Cultivators marched shoulder to shoulder, an army unlike any the world had seen. Fifteen thousand in number—which didn’t sound like much in the scale of armies. Until you stood in the center of it, soldiers crowding the road all the way into the horizons ahead and behind. Of course, the Heavenly Empire was capable of fielding hundreds of thousands—even millions, but those were mortal soldiers.

An entire army of cultivators was almost unheard of. They were rare—though it was hard to appreciate that, when living in a sect. To Gao Yuanjun, it was normal to be surrounded by fellow cultivators, but even in a sect town the mortals outnumbered cultivators a hundred to one. So he understood what a wonder it was, and he felt a swell of pride to be part of it.

Not just any cultivator joined the grand army. Such was the empire’s might that they could not only field such a massive force, but they could be selective about it. Gao himself was third stage, which was well above average among his brethren, but far from the elite demon hunters of the Great Silver Orchard, or his own sect’s Earthshakers. Those unable to fight competently, or only within the first stage, were left behind. Not good enough.

Gao was good enough.

Good enough to make history with his brothers, to take down the heretical pretender and bring glory to his mighty empire. It was a true honor. Only...

Gao Yuanjun would not complain about the honor he was given. He could not. Such thoughts never crossed his mind. But if they did. If he allowed himself, in a moment of weakness, to consider such things, perhaps it would be this—the Great Awakening Dragon was in charge of the army.

Not that he had any disrespect for his northern brothers, of course. Were any of them present. Which they were not. None except for the Grandmaster Yan De, and his disciple Yan Ren—who was not related, but had surrendered his name as a mark of loyalty to the sect. Powerful, respectable men. He trusted them with his life.

Except...it wasn’t their people leading the charge, was it? Gao was proud to count himself among the inner disciples of the Great Austere Mountain sect, along with a full third of the army. They had recently joined with the much larger contingent from the Silver Orchard, twice their size. An alliance between the two most powerful southern sects! And the Bai, but Gao preferred not to think about them.

Okay, so maybe the Austere Mountain wasn’t as rich or influential as most other sects. Most considered it to be the weakest of the Great Sects, but that was only because they were fools! They thought of riches and land, politics, numbers. But Austere Mountain had power where it counted. Real power.

Case in point? No fewer than ten of the xiantian fighters in the army were Gao’s brothers in craft. Ah—he corrected himself—brothers and sisters, for the Austere Mountain did not discriminate. Man or woman, rich or poor, the only thing that mattered was strength.

Grandmaster Qian Shi had not inherited his position, either by blood or apprenticeship, nor was he the founder of the sect. He had earned his place by challenging the previous grandmaster in a duel. Not to the death—that would be wasteful. And therein lay the secret to the Austere Mountain’s strength.

The previous grandmaster still lived, as did nearly all of the ones before him. The Austere Mountain did not fear disciples who surpassed their masters. They welcomed it gladly. And if one grandmaster grew too comfortable in his position, it might be taken from him—perhaps even by the very same person they’d won it from!

So, Austere Mountain had the strength, Silver Orchard had the numbers, Labyrinthine Forest was there. Why then, were they under the command of the Awakening Dragon?!

It wasn’t Gao’s place to question, of course, so he didn’t. There was a chain of command, and he was at the bottom of it. Most cultivators lacked military discipline, but the Austere Mountain and the Silver Orchard knew better. Gao did not question the orders he was given.

Yet even unvoiced and unconsidered, it was still there. The dissatisfaction. Why should the south do all the fighting while the north took the glory?

It wasn’t right.

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Even for a relatively small army, the effect of terrain on logistics changed drastically for a large force. The area around Kucheon was dry and rocky, with many sharp cliffs and not much vegetation. For a single traveler or a small group, it was just a little town at the foot of the mountain to the southwest. Even considering the shield, one could easily just walk right past it.

Not so for an army. The mountain wasn’t the grand peak of the Forbidden Mountain itself, but it was part of the same range—a huge line of mountains that nearly split the continent in two. Legend held that in ancient times long before human memory, the world had two continents, and the forbidden mountain marked the place where some great force had brought them together. Gao wasn’t sure about all of that, but one thing was certain at a glance—no army could pass the town on the south.

The mountain was too treacherous, even for cultivators. It could be traversed, but it would leave them vulnerable. The north, on the other hand, had many hills and cliffs. Hardly an obstacle at all for regular travelers, but for an army? Battles were won or lost upon the control of such hills.

The northwestern side, then, would be where the battle occurred.

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Gao was busy preparing camp with his brothers while they made predictions about the upcoming fight.

“No glory to be had here. The beastfolk are cowards who hide behind their shields. We’ll lay siege and starve them out until reinforcements from the north arrive.”

The speaker wasn’t familiar to Gao, but it struck him as rather ignorant. Someone else spoke up before he could weigh in.

“Perhaps, brother, but one must remember that a beast is most dangerous when cornered. They will not go quietly.”

Closer, but still off the mark. Had they ever seen a battlefield before?

