As Armad stepped out of the room, a significant milestone in his journey as a cultivator was marked: his cultivation level had now reached an impressive ten thousand years. Despite this remarkable attainment occurring since five o’clock at dawn, his dedication to furthering his prowess did not wane; he continued to consume the cultivation-enhancing pills. Yet, he encountered a formidable barrier—a wall that prevented his ascension to the next revered cultivation level, Pre-Deva. As a result, Armad found himself still within the confines of the Core formation level.
In comparison, Nusi’s cultivation journey painted a different picture. Her cultivation level had not soared as high as Armad’s. She was approximately two thousand years behind with a cultivation level around eight thousand years. For cultivators at her level, there existed no such wall or barrier to impede their progress, an advantage that allowed continuous advancement without interruption. This meant that the disparity between her and Armad was not insurmountable. Additionally, Nusi had achieved a considerable milestone in her physical conditioning: her skin’s strength had increased to twenty percent above the typical benchmark.
These three days had been transformative. Both individuals had made leaps and bounds in their power, effectively tripling their strength—a testament to their relentless dedication and the efficacy of their training and resources.
Upon leaving the room, Nusi made her way to the quarters that Armad had thoughtfully reserved for her. Meanwhile, Armad retreated to his quarters before making his way to his swimming pool.
It is widely acknowledged in the realm of bending that as a practitioner’s level increases, their body purges impurities—by-products of intense cultivation that manifest as dirt expelled through the skin’s pores. These impurities serve as obstacles to a cultivator’s progression, which is why cultivators usually do post-meditation cleansing for hygiene.
After a brief yet refreshing ten-minute swim, Armad emerged from the pool and adorned himself in a white attire, distinctive of the Wilberforce tribesmen. The attire’s color bore the gravitas of war, and to the knowing eye, it was a clear sign of Armad’s martial intentions.
No longer did Armad’s skin radiate with the glow of intense cultivation; his demeanor was calm, composed, and utterly devoid of fear. Anyone who glimpsed his face could discern that he was a man who had thoroughly prepared for the battles that lay ahead.
Striding with purpose into the palace yard, Armad surveyed the assembled forces: a formidable battalion of over 5,000 soldiers stood at attention. Among them were the 2,000 elite members of his legion, commanded by the loyal and capable Commander Silaini. An additional 500 were hardened veterans, those who had stood by Armad in his previous confrontations with the wild tribes. The remaining soldiers were the original defenders of the tribal town of Tiriba, those who had not turned their backs on Armad when he became the king of the town. The town had been home to many more soldiers, but a significant number had chosen to maintain their allegiance to the former king, a testament to his influence and training. Upon his dethronement and subsequent exile to another village, they had followed without question. Without the support of Ai’s legion, whose cultivation abilities were still dormant, the town’s military strength would have been notably less impressive.
In anticipation of the impending conflict, Armad had already issued orders to Nusi to prepare herbal remedies for energy-boosting purposes. True to her efficiency, Nusi had swiftly complied, ensuring that the necessary provisions were readily available for the upcoming battles. The groundwork for the impending conflict had been meticulously laid, underscoring the strategic foresight and meticulous planning that characterized Armad’s leadership.
On this momentous day, Armad stood poised and resolute, ready to embark on a campaign against the neighboring towns that he believed held the key to transforming his humble settlement into a burgeoning empire.
Commander Sulaini, alongside a cadre of powerful cultivators who had reached the esteemed level of Deva within the legion of Armad, soared through the air towards Armad. Standing in solitary vigilance were Armad, Nusi, and the judge, awaiting their arrival. In a gesture of solidarity, Ai, the voice of the common people, made her way to Armad.
To the collective surprise of those assembled, another figure emerged, one whose prowess matched the Core formation — a tier of strength revered and feared. This man, known as Isaya, is the current leader of the remaining armies that were under the old king of Tiriba. Armad, no stranger to the tales of old, recognized Isaya immediately, recalling the remnants of soldiers who, under Isaya’s command, chose to stay — not out of loyalty to the fallen king, but bound by the ties to their families who lived within the town’s protective embrace.
