Chapter 1029: Vast and Majestic (Part One)

The sun rose over the eastern sea, casting a myriad of golden rays.

Between heaven and earth, beyond the northwestern frontier, sunlight surged like a tide, advancing slowly from east to west, bringing boundless radiance.

Atop the walls of Jubei City, a royal banner bearing the character “Xu” fluttered, while in the heart of the Northern Wilderness camp outside the city, a grand standard was similarly bathed in the morning light.

Beneath the Northern Wilderness standard, the Crown Prince of the Northern Wilderness sat astride a sweat-blood steed, clad in resplendent golden armor, gazing southward toward the city walls with a triumphant smile.

Under the royal banner on the city walls, a raised drum platform stood a zhang higher than the walkway. A young woman dressed in plain white ascended the steps, standing before a massive oxhide drum. She removed the sword case from her back and slammed it onto the ground, then stepped forward, hesitating for a moment before taking a deep breath and gripping the drumstick tightly. The veteran soldiers of Jubei City who had survived the wars of the Spring and Autumn Era couldn’t suppress their excitement at the sight.

Perhaps the backbone of the current Northern Liang border army—the peerless Northern Liang Iron Cavalry—now belonged to the likes of Li Mofan, Liu Yanchao, and Ning Emei, all formidable generals in their prime. Soon, command might even pass to younger warriors like Yu Luandao, Cao Wei, and Kou Jianghuai Xie Xichui. Such was the cycle of life, inevitable and unstoppable. But to the old soldiers of Northern Liang, especially those who had fought in the decisive Battle of Xileibi, the sight of that drum and the woman in white stirred memories as fresh as yesterday. For this towering fortress guarding the northwestern border, the second most important event after its inauguration was not the completion of the Great General’s residence but the seemingly bizarre construction of this drum platform!

The drum had been stored in the vaults of Qingliang Mountain for years, preserved by the Xu family along with its ancient drumstick. Crafted during the Battle of Xileibi, it had followed the Xu family army into Northern Liang after the Butcher Xu Xiao was enfeoffed as a prince in the northwest. Since ancient times, armies had advanced to the sound of drums and retreated to the sound of gongs—a tradition rooted in the Yin-Yang philosophy of the Qin era. Drums, made of wood, symbolized the vitality of spring and summer, while autumn, associated with metal, signified withdrawal. Rumor had it that after the Xu family retreated from the Central Plains to the frontier, the Northern Liang “barbarians” adopted a tradition: “After Xileibi, the Xu family heeds no gongs, only drums.” The court of Liyang dismissed this as exaggeration—no army, no matter how mighty, could truly fight without ever retreating.

The drum remained the same, but the woman was no longer the one from years past. Yet the sword case was unchanged, the plain white robes were unchanged, and her beauty, capable of toppling cities and kingdoms, remained as breathtaking as ever.

The woman turned her gaze toward the walkway, where a tall figure slowly made his way to the center of the wall, toward the gate where the plaque hung. He wore a python robe from the Jinlu Weaving Bureau of Lingzhou, its black and gold threads shimmering in the sunlight.

As if sensing her gaze, the young man turned and smiled at her.

The peerlessly beautiful woman, who had been uneasy, suddenly felt at peace. Home was wherever he was—though she had never told him that as long as she could see him, her heart was at ease.

She glanced down at the sandalwood sword case at her feet, then lifted her head with renewed determination. Gripping the drumstick with both hands, she prepared to strike the drum. Today, she would emulate the legendary sword immortal surnamed Wu, rallying the spirits of Northern Liang and the northwest—for him.

Below the walls, the Northern Wilderness commander, after taunting Northern Liang for its cowardice, laughed heartily and leaned back slightly, looking up at the city’s defenders. The burly grassland warrior swaggered with arrogance, as if the armored soldiers on the walls were nothing to him.

But when he caught sight of the python-robed prince standing directly above the gate, he instinctively tightened his reins and sat upright, one hand gripping the hilt of his saber.

