Chapter 419

In the seventh year of Taiwu, the rolling night was like the surging tide of early summer.

Since ancient times, this was the first organized resistance and counterattack by the human race against the Descendants, and the power of the Sacred Artifacts began to roar simultaneously across the Qingyun realm, the thunder of heavenly wrath echoing throughout the land.

At the same time, in the southwestern region of Liangzhou, west of the Rixi Forest.

Beneath the pitch-black night, a sudden tremor rang out from an iron spear—the Imperial Heavenly Demon General Chao Cang swung his spear with murderous intent, charging toward a detachment of Descendant soldiers along the riverbanks.

Instantly, the murderous aura roused the Descendants across the way; three of them surged forward with blinding speed, flying through the air to meet him.

The power of a Heavenly Demon Realm warrior was formidable, but facing a three-to-one encirclement by Descendants, it was difficult to end the battle swiftly—yet fortunately, this was not a one-on-one duel.

In the next instant, a dark figure plummeted from above—Ancient Chuan, the Demon King, arrived in midair, slashed his hand through the skull of one Descendant, then slammed his fist down, crushing another to the ground.

In the blink of an eye, over a hundred Descendants snapped to alertness, shrieking as they surged forward in a deadly charge.

Simultaneously, over fifty demonic figures appeared atop the cliff, rushing to meet them.

Amid the same trembling cry of the spear, beneath the night, a slender figure wielding a silver spear surged forth, piercing the chest of a Descendant soldier with brutal precision, then sent the spear shaft roaring like a dragon through the air.

On the other side, a Demon King soared into the air; in the instant of his demonic transformation, he slammed his palm down with the weight of Mount Tai, shattering the chest of a Descendant soldier.

Twelve Imperial Demon Generals, twenty-three Demon Kings, five tribal leaders, plus the Imperial Prince and Princess—within moments, they annihilated the hundred-odd Descendants; a torrent of crimson blood instantly stained the raging river red.

“Your Highness, it’s done.”

“It seems the Descendants’ strongest warriors have been pulled south to the Three Southern Provinces. Seize the opportunity—move out at once!”

“Yes!”

At the command of Prince Ye Han, the Demon Kings and Generals made no pause, immediately continuing southeast along the Nujiang River.

Since the Descendants’ revival, their demonic race had retreated deep into the most remote Rixi Forest in all of Qingyun. On multiple occasions, Descendant troops had nearly tracked them down, yet they never struck back, fearing retaliation against their own people.

Yet they had all been holding their breath, determined to rescue the tribe members who had not escaped with them.

To abandon no tribe member—this was the unwavering principle of their demonic race, the very reason they had endured for ten thousand years; thus, they must act.

Three days ago, the Feather Tribe scouts returned with word that some of their tribe members had been taken to Qingzhou to construct fortifications for the Descendants—this ignited their urge to launch a rescue.

But the Descendants were truly overwhelming; if they acted alone, the mission would fail, and worse, it might expose the location of their hidden tribe.

Thus, they agreed to the humans’ terms: join forces in exchange for the humans buying them time by holding off the Descendants’ strongest warriors.

Beneath the rolling night, the demonic party moved in stealth, pressing forward relentlessly.

Both Liangzhou and Qingzhou had fallen to the Descendants; everywhere, Descendant battalions hunted stragglers, gathered blood offerings, and captured slaves.

They were not here to kill Descendants—they were here to save their tribe—so, except for those Descendant patrols actively hunting them, they avoided all areas where Descendant forces might appear.

Only when escape was impossible did they engage in full-scale battles.

Throughout this, the woman clad in red-and-silver armor remained silent and still, yet her spear struck with lightning speed and ruthless precision, drawing frequent glances and murmurs of awe.

Like common demonic folk, most among them—aside from Chao Cang, the Princess’s senior brother, and Prince Ye Han—believed their Princess was a gentle, quiet woman who favored healing and abhorred killing.

But these nights since the Descendants’ revival had shown them: aversion did not mean incapacity. Their Princess could be a compassionate healer—and also a general of legendary martial glory.

“Princess Fengyang is truly our race’s greatest treasure; even we men feel ashamed before her.”

Amid the howling night wind, a few young demonic prodigies whispered as they moved through the darkness, then turned their eyes toward the young tribal leaders ahead: “Had the Descendants not revived, who among us might have been granted the fortune to become our race’s imperial son-in-law?”

“Originally, Lian Dou had the best chance—but alas, the Lian Clan’s patriarch betrayed us after being possessed by a Descendant. Though His Majesty, understanding his helplessness, spared him punishment, Lian Dou’s prospects are gone. As for Ya Shan, Mao Lie, Yu Ling, and Zhao Yun, their chances are equal.”

