Chapter 325: The Day the Royal Master of Liang Crushes the Barbarian Race

Ten thousand li of ice plains.

Snowflakes drifted down.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The drumbeats thundered; soldiers from every tent emerged and began to assemble.

……

……

Zhao Zhao Dayi stood at the back of the formation, his memory growing hazy as he heard the Marquis's voice echoing across the entire camp.

He thought of the old Marquis, of many years ago…

"Uncle Chen, Aunt Liu…"

He was a commoner from the northern border of Liang, and fifteen years ago, when the northern barbarians invaded again, his village was attacked; many villagers were slaughtered, and most of the children were abducted.

If not for the arrival of the Northern Garrison Army, he would not have survived either.

Uncle Chen and Aunt Liu, who cared for him, died fighting the barbarians while protecting him.

Uncle Chen and Aunt Liu were cultivators, former soldiers of the Northern Garrison Army.

His parents had also died five years ago, killed by the barbarians.

On that day, he saw the Northern Garrison Army—and the old Marquis.

The old Marquis held his hand and those of several village boys, bowing to the dead villagers, and then took him back to the Northern Garrison Army.

Later, he trained in the military, refining his organs, opening his acupoints… until now, reaching the Eighth Rank.

Over the years, he slew countless barbarians who invaded the border and witnessed many villages ravaged by their attacks.

The barbarians were cunning and swift, and the northern border stretched far; even with constant patrols, the Northern Garrison Army could not guard every inch.

Moreover, between the northern barbarians and Liang's border lay territories of Han Country, and many barbarians infiltrated from there; after each raid, Han Country would merely say, "Sorry," and brush it off.

Some villages, after repeated attacks, were left with only a few elderly survivors.

He wanted to bring these elders to the rear, but they refused to leave; they said they were used to living here and didn't wish to depart from their homeland in old age.

Zhao Zhao Dayi knew deep down: these elders didn't just refuse to leave because of attachment to their land—they buried their loved ones here.

And because this land was Liang's territory; if people fled, Han Country would seize it.

Retreat one chi, lose one cun.

They could not leave!

Even now, he remembered the words of one old man.

"I'm old, I can't walk anymore, and I don't want to go. As long as we're here, it proves this is Liang's land. When I was young, my grandfather told me—when he was young, his great-grandfather told him—that when our Great Ancestor first founded Liang, the Han people seized our land, claiming it as theirs. But what happened in the end? We found the graves of Liang's people here, traces of our ancestors' lives. My grandfather said, at that time, the Great Ancestor declared: 'The graves of Liang's people are proof of our territory. If Han refuses to return it, then we fight!'"

"Child, don't worry about me. If I die, bury me beneath that mountain. If you're still alive when Liang finally eradicates the barbarians, come to my grave and tell me."

"Go. Kill more of them."

……

"Zhao Dayi, what are you thinking about?"

A companion's voice pulled Zhao Zhao Dayi from his memories.

"The Marquis just said we're going to annihilate the northern barbarians once and for all, restoring eternal peace to Liang's northern border. If Han dares to interfere, we'll declare war on them directly."

"Did the Marquis really say that?"

Shock flashed in Zhao Zhao Dayi's eyes; after more than a decade in the military, he knew well why the northern barbarians had never been eradicated—it was because Han Country kept meddling.

"Of course he did. The Marquis just shared an exhilarating piece of news: this year's Joining Wuyuan Ranking Tournament, our Liang Canglan Joining Wuyuan's prodigy Lin Chen crushed the four Han Wuyuans, shattered their morale, and forced them to surrender outright."

"Who is Lin Chen?"

Zhao Zhao Dayi frowned; having spent most of his life on the northern border, fighting barbarians, he rarely paid attention to affairs back home.

"You ask me? I don't know. But as long as he's a Liang prodigy, that's enough."

The companion chuckled, and Zhao Zhao Dayi nodded firmly—yes, it didn't matter who Lin Chen was, as long as he was Liang's genius.

"Those Han bastards couldn't beat Lin Chen in fair combat, so they tried to assassinate our genius with brute force. Luckily, Pei Pei Qingming arrived in time and slaughtered every last one of them."

"Pei Pei Qingming showed up?"

"Yeah. The Marquis said Pei Pei Qingming has broken through to Upper Rank—he cuts through Second Rank cultivators like chopping vegetables."

Zhao Zhao Dayi knew Pei Pei Qingming well; this man had been famed in Liang for over a decade, and even from the northern border, he'd heard tales from traveling cultivators.

The greatest genius in Liang's three hundred years of martial cultivation.

"Before, there was Pei Pei Qingming; now, there's this young fellow Lin Chen. Our Liang martial arts aren't inferior to Han's."

His companion's words resonated with Zhao Zhao Dayi, who recalled the scene of the old Marquis's death a year ago—when the entire Northern Garrison Army was shaken, unable to accept the loss.

The old Marquis was the soul of the Northern Garrison Army, the anchor of the entire northern border.

