Cultivation starts with picking up attributes

And for that moment, despite the smoke, the blood, and the weight of what lay ahead, the Feilun Sect stood unbroken.

The storm had broken.

But the war had only begun.

The night bled slowly into dawn.

The horizon glowed faintly, not with the gentle radiance of sunlight, but with the simmering aura of foreign qi. To the west, a haze shimmered—unnatural, cold, threaded with chains of light that pulsed like veins across the sky.

The obelisks had advanced. Their jagged silhouettes stood stark against the ridges, feeding a slow corruption into the land beneath them. The soil cracked, the rivers warped, and beasts that once prowled freely now hid, keening in silent terror.

From the northern cliff, Tian Shen stood unmoving, spear braced in his grip. Silver light flickered faintly in his eyes as he traced the patterns of foreign qi. Each ripple, each pulse of distortion was catalogued and measured. He felt the pressure building not just from the foreign army itself, but from the world's laws bending unnaturally under their influence.

Behind him, the Root Division lined the ridges, armor polished, weapons drawn. Their breaths rose in steady rhythm, each exhale a thread woven into the whole. They did not tremble, though the ground itself seemed to shudder beneath the weight of what approached.

"Commander," Feng Yin's voice cut through the heavy air. She had donned her white robes of battle, sword strapped at her side, talisman scrolls secured across her back. Her eyes, sharp as ever, traced the enemy formations with calculated calm. "They bring more than before. I count six obelisks at the fore, their roots spread wide. Their leader is not among them… but I feel his hand in their discipline."

Tian Shen nodded slightly, his jaw set. "He waits. Testing us with his vanguard. He wants to measure our roots before striking with his full trunk." His spear tilted downward, silver sparks running along its shaft. "Then we will show him that this mountain does not yield."

The foreign army advanced like a tide of steel and shadow. Their ranks moved in perfect cadence, boots striking the ground as if a single body commanded them. Chains of qi bound them together, the resonance of their cores harmonized unnaturally by warlocks who marched at the rear. Obelisks pulsed behind them, runes glowing with twisted law. Every step they took pushed the world a fraction closer to imbalance.

The Feilun Sect disciples braced. Elders took their places among the formations, weaving protection and enhancement arrays into the battlefield itself. Spirit beasts roared from the ridges, their cries echoing against the mountains. And above all, the Sect's barrier shimmered faintly, weakened yet stubbornly standing, runes glowing like the heartbeat of a wounded but unbroken titan.

The clash began without ceremony.

Foreign soldiers surged forward, their blades coated in qi not born of the Central lands. The air cracked as the first lines collided with Feilun's defenses. Spears thrust in perfect rhythm from the Root Division, talismans flared as Feng Yin's squads ignited purifying fire, and the mountains themselves seemed to roar as beasts charged into the fray.

Tian Shen moved like a storm. His spear spun arcs of silver flame, cutting through armored lines as though cleaving water. Each thrust pierced not just flesh, but the unnatural resonance binding enemy soldiers together. Where his spear struck, their formations faltered, the harmony of their qi collapsing into discord.

Yet the foreigners adapted swiftly. Warlocks at the rear lifted their staffs, runes burning in alien patterns. Chains of black light lashed forward, binding fallen soldiers to rise again, their bodies jerking with unnatural precision. They fought not as men, but as puppets tethered to a will beyond them.

Feng Yin's voice rang clear over the chaos. "Break the chains! Focus fire on the warlocks!" Her sword sang as she carved through the tethering runes, each slash dispersing corrupted qi. Talismans ignited above her, bursts of flame and lightning raining down upon the enemy's backline.

Still, for every chain broken, two more emerged. The obelisks pulsed harder, their roots spreading deeper into the soil, feeding endless power into the invaders.

Elder Su stood calm amidst the storm. With a wave of his sleeve, the very ground beneath the battlefield shifted, qi veins realigning with precise intent. His voice was low but carried across the chaos: "Anchor yourselves to the mountain. Let its roots steady your cores."

Disciples inhaled as one, drawing upon the Feilun ridges. Their movements sharpened, their formations stabilized. The tide, which threatened to overwhelm them, met resistance like a wall of stone.

