Chapter 107: The Invasion of the Phantom Army

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Jun Moyan had just drawn his long sword and stood atop a high ruined outpost, gazing coldly in the direction from which the strange wind blew. His sharp eyes and sword-like brows were set firm, violet light flickering within them.

As Jun Moyan moved, the surrounding cavalry seemed to just now sense that eerie wind. Over a thousand warhorses reared, neighing loudly. Wantang, sword in hand, stood beside Jun Moyan, casting worried glances around.

Jun Moyan lightly tapped the hilt of his sword. The long sword he wielded was strangely designed, with a hole near the hilt, inside which a crystal-clear small bead spun continuously.

Upon closer inspection, the bead was not truly transparent. Intricate, minuscule inscriptions were etched upon it, so tiny that the bead appeared clear at a glance. Every cavalryman in this army of over a thousand had drawn their swords, standing in full battle formation.

“What have you sensed, Moyan?” Wantang frowned and asked. It had to be said, Wantang’s voice was remarkably clear and crisp, and every time Jun Moyan heard it, a tingling sensation would course through him.

“This place shows no signs of attack, no traces of battle. It’s a one-sided massacre,” Jun Moyan said gravely, gazing at the scene before him. Jiang Pingchuan, lying in the carriage, admired the man’s insight. To deduce the situation so swiftly was no small feat, proving Jun Moyan was a man of extensive knowledge.

“How can you be so sure?” Wantang looked at Jun Moyan as he sheathed his sword, following suit without hesitation. In his eyes, following Jun Moyan’s lead was never wrong—he had never once seen him err.

“You wouldn’t understand even if I told you,” Jun Moyan chuckled, patting Wantang’s head. Irritated, Wantang looked ready to walk away but then saw Jun Moyan take out a token he hadn’t touched for a long time.

It bore the inscription “Marquis of Qingyuan.” Jun Moyan was a marquis under the rule of the Lan family on Changfeng Continent. It was said that during the era of the War King, Jun Moyan was just an unknown soldier from the northern lands.

Later, on the battlefield, through sheer bravery and the hidden power within him, he made invaluable contributions to quelling the chaos. After the campaign, he was granted the title Marquis of Qingyuan, given fertile lands and tens of thousands of subjects to govern his own domain.

“What’s the use of taking that out now?” Wantang asked as Jun Moyan hung the jade token at his waist. Since receiving the token in the royal capital, Wantang had never seen Jun Moyan display it, always keeping it safely in a brocade box. Jun Moyan smiled wryly as he looked at the jade token hanging at his side.

“It’s been a long time since I took action. I was once a vanguard general; now, a vanguard marquis,” Jun Moyan said self-mockingly, causing Wantang to furrow his brow.

“What do you mean by that? His Majesty didn’t order you to lead the charge,” Wantang said crisply. Jun Moyan frowned as he looked at Wantang, whose fair face flushed slightly, eyes darting nervously.

“Wantang, sometimes I feel as if there’s a pair of eyes watching me. His Majesty knows everything I do. What do you think I should do?” Jun Moyan said coldly. Wantang’s blush faded to pale white, fingers clutching his robe’s cuff, anxiety clear in his eyes.

“If you think there’s such a pair of eyes, why not blind them? That would bring a lot of peace,” Wantang suggested. No sooner had he spoken than Jun Moyan’s expression turned cold, and he pressed two fingers close to Wantang’s eyes.

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Wantang widened his eyes, showing no fear. Jun Moyan withdrew his fingers and gave Wantang a sharp tap on the forehead, then burst out laughing.

“Wantang, look at you—scared silly!” Jun Moyan teased, draping an arm over Wantang’s shoulder. Wantang glared at him, teeth clenched in a bitter smile. Jun Moyan, seeing this, cleared his throat.

Jiang Pingchuan, still lying in the carriage, gathered much information from Jun Moyan’s words. They had come for war, but Jiang Pingchuan could not fathom how the royal capital learned of the destruction of Dongzhou City and dispatched Jun Moyan to assist.

How coincidental was it? Jiang Pingchuan suddenly realized a troubling question: when exactly did the royal capital learn of the chaos in Dongzhou City? Where was Jun Moyan’s original garrison? How did he arrive at Dongzhou City and discover the devastation? None of it made sense.

“We traveled day and night for three days to reach Dongzhou City. To see this... it truly breaks one’s heart,” Jun Moyan said, mounting his warhorse and gazing over the ruins of Dongzhou City. Wantang also mounted his horse, surveying the desolation.

Everything here was consumed by fierce flames, leaving no traces behind. The only clues to what had occurred rested with Jiang Pingchuan.

