A Song For The Ages

The red lotus banners fluttered high against the morning sun as the fleet of sky ships rose from White Sand City, leaving its white stone walls and coastal winds behind.

Feiyin stood near the edge of the deck, Baiyu coiled loosely around his shoulders, her crystalline white scales catching the light. Around him, disciples bustled about, finalizing the departure, adjusting cargo and supplies.

Now that they had seized their foothold, the Red Lotus Mercenaries would not remain tethered to a single city. They had begun their true mission, that of wandering warbringers, mercenaries for hire.

Thankfully, their ships had been modified for such a life. Aside from the main holds and sleeping quarters, the larger vessels contained modest refining rooms for the alchemists, as well as a compact formation chamber for the spirit branch disciples.

Feiyin admired the thoughtful design as he trailed his fingers along the railing. The ship vibrated gently beneath his palms, humming with the power of the formations driving it through the sky.

"Still getting used to it?" a voice called.

He turned to see Jue Qingling, the golden-haired inner disciple. She smirked.

"You look like a country boy seeing a sky ship for the first time."

Feiyin chuckled. "It's my first time living on one, that's all."

"You'll get used to it soon enough. These will be our homes for a while."

She sauntered away, leaving Feiyin to his thoughts.

After one day of travel, they approached their destination, the Broken Rock Plains.

The landscape below turned rugged and cracked, resembling a shattered plate stretching toward the horizon. Sparse vegetation clung to life in the fissures, and small streams wound through the broken terrain.

From the observation deck, Feiyin spotted smoke plumes in the distance. Camps.

The Red Lotus Mercenaries circled widely, eventually descending into a valley flanked by jagged hills where their client awaited.

The warlord, a man named Hu Zhao, was a towering figure clad in ornate crimson armor, his presence as commanding as the blade strapped to his back. His cultivation aura was distinct, dense and refined, a hallmark of someone who had stepped into the Yin Refining Phase. That level of cultivation alone made him a notable presence in a region dominated by fractured sects and minor warlords.

His army, perhaps fifty thousand strong, waited in disciplined ranks behind him, their formations crisp, their eyes unwavering. For a mortal-led force, they carried themselves with an air of hardened experience.

In stark contrast, the allied city-states they were hired to crush had assembled a coalition force nearly twice that number. Yet cohesion among them was poor; Feiyin could see it even from the air. Too many banners, too many styles of arms and armor.

Unity only in name, Feiyin thought.

As they landed and disembarked, Ba Shanyue stepped forward to negotiate on their behalf. Hu Zhao greeted them with a booming laugh, his eyes gleaming with ambition and veiled calculation.

"You are the Red Lotus? Hah! I see the stories were true, you certainly look strong!"

Ba Shanyue grunted. "Spare the flattery. We're not here to pose, we're here to make sure you win. Now that we are here, what's the exact situation?"

Hu Zhao's expression turned serious. "There's an essence stone mine buried beneath the cliffs to the northeast of the plains. It's one of the richest known deposits in the region. The city-states want to carve it up among themselves, but I intend to claim it all."

He pointed to the hills in the distance. "That mine can fuel entire formations and forging lines. With it, I can fund a real army."

Feiyin's oscillation sense hummed faintly as he studied Hu Zhao more closely. Beneath the warlord's confident voice and booming charisma, there was a subtle dissonance. A faint pulse of concealed intent, like a sealed chamber beneath polished marble. He was hiding something. Whether it was deeper ambition, or something darker, Feiyin couldn't yet say. But he noted it, filed it away.

If Hu Zhao succeeded, the Red Lotus Mercenaries would not only be richly rewarded, but they would also secure a powerful ally, one who would control a critical resource hub in the Warring States Region.

Terms were agreed upon swiftly, building upon previous exchanges through Communication Jades. In addition to a fifth of the spoils from the defeated coalition armies, the Red Lotus Mercenaries would be granted guaranteed access to the essence stone mine's output for the next year, and a secure station in Hu Zhao's expanding dominion.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Preparations began immediately.

Feiyin was assigned to stay at the rear, supporting the forces by refining recovery pills and repairing equipment. He worked tirelessly alongside the other alchemists in the ship's refining chambers, the air thick with the scent of medicinal herbs and molten metal.

Their sky ships hovered nearby, mobile fortresses ready to rain support down if needed.

Meanwhile, the inner disciples prepared the battle strategy.

Ba Shanyue would lead a direct assault accompanied by a unit of ten thousand heavy infantry, using his sheer force to smash through enemy lines. Before the battle began, he spent an entire afternoon modifying the battlefield itself, planting his hands against the rocky ground and going through complex hand seals.

The terrain shifted subtly, unseen to the enemy, creating slight inclines and hidden pockets of weakness that would slow the enemy charge while offering his troops better footing.

