Chapter 84: Settling Battle Merits

A sudden roar came from the south; two flying vessels appeared in succession, heading toward the battlefield. These immortal vessels were about thirty zhang long, their design unlike any others Wei Yuan had seen, entirely shrouded in a deep blue glow, short and thick, radiating a grim, deadly aura.

The two vessels approached the stockade in sequence. Such obvious targets could not be allowed near the battlefield by the Liao cavalry, so a storm of arrows—countless wind-piercing arrows and magic-armoring bolts—shot forth, trailing light as they streaked toward the lead vessel. Yet the moment the arrow rain struck the vessel’s blue glow, they all fell to the ground. The vessel itself fired multiple arrows, felling entire groups of approaching Liao riders.

Seeing the Liao arrows could not halt the vessels, a sudden yellow aura erupted from the north, rolling like a cataclysmic sandstorm that swallowed all, surging instantly hundreds of zhang into the sky!

Someone let out a heavy, angry grunt, causing the entire battlefield to tremble. Then came a distant, grim cry of an eagle—a massive white eagle burst from the yellow dust, crossing ten thousand zhang in an instant, slamming into the vessel!

With Wei Yuan’s eyesight, he saw the giant eagle was in truth a giant arrow, over a zhang long. The arrow tore through the vessel’s blue glow, nearly vanishing entirely within it. The vessel immediately staggered like a drunken man, plummeting downward, finally crashing beyond the stockade and killing over a dozen Liao riders caught unawares.

“Audacious!” came a furious cry from the south. Instantly, a hundred-zhang thunderbolt materialized in the sky, striking the northern yellow aura.

The hundreds-of-zhang yellow aura was instantly blasted away by the thunder, shrinking by a hundred zhang. But three white eagles flew out in succession from the haze, each emergence causing the aura to recede another hundred zhang. The three eagles lined up almost in a straight line, swiftly spanning ten thousand zhang of sky, vanishing into the empty air to the south.

A piercingly sharp sword light suddenly appeared in the void, slicing a hundred-zhang zigzag path like lightning, cleaving two eagles into nothingness! But the third eagle pierced through the sword light, vanished into the void, and disappeared.

The mountainous yellow aura in the north vanished entirely. The south seemed utterly still, yet Wei Yuan distinctly felt the purity of the human realm’s spiritual energy had weakened slightly.

Those few strikes carried the might of heaven and earth—was this how True Persons fought?

The Liao’s Dharma Form fired four arrows total: one brought down a vessel, one seemed to strike the human Dharma Form. The Liao himself took one thunderbolt strike, and the remaining three arrows clearly drained his primordial energy. Judging by the outcome, both sides appeared mutually wounded—Wei Yuan lacked the insight to know clearly.

But the second vessel now faced no obstruction; it simply flew above the stockade and landed tightly against its rear gate. As soon as it touched ground, the hatch opened, and wave after wave of fully armored soldiers with heavy crossbows surged out. They formed neat ranks upon landing, advancing in rotation. The front row fired, then the rear row rushed forward immediately; after one volley ended, another followed. Row after row rolled forward like a tide, felling entire groups of Liao cavalry within a hundred zhang, leaving none able to approach.

The Liao encirclement of the stockade was thus severed. The cavalry could no longer circle and charge, momentarily bewildered, and soon suffered heavy casualties under the relentless crossbow fire from both the stockade and the vessel’s troops.

Two more vessels appeared from the south, this time flying directly over the stockade to land between the Liao cavalry in front and their archer formation behind. First, a volley of arrows from the air disrupted the archer line, then the vessels forcibly landed between the two units, splitting them apart. Heavily armored crossbowmen poured out continuously, soon forging a deadly dividing line of arrowfire.

The Liao cavalry surrounding the stockade could no longer break through the blockade; under concentrated arrowfire from all sides, their casualties surged, forcing them to detour around the two vessels and retreat from either flank. The Liao scouts sent to intercept reinforcements also lost heart, breaking off and fleeing northward.

Though defeated, the Liao cavalry did not break ranks. Their main force appeared scattered, yet moved in steady, parallel formation, retreating while continuously firing arrows backward and to both sides. Smaller units fled at full speed, avoiding any entanglement with the human forces. The reinforcements from the vessels were all heavily armored crossbowmen—unbeatable in defense, utterly immobile. After mopping up the final wave, they could only watch as the Liao cavalry withdrew back into Liao territory.

Wei Yuan hurled his short spear, claimed his final kill, and found no enemies left around him.

His warhorse suddenly let out a long, piercing neigh, collapsed to the ground, and fell silent. The horse had fought alongside Wei Yuan throughout the entire battle, utterly exhausted; now that its life force was reclaimed, it could not endure.

