Chapter 72: The Ancient Battle (Part Four)

If one insists on being precise, they should actually be considered the third line of defense.

The first line of defense consisted of objects falling from the sky, engulfing the monsters in roaring flames, intended to weaken the defensive power of those ghastly pale creatures.

The second line of defense was a series of deep pit traps bristling with spears, meant to reduce their numbers as much as possible.

As for the third line of defense, that was their task.

However, in practice, the first line of defense had deviated somewhat from the plan; the imagined inferno failed to materialize in some places. Though the billowing smoke managed to temporarily confine those pale, man-eating giants, it inflicted little real harm. Therefore, it could barely be counted upon.

“I have awaited you beasts for a long time,” the white-haired elder declared, clenching his fists as he prepared himself.

Where his gaze fell, a vast stretch of dark earth was crawling with densely packed, gigantic pale monsters that had safely crossed the deep pit traps and were now surging toward the location of the ancient city of Guli.

They used the bodies of their frailest as living paving stones, advancing with chilling order. By such means, the losses to their tribe were minimized.

The entire process was eerily silent—cold-blooded and unified. The death-bound monsters exhibited no hesitation, as if long accustomed to such sacrifice. One after another, like cold, lifeless stones, they hurled themselves into the surrounding pit traps.

This was their most terrifying trait: for the good of the entire tribe, the weakest class willingly stepped forward to die, without complaint, using their own lives to propel the species forward.

“No wonder they are monsters born from the Endless Night,” the white-haired elder murmured. “If my ancient ape tribe cannot withstand this calamity, we may well vanish from the world, erased completely.”

His gaze, frosted with determination, flickered to the imposing structure behind him.

The Central Li Dynasty, established in the era of Ancestor Chi, had stood for nearly a millennium. It was the most magnificent cultural legacy of the ancient ape tribe, bearing witness to centuries of tumult and to the sweeping ambitions of the warlord Chi a thousand years ago.

Unnoticed, this ancient building now faced its second great trial of life and death.

“Elder…”

Not far away—

After igniting the celestial fire, a handsome young man soared over, swift as a diving hawk, and landed before the white-haired elder and the striking woman.

Compared to before, he now wielded a slender spear, pure black and gleaming faintly. This spear was crafted from the vines of a certain hardwood plant—far more resilient and tough than ordinary mosswood, making it ideal for weapon-making.

Yet the material was so precious that even a small piece required a fortune in top-grade rations to obtain. In the Li Dynasty, such a black spear was a luxury in a class by itself.

Moreover, not just anyone could wield such a weapon. Only the highest caste among the third rank were permitted the privilege, making these spears truly a symbol of nobility.

Yet the handsome youth was no noble. He was born a slave of the lowest order.

By the standards of the Li Dynasty, which judged all by birth, he was destined to remain an attached servant, never to rise above his station. But a century ago, the Nameless Patriarch freely taught the Way to the world. Even the humblest and most wretched gained a precious ticket to power and greatness.

Countless commoners were transformed, able to stand against ten, a hundred, or even command the elements themselves.

He was one of the countless fortunate souls.

Though not a noble, he was exempt from the Li Dynasty’s authority; mortal hierarchies were now mere trifles to him.

Naturally—

“Both of you, we must give everything to defend the ancient ape tribe,” the white-haired elder said solemnly, his brow furrowed. With his words, his hands moved swiftly, forming complex and intricate seals.

Centuries ago, the Nameless Patriarch walked the Nine Provinces, imparting his immense power to the world. The vast and mysterious knowledge of the Dao De Jing became the source of unimaginable strength.

Through the passing of ages, countless Daoist masters emerged during the centuries since the Nameless Patriarch’s sudden disappearance, pouring their lives into refining the lineage of the Way into ever more diverse branches.

Among these, some devoted themselves to the extreme cultivation of the body, trusting in nothing but their own flesh, believing that perfecting the physical form would one day lead to sainthood and the world-shaping powers spoken of in the Daoist scriptures.

These practitioners were known as the Barbarians. Their stubbornness left them estranged from common society, and their training demanded they dwell in places so harsh that ordinary folk could not endure them.

There were also those who pursued mastery of the Daoist arts, seeking to contend with heaven and earth through technique. These were the Spellcasters, who disdained bodily cultivation in favor of long-range attacks and communion with the natural forces of the continent.

The white-haired elder belonged to this second type—and was an outstanding figure among them. His mastery of water control was uncanny, capable of conjuring towering waves in the blink of an eye.

“Elder, rest assured,” the handsome man replied, cupping his fists. “Since we have chosen to leave the city, we will not flee halfway. As cultivators, blessed to walk this path and wield power far beyond the ordinary, we must use that strength to defend our people. This is heaven’s gift to us—and heaven’s command.”

“Well spoken, Lord Ya,” the striking woman agreed with a nod.

“You both understand the greater good. That is the fortune of our ancient ape tribe,” the elder said gravely.

“You are too kind, Elder,” the young man replied with a light laugh. Then, spear in hand, he charged forward.

Though he was neither a pure body cultivator nor a dedicated spellcaster, he excelled in the use of weapons.

The woman, however, remained behind, for she, like the elder, was a true spellcaster.

Spellcasters, though formidable, were physically fragile and required the protection of the rear lines.

At that moment, the vast battlefield resounded with the clamor of battle.

Behind the ancient walls, figures in unfamiliar garb surged forth like a tide, colliding instantly with the invading pale monsters.

These were the surviving cultivators from the First Great War. Though fewer in number, they had endured fire and blood. Their overall combat strength was, if anything, strengthened.

With the low walls as cover, the movements of the pale monsters were hampered.

These walls were built specifically against these pale spore-born entities. Reinforced with mud bricks, they allowed the ancient apes to pass freely, but for the huge pale monsters, they were an undeniable obstacle.