Despite the complications woven into the fabric of their relationships, Armad held a deep-seated respect for these men. They had made the difficult choice to align with him, a decision that spoke volumes in the silence of their presence. Yet, during the previous skirmish with the wild people, a pressing need for these soldiers had not arisen. Armad was confident that a mere display of his formidable power would suffice to rally the people to his cause. The intelligence reports had been clear: Isaya and his men were absent when the wild people launched their attack, and thus they were not among those who claimed the spoils of war.
Armad’s reluctance to call upon these absent soldiers was palpable; only the judge’s insistence had compelled their presence now. Despite this, Armad harbored intentions to ultimately rid his battalion of such unreliable elements. However, the dire circumstances at hand necessitated every able body, compelling Armad to momentarily set aside his plans for reformation. He feigned indifference, especially towards Isaya, opting for discretion at a time when unity was paramount.
After exchanging a wordless communication with Nusi, Armad proceeded to distribute vital resources: 200 pills to Salaini and 110 energy-boosting pills to the others, intended to serve as a healing boon for any who might sustain injuries in the battle to come. He then directed Nusi to deliver a special concoction of diluted herbal pills to Ai, who would then ensure their distribution among the army she oversaw.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Isaya, standing amidst the throng, remained empty-handed. Yet, there was no malcontent in his demeanor; he understood the full weight of his prior inaction. Should he face ostracism, Isaya was prepared to shoulder the responsibility, for it was he who had withheld his army from the fray. But the winds had shifted, and with the scent of potential victory now in the air, Isaya had brought his forces to the fold. Armad, with a terse command, bade Isaya to look after his men before continuing with his preparations. A nod was the only exchange before Isaya retreated to his troops, some of whom voiced concerns over the wisdom of joining the current conflict, fearing it could spell another loss for the town. Isaya, however, stood firm in his resolve to fight, as the outcome of this battle could determine their future within the town’s walls.
The ranks of Armad’s troops were a sight to behold as they stood ready, a testament to the unity and resolve that had been forged in the face of adversity. Armad's strategic vision dictated that no troops would venture beyond the town's protective barriers. Instead, a defensive stance was to be maintained, with the walls serving as the last line of defense against the encroaching threat. Aware of the vast power differential between their forces and the enemy, Armad understood that a confrontation would likely lead to their downfall.
Outside the fortified walls of Tiriba, a massive army numbering over 50,000 has encamped. This army is not ordinary; it consists predominantly of highly skilled cultivators, each adept in their skill, representing more than 97 percent of the force. The remainder, those without the gift of cultivation, serve essential roles as well—chefs to nourish and maids to maintain order amongst the ranks. Upon their arrival in this foreign land, they swiftly erected a network of tents, cleverly concealed to avoid detection from the town’s inhabitants.
At the heart of this encampment, within the confines of the largest tent, a council of rulers gathers. Here sit the nine kings, each a sovereign of their respective territories, assembled around a grand table. Central to this assembly is the commander of the King’s Legion, Abarani, a man whose presence emanates authority and instills fear. This gathering is arranged with careful deliberation: to Abarani’s right, five kings are seated, while to his left, the remaining four find their places. Among this distinguished company is King Konfot, a ruler of notable renown.
Abarani’s reputation as a formidable warrior is well-earned, and his presence here is a testament to his exceptional survivability and prowess. Unlike many commanders before him, who were sent forth by the Wilberforce Empire in their youth for demonstrating prodigious cultivation abilities, Abarani’s seasoned visage speaks of years spent in the Legion’s service. He guards his name as a closely held secret, a psychological ploy to assert dominance over the kings, who themselves are masters of cultivation, having attained the revered level of Deva. Abarani, however, finds them unworthy of knowing his identity, a subtle reminder of their subservient roles in his grand scheme.
