Chapter 217: The Great War Approaches

Over the next three months, winds rose and clouds scudded across the Northern Plains as the situation grew turbulent.

Their policy of rest and recovery had not yet ended, but the Thirteen Supreme Tribes had already quietly tightened their lines, reassembling their scattered forces.

The thirteen Holy Masters understood each other perfectly: in terms of sheer strength, it would not be difficult for the Northern Plains to crush the Blood Abyss Sect. But the Blood Abyss Sect did not stand alone. Behind it stood two other Demonic Path sects. Together, they formed the three great demonic sects of Ganzhou, as close as lips and teeth. Once the Northern Plains made their move, the other two sects would never sit idle.

Because of this, the strike had to be fast and ruthless. They needed to uproot the Blood Abyss Sect completely before the other two sects could react. Yet everyone knew this would be no easy task. Countless uncontrollable variables hid between speed and ruthlessness; the slightest misstep would drag the conflict into a war of attrition, sinking the Northern Plains deep into a quagmire.

But the Northern Plains no longer had a better choice.

Grandmasters of the Northern Plains had been assassinated one after another. If this dragged on any longer, the morale of the lower ranks would inevitably collapse—if those lofty Grandmasters could not even protect themselves, why should ordinary cultivators continue to risk their lives?

Furthermore, ever since the time of their ancestors, the Northern Plains had always wanted to force open the gates of Ganzhou. Now, a sword cultivator at the Peak Nascent Soul Stage had willingly extended a hand. If they missed this chance, there would likely never be another.

Those at the bottom had no idea what the higher-ups were plotting. Rumors ran wild as many spoke and opinions scattered.

Some claimed the yin energy in the Land of the Extreme North was growing restless again. Others guessed that Ganzhou had struck first, while a few endlessly speculated about the murdered Grandmasters. Yet the higher-ups offered no explanation, nor was there any need to clarify. Some maneuvers simply could not be brought into the light.

For the next few years, the Northern Plains remained calm on the surface.

Beneath that calm, however, the undercurrents never ceased.

The Northern Plains continued to secretly test the waters, but the more they probed, the more unfathomable that man appeared.

One Holy Master privately sighed that, despite both of them being Nascent Soul Late Stage cultivators, if they were to fight one-on-one, he probably wouldn't even last ten exchanges. And everyone knew perfectly well that the strength Jiuyou had revealed so far was likely not even a fraction of his true foundation.

By this point, the thirteen Holy Masters of the Northern Plains had finally reached a consensus: this was perhaps the opportunity they had awaited for tens of thousands of years.

For such a powerful existence to be willing to lend a hand—in the past, they wouldn't have even dared to imagine it.

In recent years, the gathering of resources across the various special zones of the Northern Plains had grown increasingly frequent. Volcanic craters, the Vicious Gorge, the Ice Plains, and even the Land of the Extreme North—that Ancient Battlefield that left tens of thousands of cultivators turning pale at the mere mention of it—saw people constantly testing its borders, venturing deep inside to harvest cultivation resources.

Without exception, the shadows of the major tribes lurked behind every one of these movements.

Jiuyou took it all in. Under the dim light, the corners of his mouth curled into a slight smile, his gaze chilling.

He knew exactly what these people of the Northern Plains were thinking and what they were scheming. In the end, it was nothing more than mutual exploitation. They wanted to borrow his strength to march south, but didn't he, Jiuyou, desire the exact same thing?

Over these past few years, aside from honing his sword Dao, he had immersed himself in studying the Formation Manual left behind by Linghu Shou.

He had to admit, that man's mastery over formations was incredibly deep. With arrays like the Evil Mansion Puppet Array, the Heaven and Earth Spirit Gathering Formation, and the Monster Annihilation Heavenly Dao Array, the sheer number and variety were staggering. Spanning the divine restrictions of the Righteous Path to the grand arrays of the Demonic Path, the manual encompassed absolutely everything.

Among them, the Monster Annihilation Heavenly Dao Array was particularly ferocious. Jiuyou had personally experienced its might—a strike comparable to that of the Deity Transformation realm. If Xuan Zhenzi had not secretly intervened, he likely would have suffered a devastating fall that day.

If he picked out any random array from the collection and brought it to the Heavenly Abyss Sea where he used to reside, it would easily rank among top-tier formations and serve as the sect-guarding treasure for any major faction.

Meanwhile, Saint Teacher Mo remained seated at the head of the hall. An ink brush slowly glided across a white scroll as he muttered in a low voice while writing: "For ten thousand years, the multitudes of the Northern Plains have constantly suffered the erosion of yin energy from the Land of the Extreme North, plunging them into an abyss of suffering. Only by marching south can we seek a sliver of survival.

"However, the Dayong Three Sects of the Demonic Path are brutal and vicious. Our ancestors once traveled south to plead with them, promising heavy treasures to exchange for a stable sanctuary for the tens of thousands of cultivators in the Northern Plains. But the Demonic Path is treacherous and speaks without keeping faith. They accepted our heavy treasures, only to go back on their word. They laid down grand arrays to ambush and kill our senior Grandmasters, then triggered the yin energy of the Ancient Battlefield to pour backward, devastating all life in the Northern Plains.

"Fortunately, the Thirteen Supreme Tribes shared the same hatred and united against the enemy. They joined forces to expel the yin energy and quell the chaos inflicted by the Demonic Path, restoring peace to our lands."

His brush paused, and he continued writing: "This feud is one where we cannot wear the same sky; we of the Northern Plains swear this upon our humanity.

"Ever since that massacre, our generation has been sleeping on brushwood and tasting gall, constantly feeding horses and sharpening weapons. We do this not only for the survival of the Northern Plains, but also to seek justice for the grievances of the past.

"The Blood Abyss Sect, the Demon Fiend Sect, and Evil Valley Heaven—these three great demonic sects possess profound foundations. Although we would gladly endure any hardship, our forces remain thin, making it difficult to march our armies south.

"Yet those Demonic Path thieves are incredibly audacious, actually mistaking our forbearance for cowardice. They have recklessly provoked war, invading the borders of the Northern Plains to slaughter our people and extract their souls with devastatingly cruel methods. Should the day come, we must flatten these three sects to exact justice for the countless deceased souls of the Northern Plains."

Reaching this point, his brush tip paused slightly before laying down another line of text: "Fortunately, we have recently gained the assistance of a remarkable person from Ganzhou. A Grandmaster of the sword Dao with sky-reaching cultivation, he is a peerless figure with talent as rare as phoenix feathers and qilin horns, the likes of which we have not seen in a millennium. If we can borrow this man's strength, we may be able to break the predicament of the Northern Plains and wash away our past humiliations..."

Just then, a messenger cultivator hurried into the hall and dropped to one knee. "Reporting to the Holy Master! News from the front lines. The day before yesterday, Ganzhou forces launched a surprise attack on one of our border fortresses, and it seems a Nascent Soul Late Stage cultivator appeared among them. Grandmaster Gu and two other Grandmasters failed to escape and were slain on the spot. Bailing Mountain has fallen."

Saint Teacher Mo's brush paused, and his brow furrowed slightly. "We have not yet made our move, but they have struck preemptively. To seize a vital stronghold like Bailing Mountain right from the start—it would be absolutely impossible without premeditation."

He set down his brush, his tone growing a fraction heavier. "The brutal ambushes and inexplicable deaths of our Northern Plains Grandmasters back then are undeniably linked to them. Do these treacherous, sinister schemers truly take the iron-blooded warriors of our Northern Plains for weak, easily manipulated fish on a chopping block?"