“The desperate thrashing of a cornered animal is nothing we need concern ourselves with. This battle is little more than a formality. The real fighting will come when we strike at the pretender’s throne.”

Gao couldn’t take any more. He stood up from his work with a sigh and brushed off his clothes.

“Brothers, well met, where do you hail from, if I may be so bold?”

The two men started, realizing they’d been slacking in front of a senior, and bowed hastily.

“I am an outer disciple of the Great Austere Mountain, senior brother! Second stage.”

“This one hails from Baishulin Province, my sect is not worth mentioning—a branch of the Labyrinthine Forest of Unbreakable Threads. Also second stage.”

He hadn’t asked their strength, but it made sense that they’d grow slightly defensive. Gao tried to correct his tone to something less confrontational. It was the one from Bai who’d been most dismissive—small surprise—so that was the one Gao focused on first.

“Junior, have you done battle on the frontier before?”

“No, senior.”

“Do you believe it is easy?”

The two juniors exchanged uneasy glances, obviously aware that they were about to be chastised. It was his younger brother in craft from the Austere Mountain who answered.

“Naturally not, Senior, but surely no savages could threaten a force such as ours?”

Gao Yuanjun frowned. While he had no doubt that his juniors were capable fighters, the trouble with forming such a unique army was that relatively few had any real experience. Austere Mountain did more fighting than most, but even then battlefield experience was not common.

“Do you believe, younger brothers, that our enemy is weak? That the pretender is not a threat worthy of this army? That she united the people of the frontier without intelligence?”

The man from Bai scoffed, forgetting himself.

“Uniting a bunch of barbarians and animals is hardly an accomplishment.”

There it was again. The dismissal. These men were going to die if Gao didn’t set them straight.

“Junior, if you continue to disrespect our enemy, I may rise to anger. Make no mistake—this is no hunt for demons or monsters. This is a battle, and our enemies are people with no less cunning than our own.”

The junior from Gao’s sect lifted his eyebrows, understanding dawning on his face.

“Of course! By belittling our foes, I trivialize the valor of our brothers in arms. Please forgive my ignorance, senior!”

No. No!

“This is not a matter of face, junior—though that is a good lesson to learn—but one of life and death. Who do you believe will be the defender in the battle to come? Who will strike the first blow?”

“Erm, surely they would not stray far from the safety of their shields, senior?”

The Bai junior nodded in agreement.

“They would not be able to withstand the force of our army without their petty gimmicks.”

Gao nodded sagely, and the poor fools’ faces lit up thinking he was agreeing with them.

“They certainly could not. Yet I must ask you—how will we apply the full force of our army against them?”

The two of them blinked. Austere Mountain favored power, but they were also a sect that did battle. They understood logistics, strategy, terrain—things that tended to be overlooked in the empire’s world of intrigue and political maneuvering. Power—force, was primarily a threat, implicit or otherwise, while the application of it was an afterthought.

“Surround them, sir?”

That was from the Austere Mountain brother—at least he’d paid attention to the basics.

“Naturally. But the terrain is unfavorable. No matter how many soldiers we may have, those men need to stand somewhere, yes? Look around, brother. If we were assaulted right now, do you think the men at the back of the army would be able to reinforce us?”

The two juniors observed the camp, which was quickly taking shape. One of many, spreading out as far as the eye could see. Rather than wait for a response, Gao continued lecturing.

“Heed me, brothers. Our enemy is smart, strong, and dangerous. They know that they cannot hide behind their shield forever, and they know that we cannot easily concentrate all of our forces against theirs. They know that we will have more reinforcements coming. And so now I ask again—who will strike the first blow? What would you do in their position?”

The young men—by immortal standards—thought long and hard, and it was actually the man from Bai’s lands who answered first.

“Strike opportunistically. If the enemy is superior, then you must bring them low—bleed them out. They will nibble at the edges of our force, taking advantage of terrain and using their shield to cover their retreat. Never a pitched engagement, always an ambush where possible. Pin any forces foolish enough to overextend and avoid casualties.”

Gao’s eyebrows rose, impressed. He hadn’t expected such a keen analysis from the Bai, but then again they were a sect that had been on the rise, and the Labyrinthine Forest was known for its expertise in traps and battlefield control.

By contrast, it was his own sect-mate who disappointed. The man spat to the side, scowling.

“Cowardly!”

Gao shook his head.

“Smart, junior! You do not attack a superior force head on. There is more to war than a simple contest of strength. Strategy and cunning are as important on the battlefield as they are in court.”

At last he saw true understanding in the eyes of his juniors. Hopefully the lesson would stick, and they would remember that their enemies were human. Gao ensured that he never underestimated his foes—nor would anybody he fought with.

He only hoped the same was true of the venerable, wise, and powerful leader of the army. Yan De, a legend in his own right. Second only to the God-Emperor is strength, or so they said. An ancient cultivator who could move mountains and set the heavens ablaze.

A man who’d never fought a war in his long, long life.