371: Chapter 371 Sky Ridge Mountains

Chu Changsheng did not lift his eyelids, yet the simple and unadorned bronze carriage seemed to receive an invisible decree, silently rotating and changing direction.

The wheels rolled over the Void Realm without gathering a speck of dust, heading straight toward the North Territory—where Killing Intent soared to the heavens and the Karma and tribulation Evil Qi surged like a vast sea—crushing the heavens as it departed.

The Void Realm was like solidified fat being lightly pinched by a fingertip, rippling out in layer upon layer of shimmering waves.

This seemingly heavy and clumsy carriage, covered in mottled ancient patterns, actually displayed a profound Divine Ability that transcended the spatial rules of heaven and earth—a single step spanned a thousand miles, shrinking the earth to an inch, arriving directly in the depths of the smoke and flames of war.

Inside the carriage, however, it was as calm as a flat lake, without a hint of jolting or vibration, only a faint ancient bronze Qi lingering like mist, isolating the earth-shattering slaughter and madness outside, forming a world of its own.

The North Territory, at the breach of the Heaven's Spine Mountain Range—Yuyao Pass.

This majestic pass, which had guarded the northern border of the Human Race for over a million years, now resembled an ancient giant beast bathed in blood and on the verge of death, its spine hunched and cracked, its scales mottled and falling off, lying gasping for breath upon the vast, boundless Demon Burial Plain, where corpses were piled in layers.

The name of this plain was, in itself, a brand of the billions of years of brutal slaughter between the Human Race and the Yao Race—corpses piled like mountains clogged the ravines, and the blood that soaked into the soil had congealed into red earth.

Beneath every inch of soil slept countless departed souls, and year-round, it was shrouded in an inseparable Evil Qi and Death Qi; when the wind blew, it was nothing but the wailing of those souls.

Looking into the distance, the walls of Yuyao Pass wound like a Dragon, stretching for ten thousand miles, with no end in sight.

It wound and undulated along the rugged terrain of the Heaven's Spine Mountain Range, completely sealing off the breach that could connect the North Territory to the hinterland of the Human Race—like a natural chasm splitting heaven and earth, suppressing Yao demons from all directions.

The wall was over ten thousand zhang high, cast entirely from the Xuangang Black Iron unique to the North Territory, mixed with countless ancient Formation runes, with flowing light faintly visible between the bricks and stones; the whole structure was a dark, gloomy cyan-black, like congealed thick ink, heavy as ten thousand jun.

The surface of the wall was covered in deep marks from sword slashes and axe blows, and scorched craters from Divine Ability strikes.

Some marks were several zhang deep, with charred iron shavings curled at the edges, and undried dark red blood flowing in the pits.

It snaked down along the cracks in the wall, pooling into blood puddles at the base, emitting a fierce Evil Qi that made the Divine Soul tremble—these were the eternal scars carved by time and war, impossible to wash away, impossible to grind down.

At this moment, the entire stretch of wall extending for tens of thousands of miles, from the foundation to the arrow towers, from the crenellations to the Formation towers—every single brick, every corner, lit up with blinding, piercing Spiritual Qi light.

Crimson killing Formation patterns slithered like living snakes, burning the air until it hissed; cyan-white demon-breaking lightning crackled and exploded, tearing through the haze that filled the sky.

Golden Yao-suppressing runes shone brilliantly, emitting a vast pressure to deter Yao demons; blue freezing barriers were layered upon layers, congealing the surrounding Void Realm.

Various Spiritual Qi lights intertwined and entangled, weaving a three-dimensional death network that enveloped the entire pass.

The light flickered uncertainly, casting the world in a bizarre and motley hue, also illuminating the dense, ant-like, frantically surging figures of humans and Yao demons above and below the wall—boundless and endless, enough to make one's heart and gallbladder split with fear at the sight.

The sounds of slaughter could no longer be described by the word "resounding".

This was a chaotic frenzy formed by billions of sounds, threatening to overturn heaven and earth and shatter the galaxy.

