Starting as the heir of a marquis's mansion, I gained access to a summoning system.

Three days later, at the foot of Aoki Peak

It was still dark.

At the foot of Qingmu Peak in Qishan Prefecture, the vast wilderness had never seen so many people. Figures surged forth from all directions, like a tidal wave. First came small groups of wandering martial artists, carrying knives and swords, riding donkeys and driving carts, emerging from various mountain passes like streams flowing into a river. Then came organized forces—carts, flags, followers, guards—one after another, spreading across the wilderness, each occupying a clearly defined territory.

Greenwood Peak rises abruptly from the ground, like a giant sword thrust upside down into the earth. Its body is a dark bluish-black, steep and sheer. The summit is shrouded in morning mist, indistinct, but from the mountainside downwards, the outlines of the Greenwood Sword Sect's buildings rise in layers. Today, the sect is unusually quiet. The mountain gates are tightly closed; no disciples patrol the mountain, no morning sword recitations. The entire mountain is waiting—waiting for someone to arrive, waiting for a battle to begin.

More and more people gathered on the wasteland, and by Chenshi (7-9 AM), there were nearly a thousand people.

Someone in the crowd whispered, "Have the Azure Dragon Society arrived?"

"not yet."

"Where is Master Qingxuan?"

"He's on the mountaintop. He won't come down today; he'll wait for Li Chenzhou to go up."

"Up the mountain? Wasn't the appointment at the foot of the peak?"

"Did you hear me clearly? The appointment was at the foot of Qingmu Peak. But Qingxuan Zhenren's sword has a sword domain extending a hundred feet in radius. Does it make a difference whether he's at the foot of the peak or on the peak?"

The person who was speaking fell silent.

Just then, the crowd suddenly became agitated.

A group of people came from the east.

Chaotian Palace

The first place we arrived at was Chaotian Palace.

The group wasn't large, only a dozen or so people. Leading them was Ling Xuzi, the deputy palace master of Chaotian Palace—a Grandmaster in the early stages.

Ling Xuzi didn't get out of the carriage. He lifted the curtain, glanced at Qingmu Peak, then at the throng of people on the wasteland, and smiled faintly: "You're early."

The carriage curtain was lowered, and the person disappeared from sight.

Someone watching from a distance whispered, "Even Chaotian Palace can't sit still anymore."

"Nonsense. A Grandmaster has emerged from the Azure Dragon Society; who would dare not come and see?"

"I've heard that Chaotian Palace and Qingmu Sword Sect have a good personal relationship?"

"Personal relationships aside, they're here today to check on the gate—to see just how thick the gate of the Green Dragon Society really is."

The speaker lowered his voice: "Guess who Ling Xuzi hopes will win?"

The other person was silent for a moment, then uttered two words: "I don't know."

Iron Blood Hall

The Iron Blood Hall members came from the west.

There are only five.

But the person walking at the very front made everyone gasp.

Iron Hand Luo Xiao – Deputy Hall Master of the Iron Blood Hall, early stage of Grandmaster. His hands were tempered by immersing them in iron sand and poison since childhood. His palms are harder than refined steel and can break swords with his bare hands. His palm wind is poisonous, and those who are hit will die from festering sores within half an hour.

There's a saying circulating in the martial arts world: "Better to meet the King of Hell than to see Iron Hand."

Luo Xiao was a burly man with broad shoulders and a thick waist. He wore a dark red short robe that revealed two scarred arms. His face was ordinary, but his eyes were not like those of a living person—cold and lifeless, like two gray stones that looked at everyone as if they were dead.

He brought no attendants; the four men behind him were all protectors of the Iron Blood Hall, their cultivation levels around the Grandmaster realm. The five of them found a high spot on the western side of the wasteland, sat down on the ground, and remained silent.

Luo Xiao took a wine pouch from his waist, tilted his head back and took a swig. Suddenly he spoke, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping against an iron plate: "The wind of Qingmu Peak carries the scent of swords."

The four guardians looked at each other, none of them daring to speak.

Luo Xiao took another swig of wine, his gaze never leaving the direction of Qingmu Peak. A slow grin spread across his face, revealing a set of teeth blackened by venom: "Today's excitement is worth two bags of wine."

Blood Dark Cult

When the Blood Dark Cult arrived, a dark cloud drifted in from the horizon.

It wasn't a real dark cloud, but a blood-red cloak.

Yin Wuxue, the Great Protector of the Blood Dark Cult – Early Stage Grandmaster.