Instead of retreating, he boldly met the gaze of the legendary prince, emboldened by the forty thousand grassland cavalry at his back. Though a flicker of fear stirred in his heart, his lust for power drowned it out. He knew his words today would echo across Jubei City, the grasslands, and even reach the ears of both emperors. This was a feat that would earn him unparalleled merit—even without drawing his sword. If he could exchange words with the young Prince of Northern Liang, his fame would soar across both dynasties. Steadying himself, he deliberately circled his horse and pointed his whip at the walls, shouting, “Are you Xu Fengnian?!”

But the young man’s gaze swept over the Northern Wilderness camp, as if searching for something, ignoring the commander who had already claimed his glory.

Frustrated, the commander prepared to taunt further when, at a wave of the golden-armored rider beneath the grand standard, horns blared across the Northern Wilderness army, signaling the start of the siege.

A dark tide of Northern Wilderness infantry began advancing like locusts, stretching from north to south.

From the walls of Jubei City, the view was of a swarm so dense it obscured the ground. Among them, 2,300 catapults of varying sizes were positioned in a vast arc, their operators scrambling under the supervision of Southern Dynasty officials. Unlike the earlier siege of Hutou City, this assault boasted not only a staggering number of catapults but also a majority of massive ones, capable of raining down destruction like a celestial storm—until the mountains ran out of stones.

Mixed among the swarm were specially crafted ballistae from the Southern Dynasty’s armory. Unlike their Central Plains counterparts, designed for defense, these were used by the cavalry-rich Northern Wilderness to pin massive iron spears into the walls, allowing assault troops to scale them like ants. The elite “Thousand-Gold Warriors”—akin to the Southern Dynasty’s finest infantry—would hide among the attackers, eschewing obvious siege towers or ladders. Instead, they climbed like agile monkeys, gripping the embedded spears, their light leather armor and daggers between their teeth making them deadly, unexpected threats.

As the Northern Wilderness army pressed forward, the royal standard stood out vividly, flanked by the fluttering banners of grassland commanders.

The Crown Prince suddenly frowned as a stocky, taciturn man appeared beside his steed. Unarmored and unarmed save for a cloth pouch at his waist, the man stood silently.

The Crown Prince, ever the gracious leader, leaned down and asked amiably, “Grandmaster Deng, why reveal yourself so soon? Surely no one from Northern Liang could penetrate this far?”

The man, who carried a broken spearhead in his pouch, remained silent.

In just three or four years, the Northern Wilderness’s martial elite had dwindled to a pitiful few. The Daoist Sect’s leader, who had tamed a young qilin, had ascended. The Fifth Mian of Tibingshan had fallen to the new Prince of Northern Liang. Hong Jingyan of Qijianle Mansion had died on the Longyan Plains. The Bronze Ancestor had vanished. The Little Thought and Iron Horseman of the Princess’s Tomb had perished in Northern Liang. The demonic overlords Luo Yang and Hu Yan Daguan had long since withdrawn from the world. Now, aside from Tuoba Ba, the unshakable pillar, and the renegade Zhong Liang, only this man surnamed Deng remained to uphold the Northern Wilderness’s martial pride.

Assigned by the Northern Wilderness’s Spiderweb leader, Li Mibi, to protect the Crown Prince—the nominal commander of the forty-thousand-strong army—Deng Mao had emerged from the shadows for one reason:

He sensed the arrival of the white-clad demon who had once brought the entire grassland to its knees. And she was about to enter the battlefield.

Deng Mao knew better than anyone the depths of her power.

The Northern Wilderness commander knew he should retreat—his army was about to unleash a volley to cover the infantry’s advance.

But just as he turned his horse, a gust of wind brushed past him. Startled, he turned to find the python-robed young man standing beside his steed, facing the grassland army as if the city walls were nothing.