The roars and howls of Yao Beasts shook the eight wildernesses—the Dragon roar shook the heavens, the tiger roared in the mountains, the Phoenix cried in the Nine Heavens, the ape shrieked in the valleys; the roars of various giant beasts intertwined, mixed with the crisp clicking sounds of carapaces rubbing together and the sharp, piercing whistles of bone spurs breaking through the air, every sound violent, rushing straight to the clouds, shaking the cloud layers until they surged and shattered.

The angry shouts of Human Race Cultivators were deafening, the commands of the battle Formations were clanging and powerful, the sharp whistles of Magic Treasures breaking through the air tore through the long sky, the roars of Spell explosions shook the earth, the humming of crossbows firing in unison merged into one, and the metallic sounds of blades clashing were crisp and piercing.

There was also the low humming of Formations running at high speed, and the whistling of energy when giant war Magical Artifacts charged, like a dormant Dragon roaring.

The heart-rending screams of the wounded and the unwilling roars of those in their final moments of life, each sounding of blood and tears, were scattered in every corner of the battlefield, swallowed by the slaughter filling the sky—as insignificant as dust.

All these sounds intertwined, tightly wrapped by the thick, inseparable blood-colored Evil Qi clouds above the battlefield and the violently surging Spiritual Qi, condensing into a tangible torrent of sound waves, rolling across the wilderness, impacting the Divine Soul of every living being.

Even Cultivators at the Golden Core or Nascent Soul stage, when swept by this sound wave, felt their Divine Soul tremble and split, their Qi and blood surging in reverse, almost vomiting blood.

The firmament had long since completely changed color; the sun and moon hid their tracks, the stars vanished, leaving only a dark, blood-colored gloom.

The seven-colored Spiritual Qi light of exploding Divine Abilities, the raging flames of fireballs soaring into the air, the flying blood mist, and the dust filling the sky intertwined, dyeing the sky into a bizarre motley—sometimes crimson as blood, sometimes deep blue as ice, sometimes purple and gold intermingling, sometimes ink-black as night, like a Hell scroll soaked in blood and fire, beautiful and tragic to the extreme.

Below the wall was a true mountain of corpses and sea of blood, a living Hell.

The corpses of the Yao Race were piled in layers, high as small hills, in various forms: the massive corpse of a giant elephant Yao lay horizontally, crushing patches of dry bones, its tusks broken, its eye sockets congealed with unspent violence.

The Soul-Devouring Gu Yao, small as ants but containing deadly poison, had their remains spread densely over the ground, turning into a dark green toxic tide.

The fierce wolf Yao with bone spurs on their backs had their limbs twisted and broken, their fangs still tightly biting onto the severed limbs of Human Race Cultivators, with black blood dripping between their teeth.

Their blood was colorful—scarlet, deep green, dark purple—gathering into viscous streams, flowing wantonly across the plain, mixing with the soil to form a bizarre purplish-black mire; stepping on it would cause one to sink deep, emitting a hissing corrosive sound, capable of melting even bones into powder.

The remains of Human Race Cultivators and warriors were also visible everywhere.

Ragged armor was soaked and caked with blood, broken weapons were wrapped with bits of flesh and Yao scales, and shattered Formation Flags were stuck crookedly in the piles of corpses, flapping and making noise.

Some Cultivators had their eyes wide open, their eyes congealed with unwillingness and flames of rage, their hands still tightly gripping their Spiritual weapons, their knuckles white—as if they had not closed their eyes even in death.

Some warriors were decapitated, yet still maintained the posture of swinging their blades.

Everywhere the eye could see was a tragic sight. What lingered in the nostrils was the thick, inseparable smell of blood, the stench of rot, and the burnt smell of Spell embers—nauseating, yet due to long residence on the battlefield, one had long since become numb.

Countless low-rank Yao Beasts had already gone completely mad.

They stepped on the remains of their own kind and their enemies, staring with eyes scarlet as blood, drooling foul-smelling saliva, charging toward the wall regardless of everything—one falling, another rising, fearless of death, as if they could achieve Immortal Ascension just by climbing up the wall.

And what greeted them were arrows pouring down like a rainstorm—the cold rain of arrows blocked the sky and sun, each one quenched with deadly poison and Spell-breaking runes, erupting with blinding Spiritual Qi light upon piercing a Yao body.