Three days! Jiang Pingchuan suddenly felt a heavy tightness in his chest. How could it be three days? After all, once the Three Realms Envoy revealed the truth, he had hurried to Dongzhou City. Why did Jun Moyan say they traveled day and night for three days to arrive? A terrible premonition arose.

“March through the night to Yin-Yang City. The first line of defense has collapsed; we must not let the second fall. Relay the order—speed up the entire army’s march,” Jun Moyan commanded his adjutant. The adjutant raised his whip and hurried to the rear, repeating the order. Wantang watched Jun Moyan with a complex expression.

Yin-Yang City suddenly faced an unknown attack. Feng Wuliang stood atop the city wall, watching the thick mist outside the gates with a sigh. Feng Xiaoge and Feng Li stood beside him, staring into the white haze where nothing could be seen.

“Father, what’s happening?” Feng Xiaoge asked, pointing toward the mist. Feng Wuliang shook his head. He had already received word that Dongzhou City had been annihilated, and the most agitated was neither his beautiful consort nor himself but the palace master’s daughter.

Dongzhou City had been utterly wiped out without a trace of resistance. After its fall, a dense mist began to spread outside Yin-Yang City’s walls.

Though the mist looked ordinary, Feng Wuliang saw it as a strategic ploy. Anything used in warfare had its purpose.

“Father, where’s my big brother?” Feng Li asked, resting his hand on the city wall, bored. Strangely, the mist stopped spreading at the city walls, no further.

Feng Li slapped a handful of mist, and it solidified into a substance almost tangible. It was no longer vapor but something material. Feng Wuliang swiftly snatched it away and threw it aside, glaring at Feng Li.

“Your big brother has important matters to attend to; he’ll return soon,” Feng Wuliang said with a melancholy gaze toward the city gates. At that moment, he and his consort had witnessed Jiang Pingchuan entering a legendary formation. Since childhood, they had heard elders tell stories.

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Three thousand years ago, a peerless warrior engaged in a duel lasting three thousand rounds without a victor. At the final battle, thick mist arose. The warrior entered it and never emerged.

What they saw Jiang Pingchuan rush into resembled that legendary mist. They had doubted such mists existed, but three days had passed.

Jiang Pingchuan still showed no sign of returning. Feng Wuliang and his consort feared the worst.

“Father, don’t fret. When my big brother returns, this place will be safe,” Feng Xiaoge said earnestly, holding his favorite grasshopper toy. Feng Wuliang nodded but felt bitterness in his heart. He would be grateful if Jiang Pingchuan emerged alive.

“Rest assured, your big brother is a man of his word; he will come back. Stay home these days and don’t wander. No matter what happens, do not leave the underground palace,” Feng Wuliang said solemnly, holding Feng Xiaoge’s hand and pulling Feng Li into his embrace, patting his back. Feng Li nodded with teary eyes.

A heavy dread weighed on his heart, a sense that calamity loomed. Feng Xiaoge held onto Feng Wuliang’s hand, her large eyes glistening with tears, comforting their father. She stuck the grasshopper into Feng Wuliang’s hairpin. He smiled faintly, patted their faces, and gestured for them to return to the mansion’s underground palace.

That was something Feng Wuliang had devised in his youth, never imagining it would be needed now. Watching reports from scouts at the front lines about Dongzhou City’s battle, Feng Wuliang felt the weight of responsibility.

If Yang City fell, Yin City would surely suffer too. Then, only by hiding in the underground palace he built could he protect his son’s life.

“How much longer until Marquis Qingyuan arrives here?” Feng Wuliang asked a scout beside him. The scout held up three fingers, then turned and dashed into the mist outside the gate without a word. Feng Wuliang frowned.

Jun Moyan needed three days to reach Yin-Yang City, yet Feng Wuliang had never felt such anxious unrest in his life. He thought surviving until Jun Moyan’s arrival would be a feat.

That day, his heart was restless, sensing inevitable trouble. Early morning found him standing at the gate with his great sword, watching. Night fell, but no attackers appeared. Feng Wuliang stretched and was about to descend when a scout rushed up hurriedly.

“Report...” the scout stammered.

“Speak,” Feng Wuliang demanded, eyeing the pale scout. His stretch collapsed, and his heart leapt to his throat.

“Yin City is under attack. A large force of Yin soldiers is assaulting the city,” the scout said rapidly. Before hearing more, Feng Wuliang leapt from the wall, sprinting toward Yin City’s teleportation point. He would rather lose Yang City than see Yin City fall.

PS: Took medicine, rested, persevered to update another chapter. Wishing everyone an enjoyable read. Sincerely, Wuyas.