Journey to the West: The Immortal Clan Begins by Feeding Monkeys at Five Elements Mountain

Chapter 86 Fighting with Lives
As soon as the order was given, the atmosphere in the camp became heavy, like the wind entering the forest or an arrow being drawn.

Before midnight the next day, the stove fire was already lit, and amidst the rising steam, the sound of armor clanging softly could be heard.

At dawn, the army broke camp. It was still dark when they marched up the mountain silently, like a silent iron dragon lying on the ridge, coldly looking down at the barbarian village.

As dawn broke and the morning light pierced through the forest, the first ray of light fell on the blade and also illuminated the sudden shouts of battle that rose from the valley.

Dust swirled, a murderous aura filled the air, and the deep, resounding war drums sent shivers down everyone's spines.

The topknot is not spineless.

The barbarian soldiers, bare-chested, with their hair tied in high buns, wrapped in animal skins, and carrying bone clubs and short knives, charged forward howling.

It was as if a mountain demon had been unleashed from its cage, acting like a madman.

Unfortunately, mere bloodlust could not overcome the battle formation, and brute force could not prevail over military discipline.

The array of swords and shields advanced in rows, the front ranks not falling before the rear ranks arrived, swords and spears like a tide, pressing forward relentlessly.

Seeing that the Ghost Bun tribe was about to be overwhelmed, the sorcerers could no longer sit still.

Adorned with feathers and bones, chanting incantations, he sought to stir up demonic winds and ghostly mists, and reverse the course of fate.

However, Taoist priests from the Celestial Masters sect were already lined up around the high ground, waiting for them.

The eight trigrams, talismans, hand seals, and incense offerings on the altar were arranged in a solemn and orderly manner.

Master Chongxu stood at the center of the formation, his green robe fluttering. With a flick of his whisk, clear light rained down from the sky, crashing down upon him.

These wizards, who usually acted mysteriously, were completely exposed at this moment.

Before the incantation was completed, the spell was broken; before the spell was completed, the person died.

Some were struck by the talisman fire, their bodies were scalded as if by oil, they fell to the ground and rolled around, screaming in agony;

Some were pierced through the heart by iron spears before they could even open their mouths, blood splattering all over their faces.

This battle was fought cleanly and decisively; the sword fell and the men fell, like cutting straw.

While it was still light, the village gate was already broken, and flames shot straight up the roof, stinging people's eyes and noses.

Anyone who could still wield a knife or a club is now lying in the mountain wind; their blood is not yet cold, but their souls have already departed.

Only the elderly, women, and children remained in the village, their cries echoing intermittently.

After the stronghold was breached, the soldiers surged forth like a receding tide, their shouts shaking the heavens.

The valley echoed with a deafening roar, and footsteps kicked up dust, as if all the anger and grievances that had been suppressed along the way were finally unleashed by the mountain stronghold.

Meanwhile, the group of Taoist priests in green robes from the Celestial Masters sect had already retreated back to the mountain pass.

From beginning to end, he didn't even step into the gate of the village.

Or perhaps they found the mountain stronghold too crude and its fishy smell too offensive, tainting their spiritual cultivation.

Or perhaps they were just kind-hearted people who couldn't bear to witness such a massacre.

Ma Changfeng still stood in front of the village gate, his armor still on, his brows furrowed, his body as still as a javelin, motionless.

His lips twitched, perhaps he wanted to ask the Taoist priest to perform another spell to investigate, lest any remaining villains still be hiding.

But he suppressed the thought as soon as it arose.

He only said coldly:

"No unauthorized entry is permitted. Count the corpses and collect the bodies of the fallen. The rest of you, follow orders: set up camp outside the stronghold and reorganize in place."

As for the tens of thousands of elderly, weak, women and children in the village, whether to kill or release them was not mentioned at all.

Such matters are not matters for a mere captain to decide.

Jiang Liang did not enter the camp with the main force. His job as a scout was neither to behead people nor to bury corpses.

He simply followed the squad leader, patrolling the area around the mountain stronghold to guard against remaining enemies and to search for any remaining rebels.

The mountain breeze swept by, but could not dispel the blood and qi.

Amidst the ruins and miscellaneous trees ahead, a stone slab house emerges. The house is low, the walls are slanted, and it is extremely inconspicuous.

