175: various forces

Chen Linsheng rode his horse westward. The closer he got to Chiyan Mountain, the more parched and sweltering the air became.

After three days of travel, the scenery along the way gradually shifted. The grayish-yellow Gobi was replaced by crimson sand, and the sparse camel thorns turned into heat-resistant Tindergrass. Clumps of it clung to the scorching ground, their leaf edges curled as if they might ignite at any moment.

On the morning of the fourth day, a dark smudge of red finally appeared on the horizon.

It wasn't the morning glow, but the silhouette of a towering mountain range—the mountain body was crimson as if cast from molten iron, and dark red smoke and clouds swirled faintly around the peak. From a distance, it looked like a searing, unhealing scar upon the earth.

Chiyan Mountain.

Even from over twenty miles away, a wave of scorching heat rushed toward him, the wind carrying the pungent scent of burning sulfur and minerals.

Chen Linsheng reined in his horse, took out his crystal goggles, put them on, and squinted into the distance.

Toward the foot of the mountain, he could faintly see figures moving and banners fluttering. There were no fewer than several hundred people gathered there!

"As expected..." he muttered to himself, not at all surprised.

The phenomenon triggered by the ancient stone tablet couldn't have been noticed by him alone. Between the rumors of red fire crystals, the gathering of the Broken Sword Sect, and the additional clues likely exposed after the black sandstorm, it was only logical that various forces would converge here.

He was in no hurry to approach. Instead, he found a high sand dune and lay low to observe.

With his Tracking Perfection perception fully deployed, the scene at the mountain's base gradually became clear within his sight.

The area was located at the southern foot of Chiyan Mountain's main peak—a relatively flat crimson rock platform about a mile wide. Currently, several distinct camps had been established on the platform.

The most prominent was a pitch-black camp on the eastern side.

Over a dozen standardized tents were neatly arranged, with pitch-black banners embroidered with ferocious wolf heads planted around the perimeter.

In the center of the camp, a large banner fluttered in the wind. It had a dark red background with two words written in bold, powerful strokes—Army Breaker.

About thirty Martial Artists stood solemnly in the camp, all wearing pitch-black light armor with heavy crossbows on their backs and long sabers at their waists. Their auras were heavy and murderous, and they moved with unified precision—clearly the elites of Army Breaker Manor. Their leader was a young captain in his late twenties with a face as cold and sharp as a blade. He stood before the camp with his hands behind his back, gazing at a certain part of the mountain, his posture as straight as a spear.

"Army Breaker Manor is here too..." Chen Linsheng's eyes narrowed slightly. Though this squad was small, every member had a fierce aura; the weakest was at the Late-stage Flesh Tempering Realm, and that young captain was unfathomable, at least at the Middle Stage of the Dragon Tendon Realm or higher.

With them present, the rules of this place would be different.

The western camp, however, had a completely different style.

It consisted of seven or eight simple tents made of animal skins, coarse hemp, and wooden poles, scattered haphazardly. Most of the men in the camp were tall, with hair left loose and robes crossing to the left. They wore patchwork fur coats, and their bare arms were tattooed with indigo totems of wolf heads and eagle feathers.

They either squatted or stood with defiant gazes, scimitars and bone hammers hanging from their waists, their auras wild and fierce.

In the center of the camp's clearing stood a totem pole over ten feet tall. A ferocious wolf head was carved at the top, and several strings of dried animal bones and colored cloth strips hung below, clinking in the hot wind.

Beside the totem pole sat a peculiar figure.

It was a youth who looked no more than seventeen or eighteen, wearing a Shaman's robe dominated by dark red and ochre yellow, embroidered with complex flame patterns. He wore a leather crown adorned with colored feathers and small bone ornaments. His face was delicate, even somewhat pale, forming a sharp contrast with the rugged Northern Desert men around him, but his eyes were as deep as an ancient well, with faint sparks of fire seemingly dancing in the depths of his pupils.

The young Shaman was fiddling with an egg-sized, crimson, translucent crystal—a red fire crystal.

His lips moved slightly as if chanting some ancient incantation. The crystal brightened and dimmed with his chant, faintly resonating with the aura of Chiyan Mountain in the distance.

"A Shaman of the Northern Desert Wolf Clan..." Chen Linsheng felt a chill in his heart.

Shamans held a revered status in Northern Desert tribes, communicating with heaven, earth, ancestors, and totems through strange and unpredictable means. For this young Shaman to appear here, guarded by so many elite warriors, he clearly held a very high status in the tribe.

Besides these two most prominent forces, dozens of campfires of varying sizes were scattered across the platform, surrounded by all sorts of Martial Artists.

There were groups of seven or eight Disciples from Sects, dressed in uniform with sharp auras—Chen Linsheng recognized the silver book-scroll patterns on the sleeves of some as people from Tingtao Academy. There were also several cold-looking young men and women carrying long swords, likely Disciples of the Qiushui Sword Sect or other sword Sects.

Even more were Loose Cultivators in groups of three to five, or lone wanderers of the Jianghu. They were either sitting in meditation to regulate their breathing, talking in low voices, or wiping their weapons. Their eyes frequently darted toward a certain part of the mountain, filled with a mix of desire, vigilance, and calculation.

Chen Linsheng also noticed a few inconspicuous corners.

A grey-clad youth sat alone on a rock, looking down as he toyed with a copper coin. As his fingers flew, the coin moved nimbly between his knuckles, but his eyes occasionally drifted toward the Army Breaker Manor camp, flashing with an imperceptible coldness.

Elsewhere, two rugged men who looked like brothers were laughing loudly and drinking heavily, but the pinky finger of one man's left hand was unnaturally curled, the tip faintly tinged with blue-black—that was a mark left by practicing some sinister finger technique. Chen Linsheng had seen similar traits on cultists of the White Lotus Sect.

"Spies of the White Lotus Sect... they really did sneak in." He sneered inwardly, memorizing the physical features of these individuals.

Finally, his gaze turned toward the focus of everyone's attention—the end of the crimson rock platform at the base of Chiyan Mountain's main peak.

There, the mountain body suddenly recessed, forming a massive fissure over a hundred feet high and fifty feet wide.

Deep within the fissure, the silhouette of a door was faintly visible.

Currently, that door was emitting a hazy red light, the glow swirling and illuminating the surrounding rock walls like the interior of a furnace. The door's material was neither stone nor jade; it was dark red, its surface naturally covered in countless complex and profound flame patterns. Magma seemed to flow slowly within the patterns, emitting a heart-palpitating aura of antiquity and heat.

It was exactly the "Fentian Valley" stone door he had seen in the vision!

The stone door was tightly shut, and the area within thirty feet of it was completely empty. On the ground lay several patches of charred black ash and a few half-melted weapon remnants—a shocking sight.

Clearly, some people had already tried to force their way through the door and paid the price.

Just as Chen Linsheng was observing, another change occurred on the platform.

"Move aside! You bunch of trash, you can't even open a broken door!"

A coarse, angry roar erupted from the crowd of Loose Cultivators.

Three burly men with bulging muscles pushed through the crowd. The leader was a bald brute with a face full of scars, standing nine feet tall. His bare upper body was covered in scars, and his aura was wild and violent—he actually had a cultivation at the Early Stage of the Iron Bone Realm!

The two men behind him were also at the Early Stage of the Iron Bone Realm, carrying heavy axes and iron hammers, their expressions fierce.