Snow? How could it be snowing? It was already May—how was this possible?
Su Li stared in disbelief at the snowflakes falling onto her body. She tried to burn them with her phoenix fire, the flames licking at the flakes with a sizzling sound like water splashed onto hot iron. The snow melted, but incredibly slowly—it took two full breaths of burning just to turn a single snowflake into a drop of water. The unease in her heart piled up, growing heavier and thicker like the accumulating snow.
Lu Yan felt it too. Having spent more than half his life in the Northern Border, he knew exactly what snow at this time of year meant—it wasn't some dramatic tale of snow in midsummer due to an injustice; those were just stories. There shouldn't be snow in the Northern Border in May. If there was, it was highly likely that the Ice Spirits were rioting. His hands began to tremble uncontrollably. Of everyone present, he was the only one who had personally witnessed an Ice Spirit siege. He had seen it on the night the Formation Sect was destroyed. When the Ice Spirits surged through the breach in the Great Wall, they were like a blue tide, swallowing everything in their path. His voice could barely form sentences, his throat feeling as if it were being squeezed shut, making it difficult to force out even a few words.
“Go... run! Grab Nannan and get out of here!”
He clutched Yao Wu's shoulder, his fingernails digging deep into the man's flesh. Su Li, the battle, the bounty—none of it mattered anymore. If they didn't run now, every single one of them would lose their lives here. Yao Wu stumbled under his grip, looking up to see Lu Yan's face. It was a shade he had never seen before, like the gray ash of a corpse.
“It's too late,” Du Qi sighed, looking toward the city walls.
A dense swarm of pale blue crystalline figures had already destroyed the city walls. They surged through the breach, a deep blue tide washing over the shattered brick and stone. Nothing could stop them—not arrows, not spells, not flesh and blood. They marched slowly into the city, bringing death, destruction, and the ancient chill of the Northern Border.
The timeline rewound to half an hour prior.
Atop the walls of Black Mountain Fort, several guards huddled around a small fire, drinking. The fire was small, its flames whipped about by the wind, and they drank a cheap, harsh liquor that burned their throats but warmed their bodies. A rugged man squatted at the very edge. He had a thick beard and eyebrows as dark as ink brushes. He wore a tattered set of old cotton armor, torn in several places to reveal the blackened cotton stuffing inside.
“Dammit, it's already May. Why is it still so freezing?” the bearded man cursed, taking a sip from his bowl before putting it down. “Didn't it start warming up a couple of days ago?”
“That's the Northern Border for you, cold all year round.” A veteran soldier beside him handed over a wine gourd, gesturing for him to take another swig. “Here, have some more to warm yourself up.”
“No more, no more. My stomach is full, and I'm about to burst.” The bearded man pushed the bowl away, pushed himself up by his knees, and loosened his belt. “I'm going to take a piss.”
The men around him burst into laughter. Someone shouted, “Watch out, don't let it freeze off!” while another called out, “Find a spot out of the wind!” The bearded man waved them off and walked away. He swayed slightly as the alcohol began to hit him, his feet feeling light as cotton. The wind atop the wall was stronger than he had expected, whipping his coat about. He shrunk his neck into his collar and cursed under his breath. Reaching a corner of the wall, he stopped and unfastened his trousers. As the warm liquid hit the cold air, it immediately steamed. He shuddered, then looked up. Before he could finish, he forced himself to pinch it shut.
A massive swarm of glowing blue entities was surging toward the wall like a plague of locusts. They glided close to the ground, silent and incredibly fast. He rubbed his eyes, thinking he was still drunk. When he opened them again, the blue dots were even closer. He saw them clearly now. It wasn't just light; they were eyes. Every single Ice Spirit had eyes—pale blue, pupil-less eyes. Tens of thousands of pairs stared out, resembling a reversed starry river pouring down in the night.
“Enemy attack! Enemy attack! The Ice Spirits are sieging the city!” His voice cracked from screaming, his panicked cries scattering in the howling night wind.
The drinking guards nearby froze for a moment upon hearing this, but then someone laughed. “Has this kid gone mad from drinking?” A young rogue of a soldier brought his bowl to his lips and took a deep gulp. “Black Mountain Fort is so close to Beizhou City. Where would Ice Spirits even come from? Even if they were to attack, they'd target Everspring Fort. They won't reach us here. Besides, even if there are Ice Spirits, the master cultivators will deal with them. It has nothing to do with us. Come on, let's keep drinking.” He offered his bowl to the comrade next to him.
“It's true! Go look for yourselves! I'm not lying to you, there really are Ice Spirits! They're all over the hills!”
“This kid is completely wasted. He took a piss and came back an idiot.” The veteran shook his head and poured the dregs of his liquor onto the ground. “Ignore him. Let's keep drinking.”
Seeing them completely indifferent, the bearded man glanced back at the blue tide drawing closer outside. He turned and saw the warning bell hanging on a wooden frame by the wall. Cast from pig iron, it had hung there for years without ever being rung. Gritting his teeth, he steeled his resolve, rushed over, and threw his entire weight against it.
