Chapter 103: Flames of War

The river breeze blew, and the scenery on both banks remained monotonous. Seeing that Yi Fan did not respond, the old boatman felt rebuffed; he fell silent, swaying his head as he hummed a small tune to himself.

Yi Fan finally enjoyed a moment of peace, gazing at the drifting rosy clouds in the distance. Having traveled this far, the Gezao Mountain sect had not caught up. He surmised they must have misjudged his identity, leading them in the wrong direction.

Through the information provided by Chiming, he knew that the Shangqing Sect and the Gezao Mountain sect were bitter rivals. Though both were major schools of talismanic arts with thousands of years of heritage, they had always regarded each other as their greatest enemy. Fang Chen’s attempt on his life was surely for this reason.

Regrettably, Fang Chen had chosen the wrong target and misread the situation, believing that a mere Demon-Slaying Bow would be enough to kill him, and foolishly thinking that he would not dare to strike back.

Suddenly, several corpses drifted down the river. Yi Fan’s sharp eyes noticed they had not died of natural causes or drowning; their bodies bore the marks of blades. Looking at their attire—cloth armor and martial garments—he realized they were soldiers.

Soon, eleven more bodies drifted past, blocking the boat’s path. The old man’s face changed, and he hurriedly slapped the gunwale. "My two foolish sons, stop the boat! Stop the boat! There is trouble ahead; we must turn back immediately."

He then turned to Yi Fan, saying, "Daoist, I think you should forget about going to Luling County. There must be a war ahead; it’s a chaotic time of battle, and it would be best for you to steer clear."

The boat stalled in the middle of the river. The two men were sweating profusely as they frantically paddled to turn the vessel around. Ordinary folk had no desire to witness such calamities. Once caught in the crossfire, blades had no eyes, and a barrage of arrows was no laughing matter—flesh and blood could not withstand the sharpness of steel.

Just then, a troop of soldiers appeared. An arrow whistled through the air and struck the boat. Someone shouted, "Listen, you on the boat! Bring it over here at once, or we will shoot you down!"

The old man’s face turned ghastly. "It’s over, it’s all over."

Despite his fear, he dared not flee. The river was neither wide nor rapid, and there was nowhere for a wooden boat to hide. He had his sons row toward the bank, repeatedly whispering for them to be careful with their words to avoid inviting death.

As the boat touched the shore, four or five soldiers surrounded them. One stepped forward, scrutinized Yi Fan and his party, and asked expressionlessly, "Who are you, and where are you going?"

The old man quickly pointed to Yi Fan. "General, we are fishermen from the neighboring village. This Daoist is heading to Luling County, and he paid us to ferry him."

The man’s expression shifted instantly. He signaled his men, and the dozens of soldiers behind him drew their long swords and notched their bows, aiming them at Yi Fan.

"Daoist, show us your official travel pass," the man demanded, stepping back to let a soldier approach.

Yi Fan frowned slightly and cupped his hands. "Before descending the mountain, I did not obtain a travel pass from the authorities. This trip to Luling County is merely incidental; I hope you can show some convenience."

In the past, travel permits were essential for entering cities. Without one, travelers were often detained or expelled as vagrants. But with the world descending into chaos, who still cared for such formalities? As for practitioners, there were usually official talismans issued by the imperial court, registered in lists and verified by local offices. Yi Fan possessed none of these, but those were the rules for mundane priests—what did they have to do with him?

Upon hearing this, the man roared, "He is surely a spy! Seize him!"

Swords rattled as the soldiers swarmed forward. Just as a clash seemed inevitable, a voice rang out from behind: "Wait."

Yi Fan remained vigilant. He secretly formed a spell with his fingers and signaled the Grudge Ghost behind him to remain alert and ready to strike. Once prepared, he looked toward the source of the voice.

A soldier clad in iron armor rode up on horseback. Upon reaching them, he inspected Yi Fan carefully, then dismounted and bowed. "I am Deng Qian. May I ask the Daoist's name?"

Yi Fan returned the salute. "I am Yi Fan, a wandering cultivator."

A wandering cultivator? A glint appeared in Deng Qian’s eyes. He smiled, "Daoist Yi is indeed a man of the path. My general will surely be pleased to hear this. Would you care to do us the honor of visiting our camp for a drink?"

"Since General Deng is so inviting, how could I refuse? I shall trouble you then." Yi Fan was straightforward; without the permission of these soldiers, he knew it would be difficult to move an inch toward Luling County.

Deng Qian laughed, remounted his horse, and offered a mount to Yi Fan. Yi Fan refused and had the Grudge Ghost bring the old donkey ashore. Seeing the animal’s legs trembling, he sighed and chose not to ride it. "I am not skilled at riding, and my old donkey is not up to the task. I shall walk."

"That works perfectly. I can chat with you along the way; I’ve grown quite weary of this war," Deng Qian said, dismounting to walk alongside Yi Fan as his men led the horses.

...

They traveled for over ten miles, walking for nearly half an hour, until they saw fires rising into the sky and heard the sounds of shouting in the distance. After rounding a crossroads, the view opened up.

A city with towering walls stood before them, wreathed in flames and patrolled by soldiers. Outside the walls, camps were spread out as far as the eye could see, filled with countless troops.

Deng Qian gestured with his hands. "Luling County has always been a strategic military hub, controlling the waterways and flowing with wealth. It used to be the territory of the regional commander, Qian Cheng. It’s a pity that fellow didn't know how to conduct himself—not only was he arrogant and rude, but he also preyed upon the common people. My general couldn't stand it, so he led his troops here, cut off that bastard’s head, and hung it before the city gate for all the world to see. That’s what happens to people like him."

*It can't be that simple,* Yi Fan thought to himself. As a regional commander holding such a vital location, could he really be killed so easily? Looking at the scene, it was clear the battle had been swift and decisive, suggesting there was more to the story.

Moreover, if this place was so important, would the general Deng Qian spoke of simply hand it over after seizing it? But this had nothing to do with him, so he remained silent and listened.

As they approached, soldiers saluted Deng Qian. The group did not stop and headed straight into the city. Along the way, Yi Fan saw the mangled remains of civilians and shook his head—no matter who ruled, it was always the common people who suffered.

Suddenly, screams erupted from the city wall, and a figure plummeted down. The person moved as fast as a galloping horse, and anyone who stood in their way was torn to pieces, falling to their death.

*A cultivator?* And one with significant strength, at least at the "Spirit-Connection" realm.

Yi Fan’s expression shifted. He did not know why this person was fleeing in such a manner, but their actions invited a massive siege by the soldiers. After being obstructed, hundreds of troops charged out from the city, led by a burly general wielding a great halberd. Seeing the situation, the general shouted, "Archers, prepare! Shoot him down!"

The cultivator, hearing this, held nothing back. With a flick of his fingers, several talismans burst into ten-meter-high flames, swallowing the surrounding soldiers. He then formed a mudra and stamped his foot, causing the ground within dozens of meters to shake violently. The flying stones, sharp as arrows, pierced through flesh and blood.

"I have thousands of soldiers, each as brave as a tiger! Let’s see how many you can kill!" the general roared. At his command, arrows rained down like a storm.