It is with a stern and commanding tone that Abarani addresses the assembled monarchs, “Let us not be blinded by our strength in numbers. The enemy, though fewer, remains formidable. Heed this warning: underestimate them at your peril, for such arrogance may lead to a fate from which there is no return. Our strategy is methodical; we begin with our least experienced troops to probe their defenses and exhaust their resources. Our intelligence suggests that the town’s garrison numbers no more than 5,000 soldiers. We will steadily escalate our assault, weakening them bit by bit, until we can breach their walls and deliver a decisive blow. Concerning the prince, we shall incapacitate and humiliate him, stripping him of his cultivation abilities before sending him back to the Wilberforce Empire. This is the plan you must all comprehend fully.”
The kings offer their nods of understanding, though the words they hear merely echo the stratagems already woven into their collective resolve before they depart from their homelands.
As the tactical details of the impending assault are meticulously laid out, Abarani reveals the initial wave of the attack: a formidable force of 10,000 soldiers, comprising 3,000 Core formation cultivators, 6,500 formation establishment cultivators, and 500 condensation cultivators. Leading this formidable host are five Deva warriors, renowned for their martial prowess and bending abilities. The King of Fida, a venerable figure of authority despite his advanced age, takes charge of elucidating the intricacies of the battle strategy. Clad in battle-worn armor and bearing a massive sword on his back, his very presence exudes a sense of unwavering determination and leadership.
Addressing the gathered kings with a voice that resonates with conviction, the King of Fida outlines the forthcoming assault with precision and foresight. Despite the weariness etched on his face, his eyes gleam with a fierce resolve, radiating an aura of unshakeable confidence. It is as though he already sees the outcome of the conflict before it unfolds—a victory that is predestined and inevitable. The other monarchs, inspired by his assurance and determination, nod in silent agreement, acknowledging the gravity of the task at hand.
Beyond the canvas shelters, a scene of disciplined chaos unfolds as soldiers engage in combat training, their swords clashing in a metallic symphony. Among them, some are dressed as warriors, embodying the very essence of soldiers bound for battle. Elsewhere in the camp, chefs are hard at work, preparing nourishing meals to sustain the army.
On a different section of the grounds, a select group of soldiers specifically chosen for the initial strike is getting acquainted with one another. Their task is clear, and they await the evening with patience, knowing that darkness will be their ally. Their strategy is to launch a surprise attack under the veil of night, a time when the enemy's guard is likely to be lowered.
When the clock strikes midnight, this contingent of troops cautiously mounts their steeds and sets off toward the unsuspecting town of Tiriba. They advance with deliberate slowness, every movement calculated to avoid detection and the inadvertent sound that could betray their presence. The element of surprise is crucial, and any hint of their advance could foil their meticulously planned assault.
Approximately 50 minutes into their journey, they arrive at the periphery of Tiriba. Much to their shock, the town is not cloaked in the anticipated darkness but is instead faintly illuminated, revealing the presence of soldiers on the ramparts. It appears that the town's defenders had anticipated an attack and were on high alert. Despite this, there is a visible weariness in their stance, the result of hours spent in tense anticipation. This observation brings a surge of confidence to the attackers; their strategy of attacking at an unexpected hour has paid off, as they find their adversaries drained and less formidable.
The approach taken by these warriors is a testament to the art of war: the wisdom of striking not when the enemy expects, but when they have been worn down by the strain of waiting. Such tactics of psychological warfare are a hallmark of the Legion, often leading to victory against seemingly insurmountable odds.
But what they don't know is that their plan for victory, leaving their enemies tired of waiting, will not work. Armad's army has energy-boosting pills and herbs that they can use to overcome fatigue.
When Armad saw them, he emerged from a room located on the wall. During the time he had been waiting, he had been taking cultivation enhancement pills. Despite this, his cultivation had not progressed. However, his world of Nagirinki increases its power and size.