Jiang Liang was walking with the crowd, but he paused in front of the house.

For some reason, I suddenly felt a pang in my heart.

Without uttering a sound, he stood quietly, seemingly undisturbed by the passing wind, yet his mind was like a pond where a stone had been thrown, quietly rippling outwards.

There was a breath in that room.

It was hidden very well, but it couldn't escape the perception of a calm mind.

His breathing was extremely low, not the rapid, fearful trembling, nor the intermittent breaths of someone on the verge of death from serious injury.

It was as if... they had been waiting there for a long time, holding their breath.

His breath carried a hint of heat, a touch of restlessness, and a faint trace of… barely suppressed excitement. Jiang Liang's heart skipped a beat, and the hairs on his body stood on end.

Just as he was about to whisper a reminder to the team leader, his words were abruptly cut off before he could speak.

A whistle suddenly rang out from deep within the village.

It is thin and sharp; with a gentle flick, it pricks the eardrum slightly and makes the teeth ache.

Immediately afterwards, echoes resounded from all directions.

The whistles sounded one after another, unhurried yet lingering in the ears, causing a strange sense of unease.

The mountain stronghold, which had been gradually falling silent, suddenly erupted into chaos.

It was neither a charge nor a retreat.

Instead... he committed suicide.

Jiang Liang stood in front of the stone house, unable to see what was inside.

But those auras suddenly exploded.

His breathing quickened, filled with a long-suppressed excitement—not fear, but fervor.

The entire village fell into an eerie silence.

There were no screams, no wails, only a dull, grating sound that echoed quietly through the village.

The bone blade pierced the skin, and the edge went into the chest.

It was neither a brawl nor a murder.

More than 10,000 lives were lost at the same moment as someone tearing their own flesh apart.

The stench of blood rose very quickly, hitting you in the face and making your chest feel tight.

Under the stone slab house, blood was already visible.

At first, there were only a few thin threads, winding like silk, silently flowing out from the corner of the house.

In the blink of an eye, the red color turned into streams, one after another, flowing slowly down the slope of the village to the low-lying area at the bottom of the valley.

Before long, almost the entire village was covered in dye.

Nearly ten thousand people perished at the sound of the same whistle.

There was no sound, no struggle; they were as orderly as soldiers in training, so quiet it sent chills down one's spine.

Standing in the wind, Jiang Liang felt a chill run down his spine and broke out in a sweat just from the smell and the air, even though he hadn't seen it with his own eyes.

The scouts stared at the bloodline, motionless, their faces pale, as if they were standing on an endless ghost face, not on the ground.

This village is no longer a place for humans to live.

The blood flowed more and more, rushing out from each household and converging along the ancient stone ditches, grooves, and cracks in the village.

Like threads that have been laid out beforehand, gradually sketching out a battle formation.

The blood array slowly took shape, faintly exuding a strange aura.

The smell of blood is no longer monotonous, but has become more pungent and acrid.

The wind cannot disperse it, nor can the sunlight diminish it.

The last rays of the setting sun on the horizon, though generally warm, now seemed to have been tinged with a dark red.

Hanging motionless on the mountain ridge, it resembles a bloodshot eye suspended in mid-air.

Fog had risen from the surrounding mountain valleys sometime earlier.

It wasn't the same chilling, shadowy gray fog as before.

It was blood mist.

It was a deep, almost blackish red, thick and almost dripping with color. Wisps of it rose up and, in the blink of an eye, the entire valley was completely engulfed.

The Taoist priest in blue robes from the Celestial Masters sect was closest to the scene. Upon seeing this, his expression immediately changed, and a look of horror flashed in his eyes.

He instinctively stood up, flicked his whisk, releasing a faint aura, and prepared to retreat.

But this time, the Taoist Qingguang, who usually exorcised evil spirits and summoned wind and thunder, was silently swallowed up completely.

It didn't explode, it didn't make a sound, it didn't even create a ripple.

Countless invisible hands, with sharp nails and icy sleeves, seemed to be reaching out from all directions through the fog.

They grabbed their clothes, whisks, and hair ornaments tightly and pulled them into the blood mist.

The dozen or so Taoist priests were all highly accomplished practitioners who had cultivated for many years, yet they couldn't help but stumble and retreat.

(End of this chapter)