The commander, horrified that the prince would dare leave the safety of the city, stammered, “How—how are you outside?! Xu Fengnian, how dare you—”

Before he could finish, his horse’s legs buckled as if crushed by a mountain. The young prince casually flicked his hand, and the commander’s body lurched forward, his head caught in the prince’s grip. With a gentle toss, the commander’s corpse, blood streaming from seven orifices, was flung dozens of zhang away.

On the walls of Jubei City, the woman struck the drum.

This was perhaps the first time Northern Liang had raised its voice to the heavens.

Following the drumbeats, as Xu Fengnian appeared outside the city, figures descended like meteors, landing in a line beside him, facing north.

To his left stood a middle-aged swordsman from Western Shu—one of the four grandmasters on the martial rankings, Deng Tai’a. Hands behind his back, twin swords at his waist, the wind tousling his hair, the unassuming “Peach Blossom Sword God” finally revealed the peerless demeanor of a true sword immortal.

To his right stood a figure in white—the demonic Luo Yang, both the Northern Wilderness’s Princess Tomb’s Great Thought and the Liyang’s Zhulushan Sect’s leader.

Without turning, she said coolly, “You broke your promise.”

The young prince smiled silently.

Xu Yanbing landed heavily to Deng Tai’a’s left, gripping his iron spear. “I never thought I’d have the honor of fighting alongside the Peach Blossom Sword God.”

Deng Tai’a replied simply, “The honor is mine.”

A figure in purple landed gracefully, her robes fluttering.

Xuan Yuan Qingfeng smiled with childlike innocence, as if the weight of the past had finally lifted.

After this battle, we’ll be even. Then we need never meet again.

Zhu Pao Xu Ying landed beside Luo Yang, beaming at her and him.

The white-haired, one-armed Sui Xiegu exhaled softly, his snow-white brows twitching. The man who had devoured countless famed swords carried none today, yet his breath alone could topple mountains.

The blind qin mistress Xue Songguan cradled her instrument, fingers poised above the strings, ready to pluck.

A touch could summon immortality—or sever it.

Wu Liuding, the current sword champion of the Wu Family Sword Mound, surveyed the Northern Wilderness army and chuckled. “Quite the spectacle compared to our ancestors’ battles. I’ll have to brag to Wen Busheng—after this, I’ll have seen it all.”

His sword servant, Cui Hua, who usually kept her eyes closed, glanced at the woman drumming on the walls, then whispered, “Am I too plain? Too ill-tempered?”

Wu Liuding grinned. “Cui Hua! Ever since I tasted your pickles, you’ve been the finest match for me. No question!”

Nearby, the Wudang grandmaster Yu Xingrui, carrying a peachwood sword, laughed heartily. “Young man, you remind me of my junior brother.”

Farther along stood the blade master Mao Shulang, the elderly scholar Cheng Baishuang, and the Southern Dragon Palace’s chief guest, Ji Liu’an.

Mao Shulang meditated, hand on his saber hilt.

Ji Liu’an gazed calmly at the oncoming tide.

Cheng Baishuang, one step from sagehood, stroked his beard and murmured, “Master, who says scholars lack courage?”

At the far left, Wei Miao, the foremost warrior of Southern Zhao, crossed his arms beside Chai Qingshan, leader of the Dongyue Sword Pool.

Wei Miao asked in broken Central Plains dialect, “Master Chai, is the Sword Pool as scenic as they say?”

Chai Qingshan smiled. “Not as grand as your Ten-Thousand-Mile Mountains, but unique in its own way. If you ever visit, I’ll treat you to three jars of my apricot wine!”

At the far right, Yu Xinlang and his junior Lou Huang stood with their blades—Yu’s sword, one of the world’s top ten, and Lou’s ordinary Northern Liang saber.

Lou Huang said solemnly, “Don’t forget our agreement.”

Yu Xinlang merely smiled.

On the northwestern frontier, along a single line—

Eighteen figures stood.