The atmosphere in Yaowang Valley shifted dramatically as the sheer force of the Dragon Cavalry Army made itself known. The soldiers' overwhelming momentum left the disciples of Yaowang Valley visibly shaken, many turning pale in fear before the battle even began.
The higher-ranking officials, too, wore grim expressions. None of them had anticipated facing such a formidable force. "What army is this?" they wondered. Could it be from Dazhou? Their isolation in refining elixirs for years meant that Yaowang Valley had little knowledge of recent mainland events, and thus they had no idea that the Dragon Cavalry had recently risen to prominence.
Yao Qianming, the leader of Yaowang Valley, grimaced. He realized now that he had underestimated Orion's forces. These were not just any cavalry; they were heavily armored elite troops, brimming with strength. But now that the battle was at hand, there was no turning back. Regardless of the situation, Yaowang Valley was filled with powerful cultivators, including numerous masters seeking elixirs. These warriors, loyal for the promise of rare healing elixirs, were no mere fighters—they were Martial Kings, and there were tens of thousands of them. Among them, more than a dozen were semi-saint level experts.
"Kill!" Yuan Zuozong, leading the Dragon Cavalry, charged forward. A powerful martial saint, he spearheaded the assault with unmatched ferocity. His silver spear, like a giant dragon, swept through the battlefield. With a single strike, hundreds of enemies fell, their lives snuffed out in an instant. And had Orion not ordered restraint, Yuan Zuozong's assault could have claimed even more.
Yao Qianming watched in shock. Never had he expected to encounter such a powerful martial saint among his foes. The bloodshed was staggering. His face darkened, knowing he could no longer stand idly by. If he didn't step in soon, his side would be decimated.
At the same time, Yuan Zuozong's gaze fell upon Yao Qianming, and the two martial saints locked eyes, their spirits clashing in the air like sparks from flint. They both knew the outcome would hinge on their duel.
"War!" Their battle cries echoed as they ascended into the sky, deliberately moving their fight away from the battlefield below. Yao Qianming, unwilling to engage, tried to parlay. "You really want to be an enemy of Yaowang Valley? I have millions of people under me. If you oppose us, even if you survive this fight, I will issue a kill order across the continent. You won't escape. But if you leave now, I'll forget this ever happened. In fact, I'll even give you an eighth-grade elixir."
Yao Qianming's attempt at diplomacy fell on deaf ears. Yuan Zuozong, fiercely loyal and undeterred by the threat, chuckled. "No need for negotiations. I've waited for a worthy opponent like you for too long."
Yao Qianming, frustrated, sneered. "Do you think being an alchemist makes me weak?" With a surge of power, he revealed his true strength—the peak of Martial Saint level. "You may regret underestimating me!"
"Perfect!" Yuan Zuozong roared, delighted by the challenge. Like a meteor, he shot toward Yao Qianming, and their duel erupted in a flurry of violent clashes. Their initial exchanges sent shockwaves through the surrounding air, but soon, they both began to fight in earnest.
Yuan Zuozong's spear flew with precision, each strike aimed at Yao Qianming's vitals. But Yao Qianming wasn't without his own defenses. Armed with three pseudo-imperial artifacts, he managed to block the onslaught. Still, despite his treasures, the pressure from Yuan Zuozong's relentless assault grew overwhelming.
Down below, the sounds of battle grew quieter. Yao Qianming risked a glance toward the battlefield, and what he saw chilled him to the core. Corpses of his disciples littered the ground, soaked in pools of blood. His once proud army had been decimated. The Dragon Cavalry had cut through them like a scythe through wheat, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.
Yao Qianming's heart pounded in fear and disbelief. How could this be? His thousands of disciples, and even the masters he'd recruited, were now lifeless. The power of the Dragon Cavalry was more than he'd ever imagined, their formations flawless, their tactics devastating. And the 300 shadow guards, constantly slipping through the chaos, had assassinated his strongest warriors with ease.
"Focus!" Yuan Zuozong's voice broke through Yao Qianming's stupor. Seizing the moment of distraction, Yuan Zuozong's spear struck true, piercing Yao Qianming's chest. Though a defensive pseudo-imperial armor absorbed most of the impact, Yao Qianming still coughed up blood, his body thrown backward from the force of the blow.
Yao Qianming's eyes were wide with terror. His armor had saved him, but he was no longer confident. Not only had his army been destroyed, but the martial saint before him was far stronger than any he had ever faced. A cold wave of regret washed over him. What had he provoked?
As he struggled to regain his footing, he finally realized: He was no longer in control. The elixirs, the threats, none of it mattered. He had underestimated his enemies—and now, it was too late.