Yin Wuxue's reputation in the thirteen western prefectures was even worse than that of Iron Hand Luo Xiao. Luo Xiao killed for money, while Yin Wuxue killed for blood. The Blood Nether Sect's cultivation methods were related to bloodlines, and Yin Wuxue was the most skilled in the sect's "Blood Refining Technique." It was said that for every person he killed, he could extract a trace of power from their blood. Over thirty years, he killed more than 1,700 people, forcibly elevating himself to the rank of Grandmaster.

He was thin, pale as paper, with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes, like a walking skeleton. His blood-red cloak trailed on the ground, and wherever it passed, the grass withered at a visible speed—this was no exaggeration; the murderous aura emanating from him was so strong that ordinary plants simply could not withstand it.

Yin Wuxue was accompanied only by one attendant, a boy of about fourteen or fifteen years old, dressed in white clothes and trousers, holding a white jade jar in his hands. The mouth of the jar was sealed with a cinnabar talisman, and the cinnabar patterns on the talisman were wriggling slightly, like a living thing.

Someone couldn't help but ask, "What's in that jar?"

No one answered.

Nobody wants to know the answer.

"The Blood Nether Sect was so frightened by the Azure Dragon Society a while ago that it retreated by several hundred miles. Today, Yin Wuxue has come in person, probably to see just how powerful Li Chenzhou really is."

"Or maybe they came to see how Li Chenzhou died?"

"Who knows what happens between the dead?"

Zhenfu Division and Jinyiwei

The official forces arrived last, but with the largest pomp and circumstance.

The people from the Zhenfu Division were from the Wanhu Office, and the leader was Wanhu Shen Jinghong.

Shen Jinghong wasn't wearing his official robes today; instead, he wore a blue gown with a jade pendant at his waist, looking like a scholar on his way to the capital for the imperial examinations. He was about forty years old, with a thin face, a long beard, gentle eyes, and even a slight smile at the corner of his mouth. But anyone who had been in the martial arts world in the west for more than ten years knew that this Commander Shen's smile was colder than a knife.

He was accompanied by six men, all elite spies from the Zhenfu Division. Their cultivation levels weren't high, but their eyesight was extremely sharp. Each of them held a booklet and a charcoal pencil, which twirled rapidly between their fingers.

As soon as Shen Jinghong arrived, the second wave of officials arrived.

They were men of Gu Changfeng, the commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

Gu Changfeng did not come in person. This commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard was stationed in the capital, and his influence could not reach this far, but he sent his confidant—Ling Yunzhi, the commander of the Northern Garrison of the Embroidered Uniform Guard. Ling Yunzhi was a Grandmaster in the early stage, tall and with a cold face. He wore a flying fish robe and had an embroidered spring knife at his waist. He exuded an aura that kept strangers at bay.

Shen Jinghong nodded to Ling Yunzhi.

Ling Yunzhi nodded as well.

Besides these few behemoths, there were many other people who came.

Three prominent local families from Qishan Prefecture have arrived—the Wang, Zhao, and Zhou families, all martial arts lineages with over a century of history, each boasting at least a grandmaster-level patriarch. Today, they've sent their most outstanding young members, ostensibly for "observation and learning," but in reality, they're here to gather intelligence for their families.

The Wolf Fang Alliance also sent someone, but only one. The man, wrapped in a drab gray cloak, hid at the very back of the crowd, afraid of being recognized. The Wolf Fang Alliance had been nearly wiped out by the Azure Dragon Society recently, and their purpose in sending someone today wasn't to watch the spectacle, but to see if the Azure Dragon Society's enemies were alive or dead.

There were also a few small sects, security escort agencies, martial arts schools, and merchants scattered around, totaling three or four hundred people. Most of them didn't even have the qualifications to be near the front row; they could only stand far away on the edge of the wasteland, tiptoeing and craning their necks, like a flock of ducks waiting for their meal.

All eyes are looking in the same direction—Aoki Mine.

On the wasteland

The sun gradually rose higher.

Ling Xuzi was still inside the carriage. But the curtains around the carriage moved without wind, and a cool aura seeped out of the carriage, as if warming up for the upcoming battle.

Iron Hand Luo Xiao had already finished two bags of wine, his expression unchanged. The four protectors beside him whispered a few words, their voices too soft to hear. But Luo Xiao suddenly smiled, a fleeting smile that seemed to mock something, or perhaps anticipate something.

One of the protectors finally couldn't help but ask, "Vice Hall Master, what are you laughing at?"

Luo Xiao tossed the empty wine flask aside and licked his lips: "I'm wondering if Li Chenzhou will die today."

"You want him dead?"

