129 The last feeling he felt was dread

From the communication spell, Liu Sumeng was able to pick out snippets of what had passed in the manor.

Chen Anyue and her father were engaged in an argument, neither party wishing to relent.

But eventually, Chen Gaoyong was quelled from his upset and returned to the task that he was supposed to be doing from the beginning. Liu Sumeng had a feeling that Anyue wasn't able to get her way. What truly happened, Liu Sumeng would have to wait till later to figure out because he was still caught in the midst of battle, counting down each second until Sect Leader Chen would finish up his damned spell.

He was growing impatient.

And his strength and stamina were not limitless, their comrades not tireless, unlike the Fallen Gods. They were worse for wear, bloodied from injury, and panting from exhaustion. There was blood and gore coating the ground, sinking into the earth in a mess of black and red. A pungent smell saturated the air, thick and heavy.

He kept an eye veered toward the sky in wait. Between each slash and deadly dance, he waited. When was Chen Gaoyong going to finally finish casting that spell?

Suddenly, a silver string of light extended from the tower into the sky and past the long road behind enemy lines.

Finally!

On cue, Chen Gaoyong descended from the wall that provided him safety during the chant. With a hand on Liu Sumeng's shoulder, he told the young man, "Go."

He didn't need someone to tell him. The Ivory Sword Saint nodded and took off in a dash, following the silver string.

Fallen Gods grappled at him. Their legs as large as tree trunks kicked, their massive palms reached forward. He dodged them all and continued to follow the silver line, past all the tall staggering beings, to quieter fields that sat in between Reling and wetlands.

A figure emerged from the darkness of night. Black robes blended with night, a butterfly mask fitted over the face. There was the soft chime of a bell, almost lost to the echoes of battle that were happening not far off.

Liu Sumeng stopped in front of this person, trying to discern their identity behind the terrible mask, but there was nothing that clued him in on the character of this person.

He wasn't surprised that this was the mastermind behind the Fallen Gods, but there was so much mystery that enshrouded him, the Ivory Sword Saint couldn't even begin to guess their origins.

It didn't hurt to ask, "Who are you?"

"..." No response. A pale hand reached for the scimitar's hilt.

Liu Sumeng answered in turn, reading his stance with Mingshui in hand.

A wind blew, their black hair billowed, eyes locked.

It was hard to tell who made the first move.

Blades clashed. Liu Sumeng found himself matched for speed and skill. He gritted his teeth as excitement burned in his heart, adrenaline rushing to his brain. A fire was stroked in his eyes, even as the ones that returned his gaze looked glassy and dead.

Liu Sumeng had fought many astounding foes. From savage corpses to Divine Beasts and Fallen Gods. While many wielded great power and had great strength, foes that matched in martial prowess alone were few and far in between.

The Ivory Sword Saint took a long breath. Again, he fell into an appropriate stance, his eyes measuring his foe, from the slight twitch in his brow, to the direction his feet were pointed in.

He lunged forth. Clash.

The masked man counterattacked. A parry.

Liu Sumeng kicked to catch the man's legs. A dodge.

No movements wasted, and the scimitar's edge was at Liu Sumeng's neck, but only for a blink of an eye. Mingshui edged close to the mask.

The black-robed man pulled away. Liu Sumeng chased him.

And clashed again. But this time, the strength he was met with was ever more significant. The Ivory Sword Saint felt his wrist tremble at the blow. Matched for skill and speed, but not strength.

The masked-man was stronger.

But Liu Sumeng was not daunted and continued his assault. But when swords locked, he was the first to be pushed away, the force difficult to recover from.

He was beginning to realize that the masked-man was growing in strength as time elapsed.

A scimitar sliced at his arm, Liu Sumeng did not bother to dodge and stepped in as close as he could to pressure and cut the man. But Mingshui struck shallow, barely slicing away black fabric on the man's shoulder.

"..." The Ivory Sword Saint calmed his breathing. But he wasn't sure how true he could stay to his promise should the fight continue for long.

His defense and safety would have to be abandoned for any hope to defeat this foe. And he'd have to do it fast.

