Chapter 503

Whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh…………

Three hundred meters east of Zhongyang Camp, a golden square banner flapped violently in the cold wind; it measured fifteen feet long and over half that in width, woven entirely from golden Xia brocade.

Though it was deep night, the glow from below illuminated the banner, revealing intricate details of the Kui pattern clearly on its golden surface; the massive black character “Mu” at its center radiated gilded light, dazzling and unmistakable—even from hundreds of meters away, it stood out plainly.

The banner stood atop a wooden watchtower over thirty meters high; beneath the banner lay a small platform where five soldiers in yellow armor stood, eyes wide, each fixed on one of the four cardinal directions and the sky above.

The lower half of the watchtower was in fact a wooden shed fifteen meters long, its roof fitted with smoke vents, from which thick plumes of smoke rolled out continuously.

Within the smoke, flickering flames revealed that someone was moving inside the shed.

Around the shed, ten square black military tents, each fifty meters long, formed a circular perimeter; their surfaces were pitch-black, rendering their interiors invisible to the naked eye, but the intense firelight spilling from the western entrance and the voices of soldiers laughing and chatting inside confirmed a substantial troop presence.

Creak……

The central shed’s door suddenly swung open from within, and out stepped an elderly man with a long black beard, clad in black armor; behind him followed more than a dozen others, each wearing armor of black, silver, gold, yellow, or crimson.

Though the armor colors differed, every suit was identical in design—divided into helmet, shoulder guards, chest plate, back plate, knee guards, upper arm, forearm, and more—clearly standard-issue Xia military armor.

“Commander, there are still three hours until dawn. Isn’t it time?”

Seeing his father Mu Longhe tilt his head to gaze at the sky, Mu Qinghe assumed he was estimating the hour and immediately stepped forward to speak.

“Do you think I can’t tell the time? Do I need you to remind me?”

Mu Longhe shot his son a glare, then spoke sternly to the group: “Taking a city and smashing a camp is no small matter. The Grand Coordinator gave me only ten thousand troops. Without absolute certainty, I won’t move recklessly. Wait a little longer…”

The officers standing behind him all frowned slightly, puzzled.

General Xiahou Cen couldn’t help but bow and speak up: “Commander, we have ten Divine Machine Crossbows, three elite regiments, and Golden Body Pills—our cultivation, pills, weapons, and armor all surpass the enemy’s. Zhongyang Camp holds only Yang Qin and Yang Ping, both Xianyang-level; in strength and numbers, they’re no match for us, let alone our inside informant. Why delay any longer?”

Though Xiahou Cen possessed 56 Zong cultivation, he was still only Yuhán-level—technically unworthy to speak to Mu Longhe this way. But as the son of Xiahou Zhang, and holding dual posts as Commander of the Chiyang Army and Sixth Division General of the Jinyang Alliance, he was the only one among them bold enough to question.

Mu Qinghe had already been glared at by his father and dared not speak again.

Yet hearing Xiahou Cen’s question, he too, like the others, stared at Mu Longhe with confusion, wondering why his father delayed the assault.

Being questioned by subordinates naturally darkened Mu Longhe’s expression, but seeing all his officers watching him with bewilderment, he slowly spoke again.

“Xia lives are precious.”

He uttered only four words, yet Mu Qinghe, Xiahou Cen, and the other officers all stiffened slightly; their confusion vanished instantly, replaced by a flush of shame.

Seeing their shame, Mu Longhe knew they had absorbed his words. A hint of satisfaction glimmered in his eyes, and as if stirred to speak further, he continued gravely: “Once battle begins, there’s no turning back. Even with overwhelming advantage, what good is it? The moat at the camp’s gate and the two thousand troops stationed along the southwestern mountain path prove Yang Qin and Yang Ping are no fools. Who knows what other deadly tricks they’ve hidden?”

“When the Grand Coordinator ordered me to lead ten thousand troops westward, he specifically warned: Xia lives are precious. A pyrrhic victory is no victory. How could I treat this as a game?”

He paused briefly, then added: “Besides, I’m not afraid of the ten thousand troops inside Zhongyang Camp. But Lu Shouzheng reported that the combined Digging Realm cultivators from Zhongyang and Linya Camps number at least sixty thousand. Beishuo must hold Zhongyang—those sixty thousand must be mobilized. If we charge in blindly, your enemy won’t be just those ten thousand defenders!”

At this, everyone’s expressions grew heavier.

“Then, Commander, you’re waiting for…”

This time, Mu Qinghe couldn’t hold back. In public, he had to address his father by rank—he was simply too curious about what his father awaited.

“Here they come!”

But before he could finish, Mu Longhe cut him off.

Mu Longhe had sensed something. He suddenly turned his head toward the southeast sky, eyes gleaming sharply.

The others instantly followed his gaze.

A figure shot swiftly through the southeast sky, flying directly above the central command tent. The sentries surrounding the tent immediately tensed, their expressions turning deadly; from both sides, the clatter of iron wheels grinding over ground confirmed that Divine Machine Crossbows had been readied.

“It’s one of ours—no need to panic!”

Mu Longhe’s command relaxed everyone’s posture.

“Lord Xiao!”

“How did Lord Xiao get here?”

“It’s Lord Xiao.”

…………

“Lord Xiao arrives late—Commander, forgive me!”

The arrival was none other than Xiao Kangcheng, former Commander of the Xiaoshan Army.

Xiao Kangcheng landed before them, waved dismissively at the others, then smiled and bowed to Mu Longhe.

“Lord Xiao, at last! Had you not come, I could have waited—but they were about to force me into ordering the assault!”

Xiao Kangcheng blinked in surprise, then turned to Mu Qinghe, Xiahou Cen, and the other officers, laughing: “So all you generals are eager for battle! No rush—I’ll scout first!”

After his jest, his expression turned grim. He turned toward Zhongyang Camp, raised his hands, and dozens of glowing green threads of qi erupted from his palms.

The green threads writhed in his palms, straining to escape but unable to break free; after several failed attempts, they began surging in different directions.

There were thirty-six threads in total—thirty-three surged toward the east and south; only three headed west.

Directly west of them lay Zhongyang Camp.

“Three. Beishuo truly held back a trick.”