It was the crackling thunder and fire—the cyan-white thunder light fell, turning patches of Yao Beasts into scorched ash, leaving only a wisp of black smoke.

It was the freezing, bone-chilling ice blades—ice blades danced across the sky, and wherever they passed, Yao bodies froze and shattered, turning into ice shards filling the sky.

There were also various area-of-effect Spells—red fire, giant waves, gale winds—bombarding in turns, tearing the charging Yao hordes into pieces, raining blood across the sky.

Yet even so, the charge of the Yao Race never ceased.

The corpses piled higher and higher, gradually becoming level with the wall, becoming a stairway for subsequent Yao Beasts to climb—the Yao tide stepped on the corpse ladder, climbing step by step, getting closer and closer to the top of the wall.

The battle in the air was more tragic and more dangerous than on the ground.

The Red Flame Peng Yao with wings on their backs and spitting poison flames, the Sky-Splitting Eagle Yao covered in tough armor with claws like knives, were locked in a desperate struggle with Human Race Sword Cultivators and battle groups piloting flying Magical Artifacts.

Sword light collided with Yao claws, emitting harsh metallic sounds; feathers and severed limbs flew across the sky, and blood droplets fell from high altitude, hitting the corpse piles on the ground like raindrops, splashing up flowers of blood.

There were siege giant beasts with huge bodies, resembling floating fortresses, their bodies covered in scales several zhang thick, impervious to blades and spears, water and fire, braving the dense anti-aircraft thunder light and Magic Treasure bombardment of the Human Race, violently crashing toward the defensive Formation on the wall.

A giant tail swept past, smashing several Human Race flying Magical Artifacts, turning them into fragments of Spiritual Qi light filling the sky.

But in an instant, several high-rank Human Race Cultivators joined forces to unleash a combined attack technique; seven-colored Spiritual Qi light condensed into a giant sword that reached the heavens and connected to the earth, glorious as divine punishment, crashing down.

The giant beast let out a shrill wail, its huge body falling from high altitude, smashing into the ground, stirring up blood mud and gravel filling the sky—shaking the earth until it trembled, cracking open several deep trenches.

Above the wall, the atmosphere was heavy to the extreme, as if even the air was frozen and solidified; only the smell of blood and Killing Intent flowed wantonly, so thick it could almost be squeezed into water.

Every Cultivator, every soldier, had a face tightened like a bowstring drawn to the full, their eyes intertwined with fatigue deep into the bone marrow, the determination to perish together, and the madness after bathing in blood and slaughter.

Their armor was already riddled with holes, their clothes soaked through with blood and sweat, clinging tightly to their bodies, sticky and bone-chilling.

Wounds were still constantly bleeding, staining their clothes red and seeping into the gaps of their armor.

Some Cultivators had broken arms, so they used their teeth to bite onto their Magic Treasures to continue fighting—Spiritual power surged wildly from their Dantian, forcefully driving their Spells.

Some soldiers had their weapons broken, so they engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the Yao Beasts that climbed the wall with their bare hands—punching, biting, tearing open Yao bodies, even if they were disemboweled by Yao claws, they had to drag down a Yao head to accompany them in death.

Some archers had empty quivers, so they grabbed stones nearby and smashed them fiercely at the Yao heads—even if they were smashed to pieces, they would never retreat a single step.

No one retreated.

Behind them were the billions of living people of the Human Race, their parents, wives, and children, and their beautiful rivers and mountains.

Retreat a step—and it was eternal damnation, it was the catastrophic disaster of the Human Race.

The roars of commanders at all levels were transmitted with all their might in the noisy battlefield, their voices hoarse like broken gongs, yet carrying unquestionable majesty and determination.

They held command flags, shuttling across the wall, commanding Cultivators and soldiers to resist the Yao tide—each wave of their hand saw countless lives fall, each military order stained with blood and tears.

The Formation Masters were pale as paper, blood overflowing from the corners of their mouths, exhausting all their Spiritual power to maintain the precarious barrier nodes.

Runes dimmed and lit up at their fingertips, over and over again—the slightest carelessness, and they would be shattered by the backlash force of the Formation, their heart veins crushed, exploding and dying.