As the profound silence settled, Li Hu Jichang suddenly coughed, his expression becoming somewhat unnatural. "My apologies, Young Master Zong Shi! The situation has drastically changed, and the outcome is all but decided. Our Xuansu Sect will not be participating in this battle for the Demon King of Qiantian Mountain. All prior agreements are now void, and naturally, we will not be seeking repayment for the resources the Xuansu Sect has already invested."

Beside him, True Man Wuye hesitated for a moment before speaking with difficulty, "Shi'er, this defeat is sealed. With your exceptional intelligence, you must know when to cut your losses. You can return with me to your senior brother. Once you are truly under the tutelage of our Dao Ming Sect, within a few years, you will undoubtedly become a core disciple. You can still make a name for yourself." "Leave?"

Zong Shi let out a cold, dismissive laugh, his gaze fixed on Zong Shou with chilling intensity, radiating malice and resentment. "We are far from defeated yet. Why should we leave? In my eyes, the contest for the Demon King today still holds a fifty percent chance of victory for us!"

Wuye and Jichang were both momentarily speechless, guessing that Zong Shi likely could not accept reality and was spewing nonsense. The latter merely sneered, turning to walk away, thinking that no matter how brilliant one's innate talent, without sufficient tempering, they could never achieve true greatness. Just one failure, and he had clearly lost his mind.

But in the next instant, Zong Shi suddenly spoke up, "Brother Xue, you intend to employ the Xue family's Illusory Mist Bewitching Heart Art; I presume you have brought your clan's Heart Mirror as well?"

Xue Moyan, who had been standing aside with a perpetual, almost-smile, immediately curled his lips. "And if I have? To be frank, in my estimation, Zong Shi, you have absolutely no chance."

"Not necessarily!" Zong Shi shook his head. "I admit that Zong Shou's cunning and methods might even surpass mine. But everyone, please do not forget. This person is ultimately just a cripple—he cultivates no martial arts, practices no spiritual techniques, and is worse off than an ordinary person. Since Brother Xue can deploy the Illusory Mist Bewitching Heart Art, concealing our movements should be no trouble at all."

"Are you planning to directly assassinate this young lord?"

Xue Moyan’s eyes narrowed slightly, showing a spark of interest. "That is a possibility. However, Zong Shi, you currently have few assets to offer my Xue clan in return."

"Once this is accomplished, Qiantian Mountain, and even the Zong clan, can pledge allegiance to the Eight-Tailed Xue clan! How is that for a return?"

Seeing Xue Moyan flash a brilliant smile, Zong Shi knew the man was swayed. He continued, "Furthermore, regarding Yinlong Valley, Qiantian Mountain will claim nothing. The thirty percent share previously agreed upon can be distributed separately to the Dao Ming Sect and the Xuansu Sect."

True Man Wuye, who had initially shown displeasure, now smiled, his expression warming with benevolent pleasure.

Li Hu Jichang, who had already walked more than ten paces away, returned with a loud laugh. "It's a deal! Young Master Zong Shi is truly generous. Jichang will gamble with you this time! I only wonder, when do you plan to make your move, Young Master?"

Zong Shi felt a slight easing of tension, which was immediately replaced by a surge of vicious intent. He narrowed his eyes and sneered, "Naturally, when that young lord is at his most complacent!"

Let him employ all his clever schemes! A single sword strike from me will end his life!

ｘＸｘＸ

Zong Shou remained seated atop his fourth-tier war steed, his demeanor languid. This was not an act, but a genuine lack of enthusiasm. He wished this day’s affair would conclude quickly so he could dedicate himself entirely to refining his swordsmanship. Holding such a significant advantage, if he still managed to lose, he might as well be equated with an imbecile.

In his previous life, to the Zong Shou who could not cultivate and understood nothing of worldly affairs, Qiantian Mountain was indeed an unsolvable predicament. There was no path other than to remain a puppet awaiting death.

Having gained decades of worldly experience, and with his former cultivation gradually returning, this minor impasse was naturally easy to resolve.

Suddenly, he sensed a hostile gaze bearing down on him from a distance.

Zong Shou raised an eyebrow but remained completely unconcerned. Too many lice cause no itch; too many debts cause no worry. Since entering the city, he had encountered countless such gazes carrying hints of killing intent. There were so many that he had become utterly numb, refusing to pay them any mind. No matter what methods were employed against him, Zong Shou would simply weather the storm.

Chai Yuan, having abandoned all hope, no longer delayed his actions. In less than half an hour, the entire family—the old, the young, women, and children of the Chai clan—had been sent over. With Hu Zhongyuan and Zong Lan present, there was no fear of deception.

Fifteen minutes later, the private forces of the Fengxiong tribe had detached sixty thousand armored soldiers. Although Chai Yuan still held loyalty towards Zong Shi and Zong Yang, having been forced to surrender, he held back nothing, selecting only the most elite units.

The two armies merged, totaling one hundred and forty thousand men, advancing mightily toward the west.

This time, they not only gained sixty thousand elite warriors from the Fengxiong tribe, but the morale of the five garrisons of the East City Army had also surged dramatically. Gone was the instability following the recent purges; instead, countless soldiers felt a sense of relief.