Such energy consumption wouldn't have been possible without taking recovery pills, allowing him to truly do as he wanted.

Ruan Lianhua and her Saint Blood disciples would lie in wait, hidden with special talismans that blurred their presence. Once the chaos of battle reached its peak, they would unleash a stealth assault, targeting the enemy leadership.

Feng Liu and his fellow branch disciples specialized in illusion arts; they would spread confusion among the enemy ranks. He weaved layers of deceptive talismans with the help of the formation disciples along the battlefield, making enemies see phantom allies and foes alike, turning the battlefield into a disorienting maze.

Jue Qingling and her beast tamers would flank the right, with her spirit beasts causing havoc among the enemy lines. They would take care of the cavalry of the enemy, using the beasts fearsome aura to frighten their horses and destabilize them.

The stage was set.

The dawn of the battle came with a heavy mist rolling across the plains.

Feiyin watched from the deck, heart pounding in his chest. This would be his first time being in a real war, with only his father stories to set a precedent.

The allied army lined up beyond the broken rocks, a sea of mismatched armor and jittery soldiers.

Then, a low rumble shook the earth.

Ba Shanyue charged at the forefront, his body wrapped in dense essence, every step cracking the ground beneath him. Behind him surged the Red Lotus Mercenaries and the heavy infantries, crimson-robed and roaring.

As the distance closed, Ba Shanyue slammed his hands into the earth once more. Massive stone spikes erupted beneath the enemy vanguard, ripping through shields and tossing soldiers into the air.

Besides them, Hu Zhao himself entered the battlefield, clad in crimson armor that pulsed with refined energy. With a massive saber in hand, he carved a direct path through the chaos. Unlike the mercenaries, he did not rely on tactics or formations, he was a force of brutal momentum. Bodies flew, weapons shattered, and morale broke wherever he passed.

Feiyin's oscillation sense, even from afar, tracked his advance like a storm moving across the plains. The warlord's movements were honed and efficient, each strike purposeful, and his spiritual force was twisted with ambition. As Hu Zhao barreled toward the coalition's center ranks, it became clear that he was heading for the opposing commander.

Then, like shadows, Ruan Lianhua and her unit emerged. Silent and merciless, they cut down officers and commanders caught off guard by the upheaval.

Meanwhile, Feng Liu's unit illusions ran rampant. Soldiers struck at allies by mistake, fled from phantom beasts, or hesitated at crucial moments.

Jue Qingling's spirit beasts unit crashed into the flanks, sowing utter devastation as soldiers were crushed under their charge.

Feiyin clenched the railing as the battle unfolded.

He could feel it all through his oscillation sense; the clash of blades, the desperate cries, the surging tides of fear, anger and despair, mixed with a dash of excitement.

He closed his eyes briefly, grounding himself.

This is war. This is the world my father lived in.

He moved swiftly to the refining room, grounding his thoughts and focusing his mind on brewing recovery pills, each one infused with clarity and precision. The rhythmic process helped him find stillness amidst the chaos, a way to reclaim control.

Soon enough, when the swords were sheathed and the groans of the wounded echoed across the valley, that would be his time. Time to move through the aftermath with quiet efficiency, offering aid where it mattered, and earning goodwill one gesture at a time. Every pill, every stitch of kindness carefully placed, seeds he would sow in fertile ground, meant to blossom into influence, trust, and strategic alliances.

Hours later, the enemy lines shattered.

The battlefield was soaked in blood.

Bodies lay strewn across the plains, some still clutching broken weapons, others reduced to little more than mangled armor and ruined flesh. Crimson mud pooled in the craters left by Ba Shanyue's earth-rending techniques, while trails of gore marked Hu Zhao's rampage toward the enemy commander. The central hilltop, where the enemy leadership once stood, had become a charnel pit. Hu Zhao stood there now, saber slick with blood, his crimson armor darkened nearly black.

Screams still echoed across the plains, some from the dying, others from those too wounded to flee. The fog of war hung thick, laced with smoke and iron. Fires burned along the edges of the coalition camp, consuming wagons, banners, and tents in greedy orange tongues.

Those few who could still stand dropped their weapons.

One after another, enemy soldiers fell to their knees, hands raised high. Some sobbed. Some stared blankly ahead, expressions frozen in shock.

Hu Zhao's army swept through the stragglers with practiced formation, rounding up the survivors. There was no chaos in their ranks, only cold precision. Bodies were dragged, weapons collected, and the wounded sorted by usefulness.

Hu Zhao's banners rose victorious over the Broken Rock Plains. The mercenaries' crimson lotus standard fluttered just beneath them.

The Red Lotus Mercenaries had fulfilled their first contract, and if they were a real mercenary group, that would have been enough.

But their true mission was only beginning.