Yao Yuxuan's hands trembled as intermittent strings of pain radiated from deep within his chest. The sensation was akin to lightning traveling through each of his veins, tearing him apart from the inside out. It wasn't just pain; it was a living, breathing agony that clutched at his soul, threatening to rip him to shreds if he let his guard down for even a moment.
"No, please…" he lamented quietly to himself, his voice hoarse from not having been used in days. The words were barely more than a whisper, carried away by the wind that howled around him. The man's thin brows knit together in a tight line, cold sweat dripping down his darkened features. His skin, normally pale, was now ashen, indicating the toll it was taking on him. For hours, he held out this way, enduring the relentless storm of power within him, attempting to fight the inevitable surge of his spiritual core.
It was a battle he had fought before, many times, but never under such dire circumstances. This time, there was no reprieve, no moment of rest. The Snowfall Assassin, an incredibly powerful demon lord, was leading another siege on Yao Yuxuan's barrier against evil, and there would be no mercy, no hesitation. The enemy would strike until nothing was left but ashes.
Spectral mangonels and battering rams were being operated by the ghosts under Snowfall's command. These were no ordinary ghosts but tormented souls bound to serve in his army, their wills bent and broken by the demon lord's malevolent power. Projectiles made of condensed evil aura were repeatedly launched into the translucent blue shield, each individual attack being mirrored against the creator's core. Each strike was like a hammer blow, reverberating through Yao Yuxuan's body, threatening to shatter his concentration, his control, and ultimately, his very life. If it weren't for his core's unstable condition, attacks like this would usually be easy to combat with focus and diligence. But now, every strike felt like a death sentence.
He sat on his lonely perch atop Qinyang Cliff, looking down at the army of demonic creatures arrayed against him. The view from the cliff was breathtaking in its own right, the vast expanse of the night sky spread out before him, but there was no time to appreciate the beauty. The wind whipped through his long robes, the cold biting at his skin, but he paid it no mind. His only focus was on the barrier, on the spell that he played with all the power he could muster. His fingers moved across the strings of his guqin, the ancient instrument resonating with the spiritual energy he poured into it. The music was haunting; a melody that echoed through the night.
The key to his creation, the barrier against evil, was to maintain an even and steady stream of spiritual energy into it; any sudden change in the amount of power would lead to irrevocable and dangerous backlash upon the caster. It was a technique that required not just skill, but absolute precision, and it was because of this that it was such a difficult technique to master. Few could claim to have the level of control necessary to perform it, and fewer still could maintain it under duress. Yet Yao Yuxuan had mastered it, and it had become his greatest weapon.
In past situations when his core was in such an unstable state, he had been fortunate enough to be out of combat and in a position where he was able to slowly cap his stream of power. With it dammed, he could properly allocate the spiritual energy to healing himself and other things, which allowed him to avoid the damage caused by a barrier backlash.
This time, he was not so lucky.
There was no escape, no time to withdraw and recover. The enemy was relentless, and his body was failing him.
Behind the demonic battalion stood the Snowfall Assassin, his presence a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding around him. He wore a hooded white robe, the fabric flowing like liquid silver in the moonlight, and had a mask pulled up over his nose, which allowed only the faint purple glow of his eyes to be seen beneath it all. Those eyes, glowing with a cold lavender light, were fixed on Yao Yuxuan.
He was watching, waiting.
In the demon lord's left hand, he grasped a polearm; one whose pointed spear-end had been bathed in blood so many times that it radiated an evil aura that could intimidate most cultivators on its own. The spear was more than just a weapon; it was a symbol of the Snowfall Assassin's power, a tool of death that had claimed countless lives.
He had named this beloved weapon of his 'Yanmei,' a name that was spoken with fear and reverence by those who knew of it.
Snowfall's hand started to glow with an eerie purple light, which soon extended to the tip of Yanmei. The light was unnatural, a sickly, pulsing glow that seemed to warp the very air around it. He imbued the spear with his power and lifted it up, preparing for an incredibly strong toss. The demon lord briefly closed one of his eyes and scanned the barrier, ready to take aim. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment before the kill.
