Chapter 64: Rushing to the Front

Before dawn the next day, urgent bells rang out from the massive vessel. Wei Yuan awoke from meditation, leapt to his feet, and sprinted toward the War Preparation Hall. The rapid bells were an emergency muster signal—everyone had to arrive within thirty breaths.

The War Preparation Hall was grim and silent, already piled high with supplies: on the left, crates stacked like a small mountain; on the right, standardized armor and weapons.

Liu True Person of the Town Vessel, originally clad in Daoist robes, now wore armor—transforming instantly from scholarly and kind to brimming with lethal intent. When all had assembled, Liu True Person waved his hand, and behind him materialized a vast map. It was exquisitely detailed, showing nine counties and over a hundred scattered villages.

“Our vessel is responsible for defending the western half of Banning Commandery, comprising five hundred thousand households and five thousand border troops. These are your assigned defense sectors—memorize them.”

Dense information appeared on the map. Wei Yuan immediately found his sector: three villages arranged in a triangular formation. Border villages typically had protective walls—effectively fortified strongholds. Wei Yuan also noted others’ sectors; they did the same. For cultivators who had perfected spiritual perception, photographic memory was standard.

“Now, come forward and collect supplies. Left side: military provisions—each of you carry three crates. Right side: armor and weapons—choose for yourselves. Oh, old Taoist adds one word: if you’re not from a noble house, swap your magic robes for armor! Except for top-tier ones, inferior magic robes are worse than armor on the battlefield. And if you dress like a peacock out there, do you want to be a live target?”

Wei Yuan collected his military provisions and armor, then returned to his quarters to don them. Half an hour later, the bells rang again. Wei Yuan arrived at the lower deck cabin, where several small flying vessels stood side by side. The open area was packed with young cultivators clad in armor and carrying packs. Armored Daoists bellowed orders, shoving each cultivator into the small vessels. The cabin was a cacophony.

Wei Yuan turned and saw Zhang Sheng standing in the shadow outside the cabin door, watching him silently. Wei Yuan waved vigorously, slung his three bundled military crates onto his back, and walked toward his assigned flying vessel.

A burly, armored Daoist roared continuously: “Hurry up! Get on board! The Liao barbarians won’t wait for you to arrive before striking!”

The cabin door was half a zhang above ground. Wei Yuan was about to leap up when suddenly his body felt weightless—he’d been snatched up by the armored Daoist and shoved through the doorway.

The flying vessel was no more than five zhang long, cramped and tight. Everyone wore armor and carried packs; after cramming in over a dozen, no one could move. One boy in a magic robe was the only one refusing armor, and he was tossed and jostled by his armored comrades like a trapped rat, his face flushed red but too embarrassed to protest.

Wei Yuan huddled in a corner, leaning against the wall—bearable enough. Suddenly the vessel lurched violently, hurling everyone toward the stern, then a sensation of soaring through clouds. The robe-clad boy tumbled through the air several times before finally vomiting. A streak of Daoist power appeared, wrapping the filth and flinging it out of the vessel.

The flying vessel raced like a runaway steed, bouncing wildly through the sky, tormenting everyone. Some cultivators began complaining—until a booming voice erupted in the cabin: “If I flew straight, we’d be shot down in three breaths! Do you think the Liao barbarians’ giant bows are decorations? Uncomfortable? Too bad—you’ll endure it! This is a battlefield, not your backyard! Whoever can’t take it—get off now!”

Everyone fell silent. The complainers shut their mouths. The Taichu Palace tradition forbade any hint of cowardice or unwillingness to endure hardship on the battlefield.

The flying vessel finally reached its destination, plummeting straight down a hundred zhang before slamming onto the ground with a thud—landing.

The cabin door opened. Wei Yuan stepped out with the other cultivators.

The vessel had landed on a parade ground. Judging by the surroundings, this was a military camp. Per the pre-deployment plan, Wei Yuan’s vessel was to land at Quyang County’s camp. Eleven aboard: five stationed at Quyang, six at neighboring Pingyang. The last man had barely disembarked when the vessel shot skyward as if kicked, vanishing instantly—no pause, no delay.

The six Taichu Palace disciples bound for Lin County conferred briefly. The robe-clad boy tossed several talismans into the air, and instantly, several tall horses appeared. They mounted at once and hurried toward Pingyang.

Wei Yuan and the other five entered the camp’s central command tent. The “central command tent” was merely a few earthen huts, dimly lit by beef tallow candles. Several soldiers stood inside; behind a desk sat a Captain, his chin heavy with fat. Seeing them enter, he rose immediately and bowed: “At last, the Immortals have arrived! With Taichu Palace Immortals overseeing, what trouble can these barbarians cause?”

A young Taichu Palace cultivator frowned: “No nonsense. We must reach our defense posts before the deadline! Your name is Wang De, right?”

“That’s this officer!”

“Later, some of my subordinates will arrive. Give them the necessary passage permits.”

Wang Delu’s face lit up with a smile: “Rest assured, this officer will see to it!”

“Then I’m off!” The boy turned and left without delay.

“Immortal, wait! What about the assigned soldiers and grain supplies?”

“Not needed.”

Wang Delu returned to his seat, embarrassed, and asked: “Do any of you Immortals have retainers or personal guards?”

One Taichu Palace disciple replied: “I have ten personal guards. They’ll arrive tomorrow.”

“Understood, this officer will arrange it!”

The disciple nodded and departed.

The remaining two Taichu Palace disciples exchanged glances. “We have no retainers or personal guards. Kindly assign us capable soldiers.” One placed two pieces of Immortal Silver on the desk.

Wang Delu showed no reaction. With a sweep of his sleeve, the silver vanished—effortlessly, smoothly. He immediately picked up a wooden command arrow and handed it to his personal guard: “Take these two Immortals to select their troops.”

Finally, it was Wei Yuan’s turn. He’d seen the earlier exchanges, but he had not a single piece of Immortal Silver on him—Zhang Sheng had given him no instructions. And wasn’t this mission to defend the western Jin border? Why pay silver?

Wei Yuan stepped forward, bowed, and said: “Taichu Palace, Wei Yuan, here to receive assigned troops.”

Wang Delu waited. No Immortal Silver appeared. No retainers followed. His face hardened. His gaze fell on the three crates on Wei Yuan’s back. He drew out his tone: “Immortal, these crates of yours…”

“Military provisions issued by the Palace. For the garrison’s use.”

Seeing Wei Yuan had no intention of setting the crates down, Wang Delu’s expression darkened. He picked up a wooden command arrow and handed it to his guard: “Take the Immortal to select his troops.”

Wei Yuan followed the guard to the side camp. According to regulations, Wei Yuan could receive twenty militia soldiers and a hundred civilian volunteers as his basic defense force from the Quyang Garrison Camp. Under Da Tang law, militia must reach Muscle-Building Realm; those who advance to Blood-Integration may serve as squad leaders and qualify for the Da Tang Nine Armies. The feudal states follow the same rule. To become a Captain, one must solidify a Dao Foundation.

Wang De had solidified a Dao Foundation, but his aura was unstable, his body lax—likely low-grade, and indulgent in wine and women, his physique already regressing.

The side camp had two rows of low earthen huts, clothes drying outside, weapons and armor piled haphazardly. The parade ground was pitted and uneven, clearly long-neglected. Two carts sat in a corner, each missing a wheel.

The guard bellowed: “Immortal selecting troops! All of you—out!”

(End of Chapter)