With the battle over, Wei Yuan finally felt a faint numbness and ache throughout his body—several places began to throb. He had been struck by arrows, though he hadn’t noticed until now.

The battlefield was littered with human and horse corpses, pools of blood scattered like scars across the earth, the stench of death thick and inescapable. Many wounded Liao knights still struggled to crawl northward, but were systematically killed by patrols. These men clearly hated the Liao with a vengeance; their finishing blows were especially brutal, often refusing a single fatal strike, instead severing limbs first before finally decapitating.

The stockade’s four gates now swung wide, and a deep voice rang out: “The Liao barbarians have retreated! All reinforcements and fellow cultivators, proceed to the stockade to rest and settle your battlefield merits!”

Settle battlefield merits?

Wei Yuan had assumed all merits would be tallied only after the grand examination ended; he never expected battlefield merits could be settled immediately. Though he thought early or late settlement should make no difference, he soon saw several distant units quicken their pace, hurrying toward the stockade.

After a moment’s thought, he understood. By custom, disciples of each sect returned to their own sect to settle merits and claim rewards. But now, with immediate settlement, these were merits of the Tai Chu Palace, rewards from the Tai Chu Palace. This greatly attracted disciples of the other three immortal sects; disciples of lesser sects naturally flocked to it.

Wei Yuan found an unclaimed warhorse and rode toward the stockade, entering moments later.

Inside the gate lay a broad, flat road wide enough for two carts to pass side by side. Though made of packed earth, it had been treated with Daoist arts, allowing warhorses to gallop freely. The road led straight to the stockade’s center, where a four-story tower stood, its peak offering a view beyond the walls.

The interior of the stockade had transformed completely: all civilian homes vanished, replaced by hastily erected pavilions. Arrows still stuck in many rooftops, and some cultivators were pulling them out one by one, repairing the damage.

As Wei Yuan passed through the gate, he felt he crossed an invisible boundary—the spiritual energy around him surged sharply, and a faint Daoic force swept over his entire body.

Several cultivators stood inside the gate. One Daoist raised a scroll in his hand and shone it over Wei Yuan, then said: “Ah, you’re Wei Shizhi of Tianqing Hall. For treatment, present your identity at the infirmary. For merit settlement, go to the Merit Hall. Inside, the left hall is for our Tai Chu Palace disciples; others go to the right. The infirmary is along this road; the temporary Merit Hall is set up beside the flying vessels.”

Wei Yuan had intended to ask more, but a long queue had already formed behind him, so he entered the stockade and headed first to the infirmary. It was already overflowing. Wei Yuan sat for half an hour before his turn came. Yet he felt no complaint—everyone else looked far worse injured, and several barely breathing men had been carried in during his wait; he could hardly object to others cutting in.

When his turn finally came, the attending physician was a middle-aged Daoist, his robes stained in patches of dried blood. Standing before Wei Yuan, he said nothing—just one glance, and Wei Yuan removed his outer armor and unfastened his robe, exposing his wounds.

Seeing the wounds, the Daoist gasped: “Four—no, five arrows! Why didn’t you say sooner! Bring the Life-Sustaining Pill! And Qing Stone Detox Powder! Bring several bottles!”

The junior Daoist dashed off and returned just as swiftly, arms full of medicine bottles. Only then did the Daoist focus closely on the wounds—and gasped again: “Shizhi, your flesh-body…”

Moments later, five arrowheads were tossed into the waste bin. The Life-Sustaining Pill and Detox Powder were returned exactly as brought. The white cloths used to seal the wounds and absorb blood bore only faint pink smudges—hardly resembling blood at all.

Wei Yuan dressed again, moved his body, and felt his wounds were nearly healed.

The Daoist looked at him strangely. “Shizhi, if these wounds were on anyone else, they’d be life-threatening. But on you… they seem minor… right? Still, your robust flesh-body doesn’t negate your frontline valor. I’ll report you as critically wounded. Any objection?”

Worried Wei Yuan might feel embarrassed, the Daoist added: “Disciples of Mingwang Hall are always recorded this way—otherwise they’d cause a scene.”

The Tai Chu Palace calculated merit not only by kills and territorial gains, but also by wounds and hardships endured. But Mingwang Hall disciples possessed exceptionally strong flesh-bodies, capable of enduring the wounds of several men, so they were routinely deployed to the most dangerous frontlines—and thus had a special merit system: the standard was how such wounds would affect an ordinary cultivator. If the wound would kill a common cultivator, it counted as one kill. If it would kill three, it counted as three kills.

Hearing precedent existed, Wei Yuan had no objection. The Daoist recorded eighty merit points for him.

(End of Chapter)