Nightwatcher

# 463. Commendable Bravery

The desolate blare of a horn echoed across the mountains and fields, rousing the sleeping city of Mount Jing.

As the headquarters of the Church of the Warlock God, Mount Jing City had a population nearing half a million, and within it were countless cultivators who followed the warlock path.

The garrison numbered only twenty-five thousand. For a city of half a million, such a force was thin indeed.

But this was not because the Church of the Warlock God lacked manpower; it simply didn’t need it.

This was the headquarters of the Church, with the Warlock God's statue, a first rank Great Warlock, and numerous elite cultivators of the warlock path. There was also a vast host of martial artists.

It was no exaggeration to say that the defensive and overall strength of Mount Jing was no weaker than the capital of the Great Feng.

The twenty thousand soldiers stationed in the city barracks poured out: six thousand cavalry and fourteen thousand infantry. From generals down to foot soldiers, all were confused.

Who had the audacity to attack Mount Jing?

The troops marched along the wide road carved out for such occasions, bypassing the peaks of Mount Jing. Amidst the swirling dust, they reached the coast.

…

Streaks of black light shot up from within the city, like dense meteors sweeping over the mountain peaks, landing on the coast.

The warlocks, led by the city’s lord Nalan Yan, gazed into the distance. Far out at sea, they saw twenty massive warships ploughing through the waves.

Nalan Yan stood eight feet tall, a thick beard covering half his face. His brown hair curled naturally, and he was a dual cultivator of warlock and martial paths.

This city lord was a peak fourth rank warlock, and also a peak fourth rank martial artist, half a step away from crossing the threshold between “mortal” and “celestial”, becoming a third rank expert with lasting life.

Nalan Yan held another identity. The Church of the Warlock God had three third rank Masters of Wisdom and one first rank Great Warlock. The three Masters of Wisdom served as national teachers for the three states of Jing, Kang, and Yan, and rarely remained at headquarters.

The Great Warlock lived a carefree life herding sheep.

The previous lord of Mount Jing City had been a second rank Master of Rain, but during the battle of Shanhai Pass, that Master of Rain was lured deep into enemy lines by Wei Yuan and slain with the help of a Buddhist Arhat.

Nalan Yan was the son of that Master of Rain.

As the morning sun rose, golden light rippled over the sea. Nalan Yan narrowed his eyes, gazing at the figure in azure robes standing at the bow, and suddenly let out a cold chuckle.

Apart from the warlocks and the garrison, a number of others arrived at the coast shortly after. Their cultivation levels varied, but experts were not lacking. They kept their distance, observing from afar.

These martial artists were local wanderers in Mount Jing City, or, in Great Feng terms, men of the Jianghu.

“Those are the Great Feng’s warships…”

“The one at the bow, must be Wei Yuan, judging by that azure robe. It matches the legends.”

“Truly the God of War. I heard his army met fierce resistance in the Yan Kingdom. At the time, I thought Wei Yuan wasn’t so great… who’d have guessed he’d break through from the sea.”

“But this is still courting death, isn’t it?”

“Heh, a bold move indeed. But our Church has no weaknesses. Even if he’s a God of War, he’s forced into a head-on clash. These twenty warships, what a pity.”

The Jianghu wanderers chatted with ease, some even smiling. Their confidence had good reason.

The headquarters of the Church of the Warlock God, Mount Jing City, was by the ocean, shielded by the three kingdoms of Yan, Jing, and Kang. For over a thousand years, whether from the Central Plains, the North, or even the current most powerful force, the Buddhist sect, no one had ever reached its gates.

Not once.

Why? Could others not build ships and cross the sea?

Because of one phrase: Master of Rain.

…

On a cliff on Mount Jing, the Great Warlock Sarun Agu stood, clad in a coarse hemp robe, cradling a lamb in his arms, overlooking the incoming fleet.

His robe billowed as waves of glassy energy surged around him, spreading outward into the surroundings.

Gradually, he seemed to merge with heaven and earth. Sarun Agu exhaled softly.

That breath grew like a snowball, larger and larger, until it became a terrifying storm.

Suddenly, the calm sea was whipped by fierce winds. The blue sky darkened with clouds. Thunder cracked, lightning flashed, and torrential rain poured down.