"I hope he doesn't die," Luo Xiao's voice lowered. "If he dies, who will I seek revenge on?"

Yin Wuxue was still standing. His blood-red cloak fluttered in the wind, and the young attendant stood behind him, holding a white jade jar, motionless, like a statue.

Yin Wuxue suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse and low: "They've arrived."

The boy didn't understand: "What?"

Yin Wuxue did not answer.

His eyes were fixed on the southeast direction, and a black figure was reflected in his pupils.

The wasteland suddenly fell silent.

It wasn't just silence; all sound vanished in the same instant. The wind, voices, horses' neighs, the fluttering of banners—all gone.

It wasn't that the wind had stopped, or that people had stopped talking; rather, something else had overwhelmed everything—an invisible, irresistible sense of oppression that made people tremble to their very bones.

All the pebbles in the wasteland seemed to tremble at the same time.

It wasn't an earthquake.

It's because someone is walking.

Li Chenzhou has arrived.

He walked at the very front. He wore a long black robe, his long hair was loose, his face was cold and stern, and his gaze was fixed straight ahead, as if the two thousand people did not exist, as if the Green Wood Peak in front of him was nothing more than a rock blocking his way.

He didn't look at anyone.

He didn't look at Ling Xuzi's carriage, Tie Shou Luo Xiao, Yin Wuxue, Shen Jinghong, or Ling Yunzhi. He walked past them as if they were roadside weeds.

But everyone was watching him.

His pace was neither fast nor slow, each step landing softly on the cobblestone pavement. Yet, the entire street trembled slightly with each step—no, not just the street, but the entire wasteland. Two thousand people felt the vibration beneath their feet, saw the pebbles leaping, and heard their own hearts pounding.

Shangguan Jin Hong followed behind him, his steps steady, keeping a distance of three steps, neither too close nor too far. His gaze swept across the crowd on both sides, like a fierce tiger surveying its territory, calm and collected, yet causing everyone whose gaze fell upon him to subconsciously take a step back.

Jing Wuming walked at the back, his hands hanging at his sides like a drawn sword that hadn't yet drawn blood. He didn't look at anyone, but his very presence was a warning—whoever dared to move would die first.

Three people, facing two thousand people, facing a mountain peak guarded by a veteran grandmaster.

Li Chenzhou stopped at the foot of Qingmu Peak.

He raised his head and looked towards the summit.

The morning mist had not yet dissipated, and the peak was hidden in the clouds, obscuring the figure of Qingxuan Zhenren. But Li Chenzhou knew he was there, just as Qingxuan Zhenren knew he had arrived.

Two thousand eyes on the wasteland stared at his back.

No one speaks.

No one dared to speak.

The tea vendors stopped selling their wares, the hands on the gambling tables hung suspended in mid-air, and even the wind seemed to know better than to venture out of the wasteland.

Li Chenzhou stood at the foot of Qingmu Peak, his hands hanging naturally at his sides, his long hair blowing in the wind, and the hem of his black robe billowing at his feet.

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly throughout the entire wasteland, up to Qingmu Peak, and into the ears of every mountain, every tree, and every person.

"Li Chenzhou, the fourth leader of the Azure Dragon Society, has arrived as agreed."

He paused for a moment.

"Master Qingxuan, please."

The two words landed.

All the swords on the entire Greenwood Peak rang out simultaneously.

A thousand swords rang out in unison, their sound shaking the heavens. The sound was not the harsh clang of metal clashing, but an ancient and solemn tremor, as if the entire mountain was responding to the word "please."

A sudden mountain wind arose, and the morning mist dissipated.

On Qingmu Peak, a figure slowly stood up.

Qingxuan Zhenren.

He looked down at the figure in black below the peak, his voice deep and resonant: "Li Chenzhou."

Li Chenzhou raised his head slightly.

Two gazes collided across the thousand-foot mountain wall, as if an invisible spark had exploded in the air.

Master Qingxuan spoke, his voice carrying down from the mountaintop, each word clear and distinct: "You killed my disciple, insulted my Sword Sect, and you still dare to come here today?"

Li Chenzhou's lips curled up slightly.

That wasn't a smile; it was a kind of superior composure.

"You should have expected this day to come when you sent your disciples to ambush and kill my Azure Dragon Society's leader."

Master Qingxuan was silent for a moment, then suddenly laughed: "Good. Very good."

His hand rested on the hilt of the sword.

"Then let me see just how tough the Azure Dragon Society's fist really is."

On Qingmu Peak, an ancient cyan sword was drawn, and a beam of sword light shot into the sky, splitting the morning mist in two.

A great war is about to begin.