The masked-man lunged at him. Mingshui was raised to deflect the blow. Unthinking, Liu Sumeng tapped into the communication spell.

'Xuelan. When you can, come. I need your help.'

The response came without delay, 'Okay. Hold out just a bit. I'll be done here soon.'

Liu Sumeng would hold out, no matter how long it took. His heart knew that Yuan Xuelan would not fail to come to his aid.

…

Yuan Xuelan maintained the barest semblance of composure as he fought the Fallen Gods.

Luckily, the Guanghai Elder at his side was a whole different beast. With his help as well as a few elders and female disciples he brought with him from the manor, they were able to regain control of the east gate. There was even someone repairing the barrier, offering an extra layer of protection from their foes.

He was itching to leave but not willing to abandon his post. Yuan Xuelan worked with the Guanghai Elder to defeat another one of those monsters before saying, "Sumeng needs my help."

Liu Langce rolled his eyes, "Then get out of my sight. We'll be fine here without you."

"What about the--"

"West. Yeah, they're also fine without you, brat. Don't worry so much, and go see that dumb disciple of mine. Make sure he doesn't lose his head for me." The Guanghai Elder made shoo-ing motions with his hand, not bothering to even look in Yuan Xuelan's direction.

Despite his rudeness, Yuan Xuelan felt incredibly grateful toward this man. He bowed with clasped hands, "Thank you, Guanghai Elder!" Before excusing himself and dashing off toward the south of the city.

Unbeknownst to him, the west gate wasn't doing well at all. They struggled to maintain ground at the Fallen God's continuous advance, barely managing to sustain their forces. But Elder Hanli refused to use the flares, knowing well that the situation on the other fronts were likely just as dire.

"They're thinning!" She called out to the surviving men and women, hoping to rally the last of their strengths.

Just a little more, and they can push through!

Just a little…

A Fallen God stood before her, its fist raised. Zhu Qiang notched an arrow, but he had no more spiritual energy to guide its path.

Elder Hanli's legs were heavy, and she couldn't dodge completely before the fist came down.

No more Fallen Gods were coming. At least not for the west gate where Yuan Xuelan initially defended.

They made it through, Zhu Qiang thought absently as he stumbled over the heaps and heaps of dead bodies. Large blue ones, smaller ones, with familiar faces twisted to capture the moment of their death.

Zhu Qiang was shaking, trying not to look at them.

"Elder Hanli!" He called voice hoarse. His legs and arms were shaking from overexertion; they felt like pathetic strands of vermicelli and could barely hold himself upright.

He yelled again, "Elder Hanli!"

When the Fallen God's fist came down, it caught and crushed her left arm and shoulder that she had failed to twist out of the way entirely. But she hobbled away when Nu San and Yi Wen came to her rescue to contain and slay that Fallen God.

Nu San and Yi Wen were both dead now, the first crushed under the heel of a Fallen God and the other ripped in two. Zhu Qiang was nauseous from the recollection.

But Elder Hanli…Elder Hanli should still be alive, right?

Slumped behind a tree, he caught sight of a familiar profile. Zhu Qiang brought into a run, "Elder Hanli!"

He stumbled but came upon her. Her left side was a bloodied mess, and the arm pulverized into an unrecognizable mangled mess. There were even bits of bone sticking out here and there, and Zhu Qiang already knew that the limb needed to be amputated. She needed to see a physician quickly.

Taking in a deep breath, Zhu Qiang gathered his non-existent strength and tried to gather her dead weight on his back. His trembling limbs were not cooperating.

It took only three steps before he fell. Zhu Qiang cursed and wondered if it would be appropriate to use the flares to call for help? Surely they could help them, the road was cleared, and no more Fallen Gods were coming their way. He looked at Elder Hanli's pale visage and blue lips, collapsed on the floor, and said, "I-I'll get help. Don't worry."

But before he could reach into his robes for the emergency flares, his hand was sliced off clean.

There was no chance to scream. A sword pierced his throat from behind. When Zhu Qiang fell, he saw the man's boots and the hems of mismatched robes.

The last feeling he felt was dread. Betrayal.