Chapter Fifty: Aftermath

"Ha!" With a thunderous shout, the six-foot-long sword seized from the Blackwater Serpent Tribe's Grand Shaman flashed coldly through the air, felling a tree so thick three men could barely encircle it. Ji Hao leapt nimbly, and his heavy fist crashed into the trunk, sending the twenty-odd-zhang-tall giant tree toppling to the ground.

Dozens of mining slaves swarmed forward, axes and knives in hand, swiftly stripping branches and bark until only the smooth trunk remained. Then, the four-tusked mammoths used their trunks to hoist the logs, carrying them to the mining tunnels at the foot of the cliff ahead.

"The Heaven-Mending Immaculate Technique—it can only be passed on if I can separate a five-colored divine flame," Ji Hao sighed, wiping sweat from his brow as he hefted his sword and strode toward another tree.

Passing the Heaven-Mending Immaculate Technique to Ji Xia was something Ji Hao had wanted to do for more than half a month. Since obtaining all of Ji Xiao's Grand Shaman blood a few nights ago, this desire had only grown stronger.

But the words of the spectral figure had shattered his hopes. To practice the Heaven-Mending Immaculate Technique, one must possess the five-colored flame in Ji Hao's lower abdomen as a primer. And in the shadow's hand, there was only this single, feeble spark. Unless Ji Hao mastered the technique to its highest realm and split off a new seed of flame, he could not teach this powerful, wondrous art to anyone.

As for the Nine-Syllable Incantation Alchemical Scripture, Ji Hao's uniquely crafted cultivation method was utterly different from the sorcery of the Southern Wilds. Ji Hao could not explain the origin of the scripture; as a child, he had discussed some of its mysteries with Qing Fu, but she could not comprehend even the most basic concepts, such as the unity of Heaven and Man.

So, the Nine-Syllable Incantation Alchemical Scripture was equally unteachable—the shamans of the Southern Wilds had their own unique system of cultivation.

"Therefore, more effort is needed. If one wishes to live freely in the Southern Wilds, one must wield a fist great and strong enough!" Since he could not bolster Ji Xia and Qing Fu’s strength with his own means, Ji Xia could only rely on herself!

Ji Xiao's Grand Shaman blood had already been absorbed; a mass the size of a human head floated above the five-colored flame, vibrant rays coursing through Ji Hao’s body, constantly enhancing his strength.

Ji Hao resolutely suppressed the temptation to advance his cultivation, restraining the activation of his bloodline power, focusing instead on solidifying his foundation.

Taking a deep breath, his Purple Palace Core slowly revolved, sending a wisp of purest core energy through his meridians into the six-foot sword. With a ringing clang, a foot-long blade of sword-light flashed along its edge. Ji Hao wielded his sword with a surge of energy, cleaving a tree so large that five men together could not encircle it. With a gentle kick, the trunk toppled with a bone-grinding creak.

High overhead, shrill bird cries echoed as dozens of Stormcloud Roc, each with wingspans nearing a hundred zhang, flapped mightily and glided down from the sky. Upon their backs stood masses of fully armored Fire Crow warriors, each clutching huge cages woven of vines, packed with robust, youthful mining slaves.

Ji Ying, Ji Lang, and Ji Bao stood on the ground, waving and shouting up at the Stormcloud Rocs, guiding them to descend gently and set the cages softly on the earth. Fire Crow warriors waiting nearby surged forward, tearing open the cage doors and driving the slaves out with spears. A few defiant, unusually strong slaves emerged roaring and struggling, but were instantly beaten down by a flurry of spear blows, rolling on the ground and screaming in agony.

Outside Cold Creek Valley, nearly a hundred Fire Crow warriors rode all manner of warbeasts at a gallop. The leading warrior wielded a long spear, from which fluttered a broad square banner painted with the blood-red image of a three-legged golden crow—the totem of the Fire Crow tribe.

On both sides of Cold Creek Valley, walls twenty zhang high had already been erected. Unlike the earthen and timber ramparts of days past, these were built entirely of colossal stone, the gaps filled with molten magma. The resulting walls, several zhang thick, formed a seamless barrier, offering defensive power more than ten times greater than before.

The ramparts bristled with Fire Crow warriors; over three thousand elite fighters stood guard on the walls alone.

From a cave within Cold Creek Valley came the ceaseless clanging of hammer on metal. Glowing firelight poured from the entrance, scorching the earth for a hundred zhang around until nothing would grow. Hundreds of Fire Crow blacksmiths had set up workshops in the caverns, forging an endless stream of tools from the metal delivered from every tribe: sharp blades and axes for felling trees, iron rods and sledgehammers for tunneling, and every other needed implement—all produced in an unending flow these last few days.

Originally, only a few thousand old, weak, and infirm sent from Spring Mountain resided in Cold Creek Valley, but in these past few days, thirty thousand able-bodied mining slaves had been dispatched from all corners.

Beneath the northern cliffs, twenty massive mining tunnels stretched in a row. The slaves shouted work chants as they dug deeper underground. The stripped logs, each three zhang long, were hauled into the tunnels as roof supports, while baskets of earth and stone—mixed with abundant fine gold and jade—were continually brought to the surface.

The old and weak gathered by the creek, carefully panning the mud and sand for treasures. This lode was astonishingly rich—a rare find indeed. In every basket, sand made up only forty percent; the rest consisted of gold nuggets, each no smaller than a fist, and attendant jade.

In just a few short days, two small mountains had grown in the valley—one a twenty-zhang-wide, two-zhang-tall golden hill, the other a ten-zhang-wide, one-zhang-tall mountain of jade.

Beneath the sunlight, the gold and jade shone with dazzling brilliance. Ji Tuo, the chief overseer, sat atop a great stone, his mouth stretched in a grin so wide his large white teeth gleamed in the light. He would occasionally stretch out his leg, still encased in ice, to show off to those around him.

Because of Ji Tuo’s arrival, the alliance of the Bloodfang Band and Blackwater Serpent Tribe was shattered; the astonishing wealth of the Cold Creek lode, especially the discovery of Fire Jade Marrow, was now well known to the shamans and elders of Golden Crow Ridge.

Such a rich vein was of obvious importance to the Fire Crow tribe. Ji Shu had dutifully summoned large numbers of elite warriors from every tribe, placing them under Ji Xia’s command to defend Cold Creek Valley. Waves of able-bodied mining slaves, craftsmen, and materials were likewise dispatched from the nearest tribes without hindrance.

Ji Xia accepted Ji Shu’s goodwill with tacit understanding, never revealing the collusion between Ji Hou and the Blackwater Serpent Tribe. In Ji Xia’s mind, the prosperity of the Fire Crow tribe was paramount.

"Father was not wrong… One Ji Hou is not enough to topple Ji Shu. If he’s ruthless enough to kill Ji Hou himself, every sin can be laid at Ji Hou’s feet."

"In that case, why not simply take advantage of the situation?"

Ji Hao exhaled and turned to look over Cold Creek Valley.

Now, within the valley, twenty thousand elite warriors from every Fire Crow tribe and tens of thousands of mining slaves had gathered, making this the strongest outpost on the northernmost frontier.

With a backward swing, Ji Hao smiled and once more felled a great tree with a single stroke.

A thousand li away, deep in the mountains, Jiang Yao descended from the sky atop her Bifang, her enchanting, delicate face twisted into a mask of fury like a vengeful spirit.