Chapter Fifty-Three: The Fierce Battle

“Kill!” The cultivators remaining on the ground wasted no time, surging forward behind their respective leaders.

On the battlefield of Nascent Soul cultivators, hundreds from the Gate of Life and Death formed a massive sword formation. Countless flying swords merged into torrents, sweeping furiously towards the enemy. On the side of the Gate of Immortal Companions, their formation conjured a giant—a woman of breathtaking beauty—who cupped her hands and shielded herself, fending off the sword torrent with ease.

The Nascent Soul cultivators also had their own assault teams. They weaved through the rear of the flying sword torrent, constantly harrying the giant’s movements, searching for weak points in the formation to strike.

One Nascent Soul cultivator from the Gate of Life and Death, fearless and unflinching, charged directly into the enemy's formation. With a thunderous boom, he self-destructed his Nascent Soul. The giant trembled violently. Seeing the effectiveness of this tactic, more Nascent Soul cultivators, covered by their comrades, dashed into the formation and detonated themselves.

The cultivators of the Gate of Immortal Companions were shocked. They knew that the Nascent Soul cultivators of the Gate of Life and Death practiced unique arts—embracing death to find life. Even self-destruction was not truly fatal, merely a devastating injury; their sect was long prepared with methods to save them. Their own side, however, would face true death if caught in such a blast, and after this round of self-destruction, their formation was already unstable.

The Gate of Immortal Companions swiftly altered their formation. Another giant appeared, this time male, and together the two giants spread their arms, conjuring a vast sphere that enveloped the Nascent Soul battlefield, sealing off the space. Now when a Nascent Soul cultivator from the Gate of Life and Death self-destructed, his soul could not escape—the only fate was death.

Frustrated, the Gate of Life and Death’s assault teams dared not self-destruct at will. They had no choice but to seek out individual opponents and engage in fierce combat.

The battles between Nascent Soul cultivators were apocalyptic—divine arts and spells flashing everywhere. Inside the sphere, a riot of colors clashed, making it impossible to see clearly. The screams that echoed intermittently marked the fall of one cultivator after another.

In such grand wars, individual strength was meaningless. A single barrage of focused attacks from the enemy Nascent Soul cultivators could destroy even those at the peak. Both sides relied on their formations, launching relentless assaults. Cultivators fell one after another beneath the onslaught.

The battlefield of Golden Core cultivators was equally dazzling. Magical and spiritual artifacts whirled ceaselessly. Their formations, though not as grand as those of the Nascent Soul cultivators, still allowed groups of dozens to combine their might, grinding relentlessly at one another.

Zhou Qi led his team from the rear, cheering on their allies. The battles of Qi Refining cultivators, however, were far less spectacular than those of their higher-ranked peers.

The assault teams of both sides clashed at once. These low-level cultivators could not soar on swords, and their weak spells made little difference. Instead, they hacked at each other with swords and sabers, reminiscent of mortal armies clashing—though with one crucial difference: cultivators were stronger, more tireless, and fought with abandon.

Those at the forefront knew they marched to their deaths, but none dared retreat. Their own comrades pressed forward from behind—those who stopped would be trampled to death. And with the cover team watching from the flanks, any hesitation would only invite a quicker end. The only hope lay in charging forward, killing as they went, perhaps carving out a path to survival.

Severed limbs soared through the air. In close quarters, only the bravest survived. Fear was a luxury none could afford; escape was impossible. Even with an arm hacked off, a fighter would lunge forward, biting if he must. The Gate of Life and Death’s assault team, bolstered by Zhou Qi’s pills, fought with unmatched ferocity, gulping down restorative elixirs and stamina pills as if their lives depended on it—because they did. There would be no second chance to use them.

For low-level cultivators, it was all about strength and endurance. The first to falter would die on the spot.

It was not long before the assault teams suffered grievous casualties. Behind them, the formation teams continued layering spells; for Qi Refining cultivators, formations were simple, merely stacking spells together. A basic fireball, when multiplied, became a sea of flame that swept toward the foe, who in turn layered water spells to douse the inferno.

Disciples of the Gate of Immortal Companions fought with equal valor, well-supplied with elixirs, spirit stones, and gear. The two sects were evenly matched.

The kill teams, seeing the assault teams nearly wiped out, could wait no longer. Led by their captains, they pressed forward, composed of cultivators at the eighth level of Qi Refining or higher. They abandoned spells, relying on simple slashing and stabbing, each blow claiming a life.

Zhou Qi watched as the Foundation Establishment cultivators fought. Han Qiaoman was no longer at the rear; as head of logistics, she had already joined the kill teams at the front.

Zhou Qi hesitated. At the tenth level of Qi Refining, he knew his joining the fight could save many lives. To worry about the enemy's well-being at such a moment seemed almost laughable.

The kill team was blocked. The enemy had their own elite cultivators; the advance stalled, many died, and only a few were hanging on.

Why should those at the front die while those at the back stood and watched, shouting slogans and waving fists to bolster morale? It was unfair. Was it because they were elders’ descendants, the sect leader’s kin?

Frustration burned in Zhou Qi’s heart. He’d always hated dividing people into ranks. Were they not all born of parents, each with only one life? Why should their fates differ so wildly, just because of the luck of their birth?

The more he thought, the angrier he became, forgetting that he himself was one of them—their captain, in fact.

“Members of the logistics team!” Zhou Qi shouted.

“Yes!” The logistics team looked at him curiously, thinking perhaps he wanted to invent a new slogan.

“Charge with me!” Zhou Qi drew his Immortal-Slaying Sword and thrust it into the earth with a heavy clang. “Any who disobey my orders will be executed without mercy,” he said coldly.

“But... Captain, that’s not in our duties,” one team member said, looking at Zhou Qi as if he were mad. Was he really asking them to run into certain death?

“It is now,” Zhou Qi replied, his eyes brimming with killing intent. These cowards needed an example; perhaps a few deaths would establish his authority. As for his future in the Gate of Life and Death, he gave it no thought. Cultivation was about following one’s heart, and his heart was far from at peace.

“You may be captain, but you can't just order us around,” sneered another cultivator. This one was richly dressed, with soft, fair skin—at the ninth level of Qi Refining, but clearly lacking any combat experience, his face full of arrogance and disdain.

“Is that so?” Zhou Qi sneered. With a single sweep of the Immortal-Slaying Sword, a slash of sword-light struck the man’s neck. He stared, wide-eyed, in disbelief. Blood trickled down. He managed only a single “You—” before collapsing to the ground.

The others gasped in shock. They had not expected Zhou Qi to truly kill, much less the grandson of a Nascent Soul elder—and yet he had.

“Does anyone else have objections?” Zhou Qi asked, his sword glowing with a ghostly blue light.

“We obey Captain Zhou’s command,” the rest replied at once, not daring another word. This brute would really kill them. Best to go along with him for now.