Dong—
The bell tolled. It was a dull, heavy sound, like the final lowing of an old bull. Rust flaked off with the sound waves, splattering debris across his face. The tolling reverberated through the night sky, echoing across the entire length of the wall.
The drinking men all sprang to their feet, instantly sobered up. The bowl in the veteran's hand slipped and shattered on the ground. The young rogue stood with his mouth agape, staring at the bearded man with eyes wide with shock.
“Are you out of your mind? Falsely sounding the alarm is a capital offense! You'll be beheaded!” the veteran's voice trembled. “You've doomed us all!”
The bearded man smiled bitterly, his lips twitching to reveal teeth stained yellow by cheap tobacco. “A capital offense? Let's see if we can even survive tonight first.” He offered no further explanation. He didn't describe what he had seen, nor did he argue that he was sober. Turning around, he yanked his armor off the rack and threw it on, his hands tying the straps with a steadiness that didn't belong to a drunkard. He grabbed a long saber from the weapon rack; he didn't care that there was still uncleaned rust on the blade. Drawing back the tent flap, he stepped outside. Snow had begun to fall at some point, a few flakes landing on his shoulder guards.
The men inside the tent looked at one another in silence. The veteran was the first to move. Kicking the shattered pieces of the bowl aside, he stood up and retrieved his spear from the corner. The young rogue followed behind him, tightening his belt and taking a deep breath. One by one, the others grabbed their sabers, spears, and bows, and marched out of the tent.
Standing atop the wall, they gazed out at the endless tide of Ice Spirits. The dense, glowing blue dots stretched from one horizon to the other like a massive net slowly tightening around the fort.
“My god...” the veteran whispered, his voice instantly swallowed by the wind, unheard by anyone.
Signal flares shot into the night sky one after another, crimson points of light exploding high above like short-lived blossoms. Whether anyone actually saw them or simply chose to ignore them remained unknown. The defenders charged forward wave after wave, falling one after another. As soon as the front line of Ice Spirits was shattered, the back line filled the gap, seemingly endless. The reinforcements they desperately hoped for never arrived. The Central Continent Alliance was busy fighting the local factions of the Northern Border for their own interests; no one had the time to care about this insignificant Black Mountain Fort. Yet, they could not retreat. Inside the city were their wives, children, and elders. It was their home.
Individually, the soldiers possessed little combat power, but when a large number of them trained in military spells formed a military formation, they became formidable. A hundred-man formation was equivalent to a hundred Foundation Establishment cultivators, while a thousand-man formation was comparable to a thousand Golden Core experts. They formed their array on the walls, spiritual energy pouring from each soldier to merge into a pale gold barrier, barely holding off the first wave of the Ice Spirit onslaught. The barrier trembled violently under the impact of the ice crystals, like glass being repeatedly struck, with cracks spreading from the center. Soldiers who exhausted their spiritual energy collapsed and were dragged away by their comrades, only to be replaced by another wave.
The nobles and officials atop the walls made no effort to organize an evacuation for the citizens. Upon learning of the Ice Spirit siege, they issued only a single command: “Hold the line! Desertion will be punished by death!” Then, they packed up their gold, silver, and valuables, took their families, and fled through the south gate, fleeing toward Beizhou City as fast as they could. As for the commoners in the city—whom they referred to as “ants”—they would only compete for resources in Beizhou City anyway, so dying here was for the best. Didn't the Ice Spirits want to slaughter? Let them. Once they slaughtered these lowlifes, hopefully they wouldn't come to Beizhou City. The nobles suppressed all news, leaving the commoners fast asleep, entirely unaware that death was already at their doorstep.
The bearded man's comrades fell one after another. Some were impaled through the chest by ice blades, some froze solid against the battlements, and others were swallowed by the tide of Ice Spirits after exhausting their spiritual energy. In the end, he was the only one left. His body was riddled with punctures, but no blood flowed; his wounds had already frozen into dark red ice. He roared and swung his saber, only for the blade to shatter in two upon striking an Ice Spirit. He threw away the hilt and fought with his fists. When his fists were smashed to pieces, he rammed them with his shoulders. When his arms broke, he used his head. Suddenly, an ice blade pierced his chest from behind. The cold, translucent blade, carrying the stench of death, protruded from his chest, coated in a crimson frost of blood.
His life force drained rapidly, and his vision began to blur. Before he fell, he thought of his wife at home and his chubby, energetic son. He smiled. His cracked, frozen lips parted slightly, oozing a few drops of blood. Your old man did his best to protect you. By now, you should have safely escaped.
His eyelids grew heavier, but he used the last of his strength to lock his knees, refusing to let himself fall. Kneeling on the wall, his hand still gripping the broken hilt, his half-open eyes stared out at the deep blue tide. Snow fell on him, on his shoulder guards, and on his wounds, slowly covering him. He transformed into the final, eternal ice sculpture atop the wall.
The formidable walls of Black Mountain Fort, once deemed impregnable...
...had fallen.
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