Waves surged in layers, rising higher and higher. In a blink, the once-tranquil coast was swallowed by storm.

The twenty massive warships were dwarfed before nature’s fury. They bobbed like tiny boats in the waves, tossed into the air before crashing down hard, flinging up mountains of spray.

On deck, cannons and ballistae tumbled, some flung into the sea with great crashes.

Sailors and crew clung to anything they could hold to avoid being hurled into the water or dashed to death against the masts and cannons.

In the hold, soldiers fared worse, thrown left and right, flung into the air, then slammed down again.

In the chaos, where men were packed tightly together, over a hundred died.

And this was nothing compared to the fate that awaited them.

Their fate: to be swallowed by the raging sea at any moment.

Second rank warlocks were known as Masters of Rain. In ancient times, when the weather was erratic, the human tribes of the Northeast would offer sacrifices to the Church of the Warlock God in times of drought, praying for rain.

Upon receiving the offerings, the warlocks would hold ceremonies to pray to the heavens.

The presiding warlock was usually second rank, or rather, only second rank warlocks had the right to conduct the rites. Thus, they became known as Masters of Rain.

But rainmaking was only one form of their manifest powers.

The true essence of a second rank warlock was resonance with the world, drawing upon the forces of heaven and earth.

Thus, with a warlock of second rank or higher stationed at headquarters, any enemy attempting to cross the sea was flirting with death.

The warlocks and garrison watched the scene with ease, watching Great Feng’s warships tossed like duckweed in the rain, in grave peril.

The martial wanderers mocked without restraint.

“Here to fight? No, here to die.”

“So that’s all Wei Yuan is? They say he’s some legend, but now look at him.”

“Heh, just making it this far is impressive enough.”

“The warships are loaded with gear, ballistae, cannons, fine armour and sabres. Once they’re sunk, we’ll dive in and salvage it all for a tidy profit.”

At that moment, a colossal wave surged over the stormy sea, blotting out the sky. Like a snowy mountain crashing down, the towering tide roared like thunder as it rushed toward the Great Feng fleet.

The killing blow had finally come.

No fleet in the world could survive such a tsunami, not even with defensive formations engraved on their decks.

How could mere formations stand against the might of nature?

A resounding roar echoed across heaven and earth, high-pitched and unrelenting.

In full view of all present, the tidal wave that ought to have crashed down with unstoppable force seemed to freeze for several seconds, then it collapsed with a thunderous crash, as though it had lost the power sustaining it.

Though the tsunami, taller and longer than the city walls, had not struck, the force of its disintegration nearly capsized the twenty warships.

On the shore, the experts, troops, and warlocks aligned with the Church of the Warlock God turned their gazes towards the sea, their expressions shifting. There, amidst the churning foam, they saw thick, scaly forms rising now and then from the water.

The Northern Yao, the Dragon Tribe!

Descendants ancient gods, *Jiao* dragons.

Born rulers of the sea, able to command water-spirits, capable of stirring up waves or calming storms.

Stretching out as far as the eye could see, the dragons surged through the waves, their high, resonant roars echoing. There were over a hundred of them, the entire Dragon Tribe had been mobilised.

The stormy sea abruptly grew much tamer, though not completely still.

The pounding rain lessened into a steady drizzle.

Two forces wielding control over water-spirits had clashed, reaching a delicate equilibrium.

“Jiao dragons, the northern Yao.”

“No wonder that Wei Yuan dared to cross the sea. He had the dragons backing him.”

Nalan Yan’s expression darkened slightly. He said calmly, “Not unexpected. He wouldn’t have come without confidence. Have the troops fall back. Once the Feng army makes landfall, intercept them at once.”

Just as he gave the order, a muffled boom came from the sea. Seconds later, a deep crater burst open in the sand not far away, sending shrapnel and shockwaves in all directions.

More and more shells came crashing down, bombarding the defending troops and warlocks along the coast.

“Fall back! Retreat immediately!”

A general bellowed, waving his banner and ordering the soldiers to withdraw.

He had barely finished shouting when a shell landed beside him. With a deafening blast, flames billowed out, and the general was flung through the air.

