Since the passing of the former Elder Bat, Elder White Bat had taken his place. Elder White Bat was entirely snow-white, an anomaly within the Celestial Bat Clan, possessing speed that defied comprehension. While his actual magical power was perhaps weaker than that of the late Elder Bat, he still held the advantage over Ye Yangrong.

Elder White Bat flew straight through the sky, finding Ye Yangrong with ease.

This fat man had inferior power, was slower than him, and didn't even seem to have much combat experience.

If he wasn't going to bully a slow, fat slob like this, who else was there to pick on?

Elder White Bat dove directly toward Ye Yangrong. Ye Yangrong raised his Harmonious Spirit Sword to defend, but Elder White Bat was simply too fast—impossibly fast. A streak of scarlet instantly bloomed on Ye Yangrong’s shoulder. This was the fourth time Ye Yangrong had been struck. Though each wound was minor, continuing like this meant he would inevitably die at Elder White Bat’s hands.

Elder White Bat cackled, not in a hurry to kill Ye Yangrong, preferring to torment and slowly dismantle the slow man. The Celestial Bat Clan harbored a natural antipathy towards the plump.

Elder White Bat attacked again, but this time, he noticed something different—Ye Yangrong was not defending.

Attack meeting attack; complete self-abandonment, a desperate fight to the death.

If he committed to this strike, Elder White Bat judged he could severely wound Ye Yangrong, but he himself would also suffer grievous injury from Ye Yangrong’s retaliatory sword. Was this guy throwing caution to the wind? Why the sudden urgency for a death match? Wasn't the fat man famously afraid of death?

Only a fool wants to die.

Ye Yangrong let out a wry smile.

Recently, Ye Yangrong had married. During the time Lu Yuan was away at Luelyu Mountain, his wife had become pregnant. She was due to give birth in two months. Though a cultivator, the thought of becoming a father made Ye Yangrong exceptionally thrilled. Maternal love was magnificent, but paternal love was equally vast.

With a child on the way, how could Ye Yangrong possibly bear to die?

Ye Yangrong’s beginnings were strikingly similar to his disciple, Ye Yuan. He was an orphan raised by a master on Mount Hua. If his master hadn't starved to death on the streets, it was precisely because of the severe hunger experienced while wandering as an orphan that Ye Yangrong developed such a stout, gluttonous physique even after becoming a cultivator.

Everything he possessed, Mount Hua had given him.

Before his master died, he had sworn an oath to guard the North Peak, to safeguard Mount Hua.

Therefore, at this moment when a fight demanded everything, he would not hesitate to sacrifice his own life.

He currently bore fifteen wounds; four were inflicted by Elder White Bat. The other eleven came from previous opponents, all of whom now lay dead by his hand. Now, facing the most terrifying adversary, Elder White Bat, he had no choice but to employ a final, life-risking move.

The wounds burned with a searing pain.

The unborn child, whether boy or girl, he would love them.

It was a pity; perhaps he wouldn't live to see them. Their father might perish here.

But if he didn't fight to the death, he couldn't protect Mount Hua.

Moreover, his child might grow up to despise him.

Fighting desperately here wasn't just about defending Mount Hua; it was so that his son or daughter could hold their heads high and say, "My father died defending Mount Hua," rather than being ashamed of a father who fled.

A final, desperate stand!

He must fight, even if it costs him his life here!

Unborn children—he truly longed to see what they looked like after birth, but regretfully, he might never know.

Filled with the grim resolve of one ready to die, Ye Yangrong poured his final reserves of strength into strikes meant to cost him everything.

A venomous, silent blade pierced Ye Yangrong’s body from behind.

Really? Would he never see his children born?

Ye Yangrong weakly raised a hand, attempting to caress the void, his eyes widening, straining to clearly envision the faces of his unborn children.

At the fifth level of the Great Dao Realm, Yuan Qi Master He Qinghe gritted his teeth and swallowed a pill. He Qinghe had already been wounded earlier by Fang Xie before Lu Yuan arrived—a strike from the extremely chilling skill, ‘Plum Blossom of the Lone Moon,’ which had severely depleted his power and left him gravely injured. During this subsequent great battle, countless demons had surrounded and assaulted him.

He Qinghe, being a fifth-level Great Dao Master and already gravely wounded, represented an opportunity for monumental achievement should any demon manage to fell him. Under these circumstances, how could they possibly let him go? He Qinghe consumed several pills to restore his power, slaying innumerable demons, yet even more continued to swarm and attack him relentlessly.

In truth, He Qinghe could turn and flee now. With his fifth-level Great Dao strength, unleashing his final reserves of power would make killing him extremely difficult.

However, He Qinghe chose a different path: he swallowed a Disintegration Pill!

