Immortal Ice Empress: Path to Vengeance

In a mere fraction of a second, Aelina materialized above Silvermoon Peak. Her figure was ethereal, radiant, and majestic, commanding the attention of all on the battlefield. 

With an elegant sweep of her hand, a surge of her potent Qi enveloped the remaining Battle Maiden Sect disciples. Bathed in this energy, they seemed to shimmer, their forms blurred by the incredible power that encased them. Then, as if whisked away by the wind, they vanished abruptly, leaving only the echoes of their battle cries and the remnants of their struggle behind.

“Don’t worry, Cyrus. I’m just going to borrow them for a minute. I’ll see you at the next battlefield! Try to do better next time.” Aelina said, waving at Cyrus with a wide smirk before she disappeared.

Cyrus’s eyes went bloodshot, with multiple veins protruding from his neck and face. He was so angry that he felt like he might explode at any second. However, glancing down at his army, he knew that if he blew up now, it would only cause massive losses on his side.

He could only clench his fists so hard they bled, hoping to calm himself down before he did something he would regret.

Amidst the Aelina’s sudden appearance and disappearance, the Elders waged their ferocious battles, their raw power leaving indelible marks on the terrain. Elements danced at their command, and each movement of their hands seemed to distort the very fabric of reality. 

Firestorms roared across the battlefield, scorching the earth and turning it into a barren wasteland. Torrential winds, conjured with a flick of a wrist, carved through the landscape like divine blades, leveling mountains and uprooting ancient trees.𝚘𝗏𝐥xt.𝐂𝒪𝑀

The battle was not just an exhibition of their formidable prowess but also a clear reflection of their wills. Each strike, each technique cast, bore the weight of their unyielding determination, their unwillingness to retreat. The scars they left on the earth were not merely physical. They were emotional, spiritual even. A testament to the fierce struggle and the high stakes of this unprecedented confrontation.

As the clash of the titans raged on, the earth beneath them groaned and writhed, buckling under the sheer intensity of their power. Cracks spread like intricate webs, deep chasms opened, swallowing anything that came their way, and mountains crumbled, their majestic peaks reduced to mere rubble. 

This land, once brimming with life, was now a testament to the destructive capabilities of Mortal Shedding Realm cultivators. The once serene Silvermoon Peak had transformed into a battleground of epic proportions, its tranquility shattered, its beauty tainted.

The Elders of the Battle Maiden Sect, though skilled and formidable in their own right, found themselves steadily losing ground against the relentless onslaught of the Crimson Slayer Sect.

Their blades danced wildly, painting arcs of silver as they met their adversaries’ weapons with unparalleled skill. Blood splattered across the ground, limbs flew through the air, and heads were removed. Yet, for every enemy they felled, it seemed two or even three more stepped forward to take their place. It was not a question of skill or strength, but of sheer, overwhelming numbers.

Despite their efforts, the Battle Maiden Sect Elders found themselves slowly being backed into a corner. Their faces were etched with exhaustion, their robes stained with sweat and blood. They had to give their all in their fight, as a single misstep would lead to their death. Numerous of them lost their lives. 

Yet, their eyes burned with unyielding resolve, their stances never wavering as they stood their ground against the encroaching horde.

As the battle continued, Morgana and the Sect Master glanced at each other.

‘Retreat?’ Morgana asked with her eyes.

‘Retreat.’ The Sect Master imperceptibly nodded.

The two reached a tacit understanding, which the other Elders caught onto.

Their remaining disciples had been evacuated, and they had slain as many enemies as they could. Now was not the time to throw away their lives for no reason. 

They had to survive, to regroup, to plan for the battles yet to come.

“DIE!” Morgana shouted, swinging her sword at one of the two enemies before her. A silver light was all that was seen before a head shot up into the air, followed by a fountain of blood. Morgan stored the head before she turned around and ran.

The others followed her lead and clashed with their opponents one more time.

With a final clash of swords and a blinding display of defensive magic, they retreated. The ground beneath them erupted, sending a wave of earth and dust toward their enemies, obscuring their retreat. 

As the dust settled, the Crimson Slayer Sect found the battleground empty, the Battle Maiden Sect Elders vanished like ghosts in the wind.

The silence that descended on Silvermoon Peak was a stark contrast to the earlier chaos. The terrain was unrecognizable, shaped, and scarred by the mighty forces that had clashed upon it.