The murmurs drifted on the wind; the four young tribal leaders remained silent as they marched.

In truth, since their years in the Snow Realm, one among them had persistently courted their Princess—Yu Ling most fervently.

Yet from the migration to Yunzhou to the Descendants’ revival, she never responded, leaving them baffled: what did their Princess truly think? After all, in status, lineage, appearance, and ability, they were the pinnacle—no one could rival them.

Ye Han heard the whispers too, and saw the expressions of the young leaders.

He alone knew someone dwelled in his sister’s heart; he recalled how she risked her life to rescue the Human Race’s Mirror Master, and how, soon after arriving at Rixi Forest, she secretly carved memorial tablets.

He knew: perhaps she would never marry. No matter how hard others tried, it would be futile.

Yet since the Descendants’ revival, death loomed over all; romantic entanglements and marital alliances were no longer matters of importance—not now, at least.

At that moment, a roaring sound of water reached them from afar, growing louder as they marched.

Then, a vast, raging river appeared before them.

It did not resemble a river—it resembled a boundless, boiling earth stripped of its banks; the ochre waters poured downstream at an impossible speed, as if ten thousand wild horses with golden manes crushed and thundered through a narrow channel, churning up towering waves of mud.

The steep cliffs on either bank, as if cleaved by a giant axe, barely carved a passage for this furious flood; the water surged violently against rocks and cliffs, shattering into countless white-and-yellow spume, then instantly reformed, continuing its furious journey without pause.

“Your Highness, we’ve reached the Nujiang. Beyond this, to the west, lies Qingzhou. Between us and it lies that distant expanse—the Great Wilderness Forest.”

On the eastern bank of the Nujiang, the demonic party of fifty-plus reached the western shore. As the heavy mist struck their faces, they gazed across to the boundless sea of forest stretching just beyond the eastern bank.

After long study, Ye Han’s eyes narrowed: “This place seems exceptionally hidden.”

The Feather Tribe’s patriarch nodded: “The Great Wilderness Forest spans two provinces, perpetually shrouded in mist—it’s ideal for concealing movement. We can pass through it.”

“How far would it be to travel through it?”

“From southeast to northwest, roughly two thousand li.”

Having confirmed direction and distance, and pressed by urgency, Ye Han glanced toward the thundering southern provinces, then gave the order to advance.

Instantly, the demonic party of fifty-plus crossed the riverbank and entered the Great Wilderness Forest.

Within the forest, mist ran deep, blotting out sky and sun; combined with the rolling night beyond, the entire woodland lay in gloom—yet for the demons, this was advantageous: their senses were keen, and their innate sixth sense thrived in such conditions.

Yet after advancing barely thirty li, they halted.

Not from exhaustion, nor from encountering new enemies—but because five corpses lay before them.

Five Descendant corpses.

They lay sprawled on the ground, every body riddled with sword cuts; the sight made the demons frown.

At that moment, Fengyang handed her spear to Ye Han beside her, then knelt to examine the five bodies: “Dead roughly ten days.”

“Ten days?”

“Yes. Possibly a bit earlier, but no more than two days’ difference.”

Chao Cang’s brow tightened: “Our race and the humans retreated south a full month ago. Those left behind were either consumed as blood offerings or enslaved. There should be no corpses here only ten days old.”

“Perhaps some enslaved ones escaped and turned on these Descendants?” Yu Ling observed briefly, then looked to them.

“No.”

Fengyang shook her head gently: “Look at their wounds—they were all killed by a single hand. That person handled them effortlessly. The Descendants would never enslave someone with such power—they’d devour them immediately.”

At these words, all around fell silent, brows furrowing.

Someone capable of slaying five Descendants with ease would never be enslaved.

But both humans and demons had retreated south—so why was such a person here?

As they pondered, Prince Ye Han beside them suddenly spoke: “Set this aside for now. The humans may not buy us enough time. We must press forward.”

Fengyang nodded, rose, took her spear back from her brother, and the demonic party stepped over the corpses and continued onward.

Yet what they did not expect: after another thirty li, they found more Descendant corpses.

This time, eight—again killed by one hand, again bearing neat, identical sword wounds.

“These died even earlier than the previous five.”

Fengyang spoke softly after inspecting the eight bodies.

Demon King Gu Chuan, intrigued, stared long before speaking: “Strange. Did this person not leave after killing the first five? Did he remain hidden in the Great Wilderness Forest all along?”

“Why? What’s his motive?” Chao Cang muttered.

“Perhaps he’s waiting. Or perhaps he must stay here.”