In the Jin Kingdom, alchemy techniques were not particularly refined. While restoration elixirs existed, their efficacy was poor—either the recovery took an agonizingly long time, or the restored power was minuscule. This Disintegration Pill, however, instantly restored a full ten-tenths of his magical power, but the cost was the severe depletion of his potential, a major drain on his vitality. After using this pill, his power would drop to seventy percent of its original strength for the next thirty years, and his potential would be greatly harmed, making any further advancement exponentially more difficult.

He Qinghe was currently at the fifth level of the Great Dao; advancing one more step meant reaching the sixth level, the Half-Step Grandmaster.

Under normal circumstances, for the sake of self-preservation, he ought to fight his way out and retreat to safety.

But he could not do that.

Because he had to guard Mount Hua.

Mount Hua held his disciples, his grand-disciples, his sons, and his grandsons.

Sons, grandsons, disciples, grand-disciples.

Indeed, these descendants were not overwhelmingly strong, but they were the future hope of Mount Hua.

Hope must not be extinguished.

He would rather break this old body than allow the hope of Mount Hua to perish.

This Mount Hua, I must protect.

After consuming the Disintegration Pill, He Qinghe’s depleted spiritual power surged back instantly, accompanied by a rising tide of killing intent. He Qinghe roared: "You spawn of the demonic path, I shall fight you to the end!" Instantly returned to full power, He Qinghe charged into the throng of demons, one palm strike capable of obliterating vast numbers of them.

Demons fell continuously by his hand.

Yet, the after-effects of the Disintegration Pill were growing starker; his consciousness began to blur.

Nearby, pink petals drifted down. Were these the peach blossoms of Mount Hua?

He recalled seeing the peach blossoms when he first entered Mount Hua; those blossoms had accompanied him for over a thousand years. Now, in what might be his final battle, would the peach blossoms keep him company once more? In his daze, He Qinghe watched the blossoms fall, year after year.

The peach blossom was like Mount Hua itself.

The old generation withers and falls, transforming into red earth to nourish and sustain the new blossoms.

Fallen blossoms are not heartless; they turn to spring mud to protect the flowers.

Mount Hua had developed this way for five thousand years; now, let him become the spring mud to shield the new generation of Mount Hua.

For the hope of Mount Hua, for the new generation of Mount Hua, he would give his all!

"My Mount Hua, I will guard it..." Amidst the demon onslaught, echoes of this cry rose from every corner of Mount Hua.

"Even if I die fighting, I must protect it..." Another blood-soaked Elder of Mount Hua fell, but before death, he dragged an opponent down with him.

"For Mount Hua, I will fight!"

"My homeland, I will defend it..." Amidst the demonic attacks, these scattered voices grew in number.

And as these scattered voices multiplied, they grew louder, coalescing from faint sounds into a roaring torrent.

"Our Mount Hua, we will defend it..." This torrent confronted the demonic torrent of ambition. The demons' desire for wealth and greater resources clashed fiercely with the Mount Hua disciples' resolve to protect their home, and the people of Mount Hua fought fiercely against each other's enemies.

The strength of protection against the might of grasping power. Initially, the demons held a significant advantage, but they slowly realized something was amiss—these people from Mount Hua were throwing away their lives. So many Mount Hua disciples were fighting desperately, unafraid to use any life-risking technique, refusing to yield even when life was extinguished, determined to drag a demon down with them.

One might call demons ruthless, but the people of Mount Hua were currently even more ferocious. The demons had attacked Mount Hua this time seeking revenge and greater resources, aiming for control over the earth, but no matter how precious these things were, they were not worth their own lives. Upon seeing the near-insanity and relentless desperation of the Mount Hua defenders, a significant portion of the demons chose not to fight as fiercely, and began to retreat.

One demon retreating was insignificant, but too many retreating became a major problem. The demonic ambition for earthly hegemony clashed head-on with the Mount Hua resolution to defend their home. The resulting torrent of protective resolve shattered the demonic torrent in several places. In this clash of convictions and collision of torrents, Mount Hua gained the upper hand.

Boom! The demonic conviction, the demonic torrent, finally buckled, utterly shattered and broken by the protective torrent raised by Mount Hua.

Mount Hua had won!

The people of the Wudang Immortal Sect, Kunlun Immortal Sect, and Qingcheng Immortal Sect watched in stunned silence.

Mount Hua had actually won!

Perhaps those still immersed in the battle couldn't fully grasp it, but those observing from the periphery already saw that Mount Hua had triumphed. The conviction of Mount Hua had won; the torrent of Mount Hua had won.

If initially, this was merely the miracle wrought by Lu Yuan alone,

Then now, it was the miracle of all of Mount Hua.

The depth of Mount Hua's conviction was astonishing.

As for those from the South Sea Immortal Sect, their blood had long been boiling with excitement, prompting them to charge into the fray of the Mount Hua battle, eager to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with the people of Mount Hua.

On this day, on and around Mount Hua, a sound capable of stirring the blood of heroes rang out: "Our Mount Hua, we will defend it..."