Cyrus stood amidst the devastation, his gaze sweeping across the battlefield. His fists unclenched slowly, the blood from his self-inflicted wounds dripping onto the scorched earth. Although this could technically be counted as a victory, it most certainly didn’t feel that way.

Instead, it felt like he was a monkey dancing in someone else’s hands.

“Aelina…” he muttered, the name tasting like poison on his tongue. “So, you really are raising an army of elites.”

There was only one reason why she would step in personally to save those disciples at that specific time. It was because they were either the strongest, luckiest, or the most desperate. The rest were just fodder.

However, there was a question that lingered in Cyrus’ mind even after knowing what she was doing.

‘Why? Why now?’

She was obviously preparing for something, and seeing that it involved the entire network of Sects, it was obviously big. However, he didn’t know what she was preparing for.

“We won!!”

“We actually did it! We can beat the Battle Maiden Sect!”

“Did you see that?! We destroyed them so hard that they had to run away with their tails in between their legs! Even their Sect Master didn’t dare to face us!”

“WOOOOOOO!!!”

Hearing his disciples celebrate their victory brought Cyrus out of his thoughts, causing him to push those questions aside.

‘None of that matters right now. Whatever Aelina’s planning for the future has nothing to do with me. I just need to focus on winning this war.’ A small smile etched upon his face as even though it felt like it was handed to them, a win was a win.

‘Not to mention, we didn’t have to use any of our trump cards this fight.’ Cyrus looked down and immediately noticed about 1000 people who had a different disposition and aura compared to his disciples.

They were wandering around, picking up ally and enemy corpses alike, storing them in their storage rings.

Meanwhile, there were others who were busy looting those very same corpses along with storing anything interesting they may find in the rubble. 

All in all, this battle could be considered a major victory for them in this war, even though Aelina had saved the remaining disciples and a majority of the enemy Elders had fled.

“My disciples!” Cyrus shouted, amplifying his voice with Qi. “Congratulations on your first of many victories!”

“OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH!”

Cyrus allowed them to yell for a moment before waving his hand to silence them. 

“Take this opportunity to loot, rest, and recover! We will move once everyone is mostly healed!” With that, Cyrus turned around and left under the stares of his cheering disciples.

***

The Elders of the Battle Maiden Sect, meanwhile, had successfully retreated, leaving behind a field littered with the bodies of their enemies. Their hearts were heavy with the loss of their comrades and the knowledge that this was just the beginning of a much greater conflict.

However, they were happy that Aelina did step in at the last moment and save those disciples. 

As they regrouped and began to heal their wounds, foreign Qi wrapped around their bodies, dragging them somewhere else. Panic showed on their faces for a moment before the Sect Master spoke.

“Don’t worry. It’s just Master Aelina.”

With that, everyone relaxed and allowed themselves to be dragged around. 

Before long, they materialized within a sprawling meadow, joining the rest of the survivors who had been evacuated earlier. It was a somber gathering under the open sky, the air heavy with the scent of fresh grass and the undercurrent of palpable tension.

Many of the disciples were injured, their clothes stained with blood, some of it their own, some of it their enemies’. Their bodies bore the hallmarks of the recent battle, from minor scratches to more significant wounds. Several were nursing broken bones, bandaging deep cuts, or resting to recover from their exertions. 

However, it was not just their physical injuries that were evident. The toll the battle had taken on their minds and spirits was equally visible.

Tears streamed down many faces, tracing paths through the grime and sweat that clung to their skin. These were the disciples who had witnessed the brutality of war for the first time. They had seen their comrades, their friends, fall before their very eyes. The realization that they had survived while others hadn’t was a heavy burden to bear.

Their eyes, once filled with the youthful glow of ambition and determination, now held a haunted look. They had seen the face of death, experienced the harsh reality of their world, and it had left them profoundly shaken. Yet, amidst the tears and the pain, there was also a spark of determination and anger.

As they were going through such inner turmoil, Aelina walked into view with her hands behind her back, a neutral expression on her face. Her gaze wandered about, hovering on every woman’s face for a moment before moving on to the next. 

A heavy silence hung in the air as the women stared at Aelina with mixed expressions. Some were full of gratitude, others angry, but they all kept their mouth shut, not daring to say a word.

A few minutes later, Aelina finally opened her mouth and spat, “Pathetic.”