And at the center of it all, Tian Shen shone.

His Core burned like a furnace, silver light spilling from his veins. His spear struck through three soldiers in a single thrust, shattered a chain with the backswing, and forced a warlock to his knees with a final piercing strike. His movements were violent, unyielding, yet never wasteful. Every motion was deliberate, calculated, his will extending beyond himself to the disciples who fought at his side.

Feng Yin matched his pace, her sword cutting arcs of frost and flame. Together, they moved as if bound by an unspoken rhythm—spear and sword weaving death among foreign lines, their presence turning despair into fire for their allies.

But the enemy did not falter.

A tremor rolled across the battlefield. One of the obelisks surged with light, runes blazing. A ripple of distortion spread outward, and from the cracks of the earth, monstrous forms began to crawl. Not beasts, not humans, but amalgamations of both—corrupted flesh bound by chains of qi. Their roars tore through the air, and their charge crashed against the Feilun lines like an avalanche.

The disciples staggered. Even spirit beasts recoiled.

Tian Shen's silver light flared brighter. He leapt into the fray, his spear striking down the first abomination, silver flames searing through corrupted flesh. "Hold the line!" he roared, voice carrying above the chaos. "We are Feilun—our roots do not break!"

The words struck deep. Disciples steadied, elders reinforced their arrays, and beasts surged once more. Together, they pushed back against the monstrosities.

Feng Yin's talismans ignited with dazzling brilliance, forming a lattice of purification light that seared the chains tethering the abominations. Elder Su's calm voice directed reinforcements, redirecting formations to seal breaches before they widened.

Still, the cost was high. Disciples fell, spirit beasts bled, and the mountain shook under the weight of battle.

Hours passed like moments, each second drenched in blood and fire. The foreign vanguard pressed relentlessly, but they did not break the Feilun lines. And at last, as the sun reached its zenith, the tide began to waver.

Warlocks faltered, their chains snapping under the combined pressure of Tian Shen's spear and Feng Yin's sword. Abominations fell to ash beneath the weight of purifying flames. Obelisks dimmed slightly, their roots recoiling as if burned.

The invaders began to withdraw, not routed but retreating with calculated precision. The vanguard had tested its enemy, measured its roots, and now pulled back to report.

Tian Shen stood amidst the carnage, spear dripping silver fire. His robes were torn, blood stained his side, but his eyes blazed like molten silver. He watched the retreating lines with no relief, only sharp focus.

"They will come again," he said quietly, though those around him heard. "This was no victory. It was a question. And they will return for the answer."

Feng Yin stepped beside him, her breath steady despite her exhaustion. "Then we prepare for the storm behind the storm."

Elder Su joined them, his gaze steady. "And we endure."

The courtyard of Feilun Sect was silent that evening. Survivors gathered, eyes shadowed by grief yet hardened by resolve. The Grand Assembly Hall bore new cracks, its jade pillars scorched anew, yet its flames still burned defiantly.

The Sect Master sat upon his dais, his presence as steady as ever, though weariness lined his face. "Today, we held," he said, his voice firm. "But hear me well: this was only the first wave. Their roots dig deeper than we know. The Feilun Sect stands at the edge of a storm not of one battle, but of eras."

He turned his gaze to Tian Shen, who stood at the forefront once more. "And you, Tian Shen, are the spear that fate has carved for this battle. Do not falter. For when the storm comes in full, it will seek to uproot all."

Tian Shen met the Sect Master's gaze. His silver eyes burned, not with arrogance, but with the unyielding calm of one who had already walked through fire. "Then let the storm come," he said. His voice carried through the hall, low and sharp.

"Feilun's roots will not break. Not while I stand."

The words struck like thunder, reverberating through the hall, through the disciples, through the very foundations of the sect.

Outside, the Hidden Sky Vault pulsed faintly in the distance, its light a jade pillar piercing the horizon.

And somewhere beyond, in the shadows of foreign banners, the enemy leader watched, gauntlet gleaming, eyes cold.

The storm had only begun.