Furthermore, two hundred thousand able-bodied men were swept along, driven forward to clear the path for the army's advance. In Qiantian Mountain City, nearly everyone practiced martial arts and possessed considerable strength. Wherever they passed, structures were leveled in an instant.

The distance between the Fengxiong tribe's settlement and the Mulang tribe's garrison was only fifteen li. The army advanced, and in just over fifteen minutes, they arrived. At this point, several other large armies were closing in from afar. The fifty thousand troops of the West City Army, along with the nearly one hundred thousand combined forces of the City Guard and the Imperial Forest Guard under Qiu Wei’s direct command.

The various clans within the city who had been observing the shifting tides now understood that victory was decided. They mobilized their forces and converged on this location. In the blink of an eye, over three hundred thousand troops had gathered around the Mulang tribe's settlement, completely encircling an area spanning more than ten li.

Instantly, the air was thick with murderous intent, and the momentum was overwhelming. Battle standards fluttered violently, and armor clanged deafeningly. The Mulang tribe’s influence was no less than the Fengxiong’s; though their fighting strength was slightly weaker, they had a larger population, with thirteen thousand troops in their private army. Their warriors were renowned for their ferocity. Yet, surrounded on all sides by vast armies, even they showed flickering eyes filled with apprehension.

The generals, though their gazes were cold and held suppressed anger, forcibly restrained any impulse to counterattack. They continuously contracted their formation, allowing the hundreds of thousands of surrounding troops to advance, gradually compressing their space. Only when they had retreated as far as possible did a group of figures emerge from within the formation. Most were elders, likely the council members of the Mulang tribe.

However, the one leading them was a young man of about twenty. His body hair resembled steel needles and wolf bristles, and a thin fissure ran down his brow—the purest bloodline of the Mulang tribe.

Zong Shou did not recognize the man, but Hu Zhongyuan let out a dry chuckle. "I knew that brat wouldn't be able to hold out..."

Seeing Zong Shou look at him inquiringly, Hu Zhongyuan quickly explained, "This is Ling Xuan, the eldest son of that old fellow Ling Fakong. We used to be quite close, even allies back then. This fellow is different from his father. Ling Fakong always favored Zong Shi, but Ling Xuan takes after my father. It always made my old man say we two were born to the wrong families." He intentionally stressed the word 'used to be.' Zong Shou smiled faintly, unconcerned.

The various clans within Qiantian Mountain were intricately intertwined, often linked by marriage. Dwelling on such matters was purely inviting misery. As for the latter part of the explanation, it drew his slight attention, but only slightly.

He wasn't sure if Hu Zhongyuan was speaking well of his friend. Regardless, whether Ling Xuan held goodwill towards him or not, Zong Shou didn't particularly care. With things having reached this stage, he could crush any scheme thrown his way.

Ling Xuan approached the front of the two opposing formations, dismounted, and bowed deeply. "Ling Xuan of the Mulang tribe requests an audience with the Young Lord to parley!"

Zong Shi pursed his lips slightly. If Ling Fakong himself had come, it would have been different. To meet the son of a mere tribal chief? That would diminish his standing! Given the situation, if Ling Fakong didn't appear, negotiations would likely fail anyway.

He gestured with three fingers towards the side, and Zong Shou chuckled coldly. "Tell him: surrender or fight. Either the clan is annihilated, or you surrender immediately. There is no third path!"

Hu Zhongyuan understood immediately and galloped to the front of the formation. He cast a glance of pity at Ling Xuan on the ground before his expression reverted to indifference. "The Young Lord says: within three hundred breaths. If you do not yield, the entire Mulang clan will be exterminated!"

Zong Shou blinked in surprise behind him. This fellow was truly loyal and conscientious. Zong Shou had only intended to give them thirty breaths—no time for deliberation—but Hu Zhongyuan had stretched it to three hundred. After a moment's thought, Zong Shou dismissed it. Everyone had their selfish motives, and he hadn't made his intention clear. However, once this was over, he would definitely hold this matter against him.

Ling Xuan’s face turned pale, his eyes flickering uncertainly. The elders behind him showed similar signs, their bodies trembling slightly, betraying hesitation and indecision. They seemed willing to agree, yet apparently worried about something.

Just as Ling Xuan opened his mouth several times, only to fall silent, a heavy sigh echoed from beyond the battlefield. "Young Lord, our Mulang tribe surrenders!"

A figure, robes billowing softly, walked from the distance. His handsome face, much like Chai Yuan's, was etched with the pallor of utter despair. He walked past, and upon reaching Ling Xuan's side, also knelt on the ground.

Only then did Zong Shou's expression shift slightly. He urged his horse forward, moving slowly and deliberately until he was before the two men. Then, his eyes icy cold, he stared fixedly at Ling Fakong. Although the man remained composed, his face was deathly white, and though his eyes appeared calm, a current of regret could be discerned.

Zong Shou finally smiled. "Do you know the background of the Xue clan? Knowing the Xue clan's ambitions, did you still choose to align yourself with Zong Shi and his treacherous path?"

Seeing the man's body tremble, Zong Shou shook his head, drew Hu Zhongyuan's Tiger Overlord Blade, and tossed it before Ling Fakong. "Uncle Ling, you have truly erred this time. The Mulang tribe must give me an accounting!" (To be continued)