Flying chariots, rarely seen even in the capital, and the vicious, monstrous beasts driven by demons faced off in the freezing high altitudes, like the cold, merciless eyes of gods.
Amid the earth-shaking cries of battle, the cavalry of both sides collided like torrents, splattering countless blossoms of blood and erupting waves of air. In a very short time, countless human cavalry fell and died, while many of the demons' most fearsome wolf riders were trapped by human formations and torn into disgustingly mangled chunks.
As their positions dictated, the blood of humans and demons was distinctly different in color. Against the backdrop of the white snowfield, the contrast was stark. But as more and more lives were lost, the red and green blood inevitably merged together, and the corpses piled up—whether magnificent or ugly and disgusting, they could no longer be separated.
Even death could not separate them, so the living naturally pressed together as well. The armies of both sides could no longer be clearly distinguished, merging into a black tide that completely covered the vast snowfield. On such a densely packed, intensely brutal battlefield, the formations of both humans and demons were forcibly torn apart by the blood energy. From time to time, one could hear the agonized cries of formation masters suffering backlash as they died. Occasionally, cultivators or powerful demons would shoot up into the sky, carving out a patch of empty ground on the tide-like battlefield in an attempt to escape, only to be swallowed up by the black tide the next moment, never to be seen again.
What could be seen were the flashes of light that occasionally burst from within the black tide—the scattering of starlight. Each flash of light meant the death of a Star Gathering realm cultivator, their starlight dispersing.
Even if Xue Xingchuan were resurrected, Xiao Zhang arrived in person, or those mountain-like demon generals deep in the snowfields made their move, it would have little significance for such a battlefield.
This was war—brutal but very fair. The final outcome depended on every single person participating in the battle.
Of course, it was only when every single person was united that they had meaning for this war. Once separated, their significance diminished until it became meaningless.
For example, a small squad from Songshan Military Headquarters, currently walking through the chaotic mountains on the eastern side of the snowfield, was on the verge of total annihilation. Yet their deaths would have no impact on this war at all.
The problem was that everyone in the squad wanted to live. Their lives and deaths mattered greatly to themselves, so they had to keep fighting, even if they were clearly no match for their enemy.
This Songshan squad had not left the battlefield out of fear or as deserters. They had received a military order to escort a severely wounded formation master in an early retreat.
The formation master was the most important role on the battlefield. Setting up a formation required imprinting one's own sea of consciousness and starlight onto the formation in an inseparable bond, demanding high cultivation from the practitioner. Thus, even the most ordinary formation master had to be at the Penetrating Darkness realm. And when a formation was broken, the formation master would suffer a devastating backlash, making them the most likely to die on the battlefield.
The most important and the most likely to die—naturally, formation masters were the most respected by all soldiers and the ones they tried hardest to protect.
To get that severely wounded formation master treated as quickly as possible, the Songshan squad had paid an extremely heavy price. By the time they reached these chaotic mountains, only fourteen of the thirty soldiers remained.
Pursuing them were five wolf riders.
Rocks flew, the ground shook, and the dust and smoke swirled. The figures of the wolf riders once again appeared before their eyes.
Wolf riders were the most terrifying unit of the demon race. Their mounts were a type of bloodthirsty mutant wolf from the snowfields, with fur like steel needles, enormous bodies, incredible speed, and a savage nature.
Amid the flying rocks, the five wolf riders burst out of the dust and smoke, surrounding the fourteen human soldiers.
The bloodthirsty giant wolves stood about ten feet tall. The demon soldiers riding them had horns on their heads, scales covering their bodies, eyes glowing with a faint green light, and foul, stinking drool dripping from their V-shaped mouths.
Compared to the demon nobles in Snow Old City, these demon soldiers were exceptionally ugly and even more terrifying.
This was the true appearance of low-class demons, and also the image of demons in human eyes.
Even the lowest-ranking demon soldier could withstand a human who had undergone marrow washing, let alone these elite wolf riders.
Surrounded by five wolf riders with no escape, despair filled the faces of the human soldiers. But no one surrendered; instead, they gripped their weapons even tighter.
In the war between humans and demons, there were few prisoners and few who surrendered. The reason was simple: the demons had no habit of accepting surrender.
In a sense, the demons' innate brutality was beneficial to humanity. They only had to worry about deserters, not about traitors appearing.
It was precisely for this reason that many people had found it hard to believe that Liang Xiaoxiao of Lishan Sword Sect would collude with the demons.
The battle began, and the outcome was quickly decided.
Although the Songshan squad perfectly demonstrated the results of their rigorous training, with excellent coordination between offense and defense, they still couldn't withstand the enemy.
The violent airwaves were filled with the stench of blood. Countless claw marks left by the giant wolves scarred the hard rocks.
The first exchange lasted only a few breaths, and three more human soldiers were killed.
The only price the demon soldiers paid was that one of their soldiers had his horn cut off.
The cold wind swept up dry snow, covering the claw marks again.
The demon soldier whose horn had been cut off was furious. He roared a series of sounds and used his iron spear to lift the corpse of a human soldier in front of him.
With a tearing sound, the human soldier's corpse was ripped in two.
Blood fell like rain.
The demon soldier grabbed the upper half of the corpse, brought it to his mouth, and slowly began to chew.
The lower half of the soldier's corpse didn't even hit the ground; it was caught in the mouth of the bloodthirsty mutant wolf beneath the demon soldier.
Crunch, crunch, crunch. In the dead-silent valley, only the sound of bones being crushed could be heard.
Blood dripped from the demon soldier's mouth and also from the bloodthirsty wolf's mouth, falling to the ground.