"Now!" he shouted, his voice bellowing loud into the night. The sound was like thunder, rolling across the battlefield, carrying with it a command that could not be ignored. As he spoke, he released Yanmei and sent it launching with great speed toward the barrier. At the same time, his minions released their siege weapons with coordinated effort. It was an assault timed to perfection, a devastating strike that would leave no room for error.
Yao Yuxuan was biting his lip so hard that it drew blood, and his eyes nearly rolled back into his skull. The moment the enemy had unleashed their assault, his spiritual core surged. It was a force of nature, a tide he could no longer hold back. There was nothing that he could do. He couldn't stop his song, nor could he stop the power about to burst from within his body. He was caught in a deadly trap, a prisoner of his own power.
With an ear-splitting crash, the pointed end of Yanmei lodged itself into the shield. The impact was like a cannon shot, reverberating through the night. Cracks began to form in the surface, spreading out radially from where Yanmei was stuck. The small projectiles that the ghosts had launched pelted the already weakened surface, each strike driving the cracks deeper, widening them, turning them into fissures.
Yao Yuxuan's spiritual energy surged forth and exploded from his fingertips all at once, snapping all seven of the strings on his guqin in unison with a dissonant twang. The sound was jarring, a discordant note that cut through the night like a knife. The metal strings curled at the ends, and the bloodstained wooden surface beneath lay bare under the moonlight. His body lurched forward as he began to retch blood, the violent spasms wracking his frame repeatedly. All he could do was stare helplessly at the sight before him with misty, unfocused eyes, his vision blurring as the world around him spun.
BOOM.
In a burst of brilliant blue light and the head-shattering sound of an explosion, the grand barrier that had stood strong for nearly a decade shattered into millions of sparkling pieces. The light was blinding, and a flash lit up the night sky like a second sun. The shield remnants fell toward the earth slowly, twinkling in the refracted moonlight that each piece cast. The sight was mesmerizing, the shards falling like tiny stars, each one a symbol of his failure.
Under any other circumstance, or perhaps to the assassin, the scene might even be called beautiful; a tragic beauty that would be remembered for ages to come.
Yao Yuxuan gasped for breath, his lungs burning as he clawed his way forward with his already-bloodied fingers. Every movement was a struggle, each inch gained a victory against the pain and exhaustion that threatened to pull him under. He had expected the ghosts to immediately rush forth and begin tearing into the palace and flood the streets of Zhonglao… but when he looked over the edge of his cliff, all of the attackers that had been there before were nowhere to be seen.
All that remained of the attack was a man dressed in white, standing in the same place he had been before. He hadn't even moved an inch. The stillness was unnerving. Yao Yuxuan's vision was blurred and he couldn't focus, but he could have sworn he saw faint movement in the man's shoulders.
Was he… laughing?
Yao Yuxuan didn't have time to deliberate on it further. His thoughts were fragmented, his mind a fog of pain and fear, but one thing remained clear. His barrier was gone. Han Yiran was in danger. If he wanted to protect her, he needed to act quickly. There was no time to waste, no time to mourn his failure. He had to move, had to act before it was too late.
He lay trembling in tall grass that his blood had stained. The ground was cold, the night air biting at his skin, but he forced himself to move, to push past the agony that threatened to overwhelm him. His hand shook violently as he willed himself to reach into the depths of his pocket and pulled out a small glass bottle. Its contents were three small colorful pills. With great difficulty, he popped open the container and dumped the lozenges into his mouth. The taste was bitter, the pills dissolving quickly on his tongue, but he forced them down.
These pills were only a temporary solution. A desperate measure for desperate times. They would heal him enough to allow him free movement and use of power for thirty minutes at most before he would fall unconscious again.
"Thirty minutes…" he coughed into his sleeve, the taste of blood still lingering in his mouth. "It's all… I need." His voice was barely more than a whisper, a fragile thread of resolve that kept him from collapsing entirely.