Later, the young Marquis took over and quickly calmed the troops, yet Zhao Zhao Dayi still worried: without the old Marquis, could they truly destroy the northern barbarians?

Because rumors had spread in camp: the Northern Garrison Army should negotiate with the barbarians, sparing thousands of soldiers' lives each year.

The old Marquis had silenced such talk; he didn't doubt the young Marquis—he feared the young Marquis lacked the prestige to suppress such voices.

But later, the young Marquis acted with decisive force, showing no less courage than the old one, and the entire Northern Garrison Army once again stood united: annihilate the barbarians, secure peace. "This first cup of wine, to the civilians who died defending Liang's land."

"This second cup, to the loyal spirits of past Northern Garrison Army heroes who fell in battle."

The Marquis's voice carried across the camp; soldiers stepped forward to pour wine for each man.

"This third cup—to victory in this battle, to eternal peace on the northern border, and to all of you."

Zhao Zhao Dayi's hand trembled as he gripped his wine bowl—not from fear, but from excitement; his companion beside him trembled too. They had waited too long for this day.

His former comrades were all gone.

Perhaps they would not live to see the barbarians truly wiped out, but they believed it would happen.

"To ourselves!"

All soldiers drained their cups and stood in silent wait.

"Form ranks. The army marches. Slay every last barbarian."

"Slay every last barbarian!"

"Slay every last barbarian!"

The roar of nearly a hundred thousand warrior soldiers surged into the sky, melting the falling snowflakes midair—no snow remained in the entire camp.

Zhao Zhao Dayi roared too—this cry he had waited fifteen years to unleash.

Fortunately, his blood still burned.

Fortunately, he had waited long enough.

Banners rose one by one; every soldier surged northward like an iron flood, marching toward the barbarian royal court.

"After this battle, may Liang's northern border know no more sorrow."

……

……

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The earth-shaking tremor awoke soldiers in another camp hundreds of li away.

Commander's tent.

Several elders now wore grim expressions.

Liang had launched an attack—despite Han Country's thirty-thousand-strong army watching nearby—and dared to strike the final blow against the northern barbarians.

"Li Lin Shixiong, what do we do?"

The central man, hearing his junior's question, hesitated; compared to Liang's hundred-thousand-strong army, their force of only thirty thousand—even with the barbarians' remnants—could not stand against Liang's might.

Yet they had deployed only thirty thousand because the court believed it was enough to deter Liang; to fight Liang meant war with Han, and Liang lacked the courage.

The court's expected outcome: the northern barbarians would surrender more of their own to be slaughtered by Liang, Liang would save face and withdraw, and their presence merely signaled Han's stance.

For years, Han's mere stance had deterred the other eight nations.

But now Liang ignored their thirty-thousand-strong force and launched a final assault on the barbarian royal court.

Not that they ignored them—Liang had surely prepared defenses against Han's interference.

A First Rank cultivator in an army could match three thousand Lower Rank cultivators; they had only three First Ranks, and Liang had three as well—if they intervened, they'd likely never return.

"Send word to the court: Liang has attacked the barbarians. Order reinforcements."

"Li Lin Shixiong, by the time reinforcements arrive, the barbarian royal court will already be gone."

The elder beside him shook his head; even if they mobilized immediately, the barbarian court would be destroyed—then would they truly go to war with Liang?

"Then what do you suggest, Brother Wang? Charge into Liang's front lines, block them, and tell them they must cross our corpses to reach the barbarian court—and hope Liang, fearing our status, dares not move?"

The senior's retort left the other man silent.

The moment Liang's army moved, it signaled Liang had already prepared for a rupture—or even war—with Han.

Meanwhile, whether Han would actually declare war on Liang? Even the imperial capital hadn't decided yet.

For a thousand years, Han had relied on inciting the other eight nations to check each other, rarely intervening directly—and this strategy had kept Han as the top power among the nine nations.

Many had grown accustomed to this method; now, faced with Liang's actual war declaration, they were momentarily paralyzed.

"Do it this way."

The senior leader made his decision: "If Han truly goes to war with Liang, one more northern barbarian tribe makes no difference. This tribe is already broken, barely clinging to life, offering us little aid. If the court doesn't intend to fight Liang, then we have no reason to act."

Wang Wang Lingchun's eyes flickered with dissatisfaction; unlike Li Lin Shixiong, he believed Han and Liang would inevitably clash—and preserving the northern barbarians meant gaining another ally. Li Lin Shixiong clung to old traditions: Han must never fight directly, and if Liang provoked Han, they should support other nations to strike Liang.

After the discussion, Wang Wang Lingchun and another elder stepped out of the tent.

"Brother Wang, don't worry. We don't need to fight Liang ourselves—we can incite Zheng Country and Xiang Country, then ally with others. At least, our own cultivators won't die, and all we'll lose is some martial resources."

The other elder patted Wang Wang Lingchun's shoulder, smiling broadly.

"Lin Lin Shixiong Duan, I just feel this time won't be that simple."

"Haha, Lin Lin Shixiong Wang, you're worrying too much."

(End of Chapter)