The Breaking Point

Ironwood Sect Camp .

The blazing midday sun hung high in the sky, beating down on the Ironwood Sect's encampment. For a full day, they had waited.

And for a full day, the Void Immortal Sect had remained silent.

To the warriors of Ironwood Sect—men who thrived on overwhelming strength and brute force—this waiting was unbearable. Hesitation was weakness. And yet, here they stood, their bloodthirst simmering beneath the surface, awaiting orders that had yet to come.

Inside the largest war tent, two figures loomed over a worn battlefield map.

Qin Shan slammed his fist onto the table. The impact was so forceful that cracks splintered through the wood, causing nearby objects to shake. "This is ridiculous! Are we here to fight or sit around like cowards?"

Across from him, Deng Kai remained composed, arms crossed. His sharp eyes studied the map, unbothered by his companion's impatience. "Their silence is unnatural. If they were truly weak, they would have begged for mercy by now. Instead, they wait. That means we are being watched."

Qin Shan sneered. "And? Let them watch. Once we march, their so-called defenses will crumble in an instant!"

Before Deng Kai could respond, the tent flaps burst open. A disciple rushed in, breathless, bowing deeply as he held up a sealed scroll. "Elders! A direct order from the Sect Master!"

Silence fell.

Deng Kai took the scroll and unrolled it. His eyes swept across the bold, unforgiving words.

"Destroy their sect. No matter what."

A slow exhale.

Qin Shan's grin widened, his knuckles cracking. "Finally."

Deng Kai rolled up the scroll and turned to the messenger. His voice was steady, cold. "Prepare the troops. We march by afternoon."

The camp erupted into movement. Warriors fastened armor, secured weapons, and assembled into battle formations. The storm of war had begun.

Ironwood Sect Main Hall – A Few Hours Earlier

The midday sun poured through the high windows, illuminating the heavy tension hanging in the grand hall.

Sect Master Wei Zhong sat upon his iron-plated throne, his fingers tapping slowly against the armrest. Before him, Elder Huo Qing stood, his arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"If he is speaking the truth… then this could be troublesome." Wei Zhong's deep voice carried across the chamber.

Huo Qing's brows furrowed. "Void Immortal Sect should have collapsed after Cloud Sect fell. And yet, not only do they stand, but they grow stronger. If they've gained a powerful backer..."

His words trailed off, unspoken doubts hanging between them.

Wei Zhong exhaled slowly. "Then we crush them before they rise any higher. We cannot allow them to surpass us."

A brief silence.

Huo Qing studied the Sect Master. "Sect Master, if they do have a powerful backer, should we not investigate before committing to war? A single wrong step—"

Wei Zhong's fingers stilled. "There is no wrong step. The moment we hesitate, we become the prey." His gaze darkened, his next words sharp as a blade. "That is why we act now. There will be no Void Immortal Sect left to investigate."

Huo Qing hesitated. But after a moment, he bowed deeply. "As you command, Sect Master."

Cold Sun Sect hall.

The Cold Sun Sect's great hall was silent except for the measured steps of Elder Wu Zhen as he approached the throne.

"The Ironwood Sect and the Void Immortal Sect are on the brink of war," he said smoothly, his voice weaving through the still air like poisoned silk. "One will fall. The other will be crippled."

On the high seat of the sect, Han Wuying remained still, his fingers tracing the hilt of his Frostfang Blade. His sharp gaze flickered toward his gathered elders.

He did not speak immediately.

Wu Zhen smiled. He had expected this hesitation. "You understand what this means, do you not, Sect Master Han?"

Elder Luo Xiulan, the masked assassin, was the first to break the silence. "We should wait. Let them bleed each other dry first."

But Elder Wu Jinhai, the battle-hardened glaive wielder, narrowed his eyes. "And what if the winner recovers faster than we expect? If we delay too long, we may lose our chance."

Han Wuying's fingers stopped moving. His eyes met Wu Zhen's. "Blackwood Sect has always played games in the shadows, Elder Wu. Why should I trust that your information benefits us?"

Wu Zhen chuckled softly. "Oh, Sect Master Han, I do not ask for trust. I only ask—who benefits more? You? Or them?"

A heavy pause.

Han Wuying exhaled through his nose. "Then we move when the time is right. Prepare the troops, but do not engage until we know the victor."

Wu Zhen's smirk widened. "A wise decision."

City Entrance .

The afternoon sun blazed overhead, its heat casting waves over the dry earth as the Void Immortal Sect's forces stood at the eastern gate.

At the front stood Yan Ruyue, Tie Shan, and Jiang Feng, their gazes locked onto the distant horizon.

Behind them, their seven elite subordinates stood in absolute silence, hands resting on their weapons.

Further back, Lin Shaoyang, Ling Hua, Li Heng, Xu Kang, and Zhao Mei stood shoulder to shoulder, awaiting the inevitable battle.

And beyond them—

A force of 115 battle-hardened bandits, their weathered hands gripping blades, and spears.

They were no longer outlaws. No longer nameless killers.

Today, they stood as warriors of the Void Immortal Sect.

A faint breeze stirred the dust, carrying with it the distant echoes of marching footsteps.

The silence deepened.

Ling Hua exhaled slowly, her heartbeat steadying.

Seven days of brutal training. Seven days of pushing herself beyond her limits.

Now, there was no more waiting.

She glanced at Lin Shaoyang. "Do you think they'll come soon?"

Lin Shaoyang did not turn his head. His gaze remained fixed on the heat-hazed horizon, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword.

"It's only a matter of time."

Then—

A low tremor rumbled through the ground beneath them.

Distant. Faint.

But growing stronger.

The tremors became footsteps.

The footsteps became an army.

A shadowed figure sprinted toward them from the distance, his robes billowing, sweat dripping from his brow as he pushed his exhausted body forward.

A scout.

Jiang Feng stepped forward, his voice sharp. "Report!"

The scout nearly collapsed, catching himself on one knee. His chest heaved, words spilling out between gasps.

"Ironwood Sect troops… spotted approaching from the west… They're coming… in full force!"

For a moment—a heavy, suffocating silence.

Then—

Laughter.

Tie Shan cracked his knuckles, his voice a low, rolling thunder. "Finally."

Yan Ruyue smirked, raising her hand. A flicker of crimson flame danced between her fingertips, twisting and coiling in the air like a serpent.

The sunlight caught the fire, reflecting it in her golden-amber eyes.

"So," she murmured, "it finally begins."

Jiang Feng's hand moved to the hilt of his blade, his sharp gaze sweeping the horizon.The enemy had arrived.

The 115 bandits shifted, their weapons gleaming under the sun. Their bodies tensed—not with fear, but with anticipation.

This was not the first war they had fought.

Further back, Ling Hua closed her eyes for just a moment.

She could feel her heart pounding, her blood surging with battle intent.

This was it.

Her first true battle.

As she opened her eyes, her grip tightened around her sword. The Moonlit Swordflow Art stirred within her, as if it, too, could sense what was to come.

She was ready.

They all were.

The horizon burned with the afternoon sun.

But soon—

It would burn with war.