He didn’t die, but his Bronze Skin and Iron Bones shattered on the spot, and he was grievously wounded.

This was precisely why Nalan Yan had ordered the retreat. The Great Feng warships were equipped with cannons and ballistae, powerful, long-ranged, and numerous. Holding the coast meant being blown to bits.

They had expected the Great Warlock’s spells to sink the entire fleet. But the Dragon Tribe’s involvement had cost the Church its advantage.

The best course now was to pull back and hold the usual mountain paths and forests around Mount Jing City.

But that strategy would have to be paid for with the lives of the defending army. The battlefield was meant to be a warlock’s domain. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a battlefield, it was the Church’s base of operations.

Their most terrifying tactic, raising corpse soldiers, was now useless.

Even if the fighting escalated and they managed to summon a large force of corpse soldiers, they would likely be the people of Mount Jing City…

A poor strategy.

As for the best strategy, Nalan Yan believed it was simple: the Great Warlock only needed to strike down the man in the azure robe. Once Wei Yuan was killed, the Great Feng forces would lose their commander, and their combat strength would be halved.

Wei Yuan was just a crippled commoner with no cultivation left.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Shells rained down on the coast. Ballista bolts pierced the ground, tearing through the Church’s troops and warlocks, plunging the battlefield into chaos.

The Great Feng warships advanced with unstoppable momentum, drawing near the shore.

At the prow stood the man in azure robes, proud and upright. But his gaze wasn’t on the crowd at the shore, it was on the peak of Mount Jing, where a figure in a hemp robe stood.

One stood on the cliff, basking in sunshine and fair weather.

One stood amid the turbulent sea, under dark clouds and pounding waves.

It was as if the world had been cleaved in two, each half utterly distinct.

The two pairs of gentle eyes met across the distance.

Just then, from the southwest, a streak of black light came streaking in, halting above the Church’s forces. With a sweep of his wide sleeves, he batted dozens of shells aside.

“Elder Irbu…”

The warlocks let out sighs of relief. Their death curses and corpse-controlling techniques couldn’t reach the Great Feng army at such distance, and their lack of defensive skill meant they couldn’t block the cannon fire either.

Fifth-rank Miracle Priests and fourth-rank Warlocks of Dreams could summon the heroic spirits of martial artists long past and become powerful warriors themselves. But that was meaningless, there would certainly be even more high-ranking martial artists aboard the Feng fleet.

Those were true martial artists.

It wasn’t that the warlocks weren’t strong, on the contrary, their methods were cunning and formidable, and they were unrivalled on the battlefield. But under these circumstances, their advantages had suddenly evaporated.

Back during the Battle of Shanhai Pass, many engagements had ended in inexplicable defeats. Even now, some still didn’t understand why they had lost.

Now, however, the arrival of a third rank warlock made up for every weakness. Between third and fourth rank, there was a chasm that could not be crossed.

Irbu hovered in midair, staring at the man in azure robes aboard the flagship. He frowned, took out three copper coins, and cast a divination. The result: auspicious!

He relaxed at once and shouted, “Withdraw! Spread out and hold the official road and forest paths. Teams of a hundred, each with one warlock.”

Once the order was given, Irbu put away the coins and rapidly formed a set of hand seals. A vague, shadowy figure appeared overhead, suspended above him.

Irbu’s body surged with blood-qi. His muscles ripped through his robe as he transformed into a giant several dozen feet tall.

The giant, riding a beam of black light, shot towards the flagship, towards Wei Yuan.

On the deck, the soldiers turned their cannons and ballistae towards Irbu, attempting to stop him.

Shells and bolts shattered against his body. Before a third-rank “martial artist,” such attacks did nothing.

In that moment, the hope and elation of the Church of the Warlock God stood in stark contrast to the Great Feng army’s dread and fury.

The aura of a third-rank “martial artist” surged like a tidal wave, like a storm, making the azure robe whip wildly in the wind. All the pressure seemed to converge on Wei Yuan alone.

This man, with silver at his temples and weathered eyes, finally raised his hand gently.

And caught the giant by the throat.

His fingers suddenly clenched, _bang_, and the indistinct shadow above Irbu’s head burst apart.

“Your bravery is commendable!” Wei Yuan said with a gentle smile.