Volume One: The Monarch's Decree Chapter Forty-Five: The Battle Between the Troops of Darkness and the Soldiers of Light

The common folk believed it to be a new ritual performance, and watched with delight. The spectral soldiers wielded steel forks and lassos, binding the Azure Dragon tightly, and dragged it toward the opposite bank.

The old Daoist could not wait for dawn. He summoned his peachwood sword, pressed a talisman to its blade, and drew forth a streak of fire, cleaving toward the spectral soldiers.

Those soldiers, formed from gray mist, seemed terrified of the flames, hastily retreating and giving the Azure Dragon a chance to break free and return to the river.

Suddenly, the two fiery guardians were seized by enormous hands and crumbled apart. From behind the spectral soldiers emerged a towering gray figure, more than fifty feet tall, eyes glowing with darkness, clad in armor.

“All of you, disperse! This is not a rain ritual! Spectral soldiers passing—living beings must retreat!” Bai Yiting shouted, grabbing a cloth pouch and pouring out its contents. Each round pellet hit the ground and transformed into a golden-armored warrior, bearing sword, axe, shield, and protecting the riverbank.

The people present were unmoved. Bai Yiting’s grave expression failed to awaken them; they continued to watch with fascination.

Meng Qiaoqiao retrieved a string of prayer beads from the wooden box of ritual implements, snapped them, and hurled them skyward. The shattered beads became a blue barrier, enveloping the entire ritual platform.

The spectral soldiers, influenced by the ghost general, grew fiercer, hurling their steel forks toward the opposite bank, while the ghost general blocked the Azure Dragon’s path with his long blade, preparing to enact a scene of dragon-slaying.

On the observation platform, Guo Shuda’s eyes flashed with stars. He drew several talismans from his wide sleeves, summoning spirit servants to his side. These spirits, faint and dull, paled in comparison to the golden-armored warriors on the riverbank.

“Brother Guo, your spirit-summoning has improved—congratulations!” Li Jue said with a smile.

This art of summoning puppets with talismans is a branch of Daoism, renowned in ancient times, often able to win battles outnumbered.

“Shame, shame, witnessing the immortal’s skills, I hardly dare claim mastery of spirit-summoning,” Guo Shuda sighed, watching the old Daoist command his warriors against the spectral soldiers.

With the appearance of the golden-armored warriors, Li Jue recognized the old Daoist’s identity. This was no mere spell—this was immortal magic!

Bai Yiting was using the ancient, lost art of transforming beans into soldiers. Though he had yet to unravel its mysteries, its power was formidable, matching the ghost general blow for blow.

Just then, outside Eighteen Mile Fort, the neighing of warhorses erupted. The crowd scattered, clearing a path. At the fore was Feng Changzai, with Cui Ying, Feng Nanque, and others beside him. The four salt merchants followed closely, bringing a large force.

After encountering a live burial in Sunken Boat City, the two disciples of Heavenly King Dao decided to set aside their quarrel and return to their sect, especially upon hearing the name of the elder, who was the uncle of their current sect leader.

Following the riverbank, they arrived at Eighteen Mile Fort, where dense gray clouds pressed over the city, and the old Daoist struggled to hold his ground.

Feng Changzai, versed in matters of spirits and gods, ordered his soldiers to light torches and oil their weapons, using flames against the spectral soldiers.

On the ritual platform, the old Daoist heard the commotion and quickly had his golden-armored warriors open a gap to let the spectral soldiers in. “Quickly, aid me! Destroy the spectral soldiers, save the Dragon Lord!”

Maintaining his spell for so long had exhausted him. Not one to suffer losses, the old Daoist never worked alone when help was available.

The spectral soldiers charged. Feng Changzai knew the old Daoist was behind this, but said nothing, raising his riding whip and commanding his troops to engage.

Guo Shuda remained atop the observation platform. His relationship with Feng Changzai’s faction was poor, as Guo pursued cultivation alone without gathering an army, making him an oddity within Heavenly King Dao.

The soldiers lacked experience fighting spectral soldiers, blindly swinging their weapons. The spectral soldiers, lacking physical form, struck lethally. The ghost general greedily consumed the souls of those killed, growing even more corporeal.

Casualties mounted. Those whose souls were shattered by the spectral soldiers turned pale, their bodies intact but useless. The Eighteen Lords were faltering; Cui Ying was anxious.

Yet he dared not advance. A brave man can wield a blade against mortals, but facing spirits for the first time, his armor felt icy, the night bleak, and his steed recoiled.

“Look at the old immortal—he’s preparing some extraordinary immortal art. Even if you must cling shamelessly, learn at least a trick or two from him this time,” Li Jue remarked, opening his paper fan and waving it beside him.

Instantly, a spectral soldier swept from behind Liu Xiaoyi’s shoulder, seeking to seize and devour his soul.

“What is this!” Liu Xiaoyi snapped his fingers, releasing a chill that froze the spectral soldier, then shattered it with a kick.

So close, and he hadn’t noticed, being too caught up in the spectacle.

Li Jue cast a golden light shield around the three of them. “Brother, your soul is fractured yet you stand unharmed—surely you carry a precious artifact?”

“You can see it?” Liu Xiaoyi was startled; he knew nothing of spirits and gods, and prepared to leap from the circle.

“No need to panic, brother. We’re merely curious, nothing more,” Li Jue reassured, fearing Liu Xiaoyi might turn hostile.

He had no idea this Daoist had never studied any arts, and the two swords on his back were genuine killing weapons.

Meanwhile, the situation below changed once more. The old Daoist, after long preparations, finally conjured a half-bodied door god with six arms, each wielding a different weapon, and grappled with the ghost general. With every strike, the ghost general’s aura weakened.

Sensing the tide turning, the ghost general saw the half-bodied door god, radiant and courageous, enveloped in seven-colored light, commanded deftly by the old Daoist, steadily overpowering him.

The Azure Dragon aided from the river, intent on tearing the ghost general apart. Seeing defeat, the ghost general sliced his own left arm, sacrificing a piece to save himself, and fled across the river, half-bodied and dragging his massive head.

“Monster! Where do you think you’re going!” The old Daoist exclaimed with joy, producing a wine gourd and shouting at the ghost general. The ghost general froze, then flew backward, sucked into the gourd.

With their leader gone, the spectral soldiers quickly collapsed, destroyed on the riverbank by combined efforts. Only wisps of gray mist escaped back across the river.

All around, bodies and horses lay scattered. Though there were no screams, the sight of a thousand soulless corpses terrified the people beyond measure; no one cared for the rain ritual anymore, and they fled during the chaos, leaving the streets deserted.

Of the four salt merchants, three perished in the panic; only Cao Wenxiao remained, saluting the observation platform from afar before leading his team away. He would not wade any further into these troubled waters.

Bai Yiting wiped sweat from his brow, gathered his ritual implements, and called toward Guo Shuda: “Little Guo! Hurry and depart! The rain ritual is cancelled!”