Eternal Tale

Chapter 339: War Knows No Time

The frontlines of the War Realm.

The roaring Celestial River surged forward, its waves crashing like thunder, each crest a harbinger of an impending tsunami. This was no ordinary tide but a cataclysmic force that heralded the final reckoning.

The river carried an armada—millions of battle vessels swaying upon its surface, their momentum irresistible. Leading the charge were a hundred mountainous warships, followed by an endless fleet of smaller crafts. Together, they formed a relentless tide of cultivation might, their collective aura shaking the heavens.

Above the river and across the skies, the battlefield stretched infinitely. Tens of millions of cultivators clashed with an unending tide of corrupted beings, their self-detonations reverberating endlessly. Here, survival meant death to one side and life to the other.

The corrupted beings, long concealed in the shadows of the War Realm, now emerged in full force. Neither side held back; there was no room for hesitation. Both sides knew this was a battle where victory demanded ultimate sacrifice.

“Thunder’s Wrath!”

From a corner of the battlefield, an elder in azure robes ascended into the sky. With a gesture, his formidable power erupted, striking a mid-stage Deity Transformation corrupted being in the forefront of the assault.

Crackling with electric fury, lightning cascaded from the elder’s form, its roar chilling the battlefield. The sight was awe-inspiring—miles of scorched terrain turned into a domain of lightning. Cultivators on both sides froze, their gazes drawn to the elder’s godlike presence.

The air grew cold as thunderous energy consumed the battlefield. The corrupted beings, instinctively recoiling from the divine storm, halted their charge, their fear evident.

Among the ranks of a prominent sect, a disciple’s voice trembled. Though the elder’s face was obscured beneath his robe, the disciple recognized the technique—it belonged to their sect’s fabled ancestor.

With a harrumph, the elder’s voice boomed. “Watch your words! I am but a mere wandering cultivator—the Thunder Sage!”

Cultivators lowered their heads respectfully, though disbelief lingered. The disciple’s face contorted in frustration but brightened again when the elder commanded, “Follow me, boy! Do not falter, or I’ll have your hide once this battle ends!”

“Yes, esteemed elder!” the disciple responded, his voice shaking with excitement. To fight alongside such a figure, even under threat, was an honor.

The Celestial River roared louder as cultivators unleashed dazzling displays of power. A cacophony of spells erupted, painting the battlefield with blinding brilliance. The corrupted beings countered with equal ferocity, their rancid energy poisoning the river itself.

Elsewhere, Meng Sheng, a younger cultivator, fought with growing desperation. Though strong, he found himself insignificant in the chaos. His life force ebbed, yet his cultivation advanced incrementally—a grim trade he accepted without question.

“I can’t die here,” Meng Sheng muttered, bloodshot eyes scanning the carnage. “Not until I’ve touched the path to true longevity.”

Deploying his arsenal—spirit beasts, talismans, and formation flags—Meng Sheng hurled himself into the fray with calculated resolve. He fought not for glory but survival, knowing that reckless valor would lead only to ruin.

Five years passed in a blur of blood and thunder. Time itself seemed swallowed by the chaos of war. The Celestial River surged ever onward, carrying with it the fallen—their remains embraced by its waters, a silent tribute to their sacrifice.

Drums thundered across the battlefield, their somber cadence a dirge for the living and the dead alike. The warships pushed deeper into the corrupted lands, their massive hulls smashing through obstacles, even as they sacrificed themselves to shatter the corrupted mountains.

Atop one such mountain, Qi Gengyun, his body broken and weary, stood defiantly. His arms hung limp, his hair matted with blood, yet his eyes burned with an unyielding fire.

“Corrupted scum,” he sneered, his voice hoarse but resolute.

A Deity Transformation corrupted being, grievously wounded, glared at him. Its twisted form oozed tainted blood, yet it radiated a malevolent power.

“I’ve waited for this moment,” Qi Gengyun whispered. A savage grin split his face as he surged forward, his body a living weapon brimming with explosive energy. “Zhuang Yun, your vengeance is complete!”

With a deafening roar, Qi Gengyun detonated his very essence. The resulting explosion consumed the mountaintop, sending shockwaves across the battlefield. Fellow cultivators paused, bowing their heads in silent respect.

Back at the main encampment, reports flooded in.

“General, the corrupted beings’ forces are retreating. Something has changed on their frontlines.”

“General, a Deity Transformation corrupted being self-detonated in the northwest, halting our pursuit.”

“General, supply lines remain steady, but reinforcements dwindle.”

Bai Li Zonghu, the commanding general, stood like a monolith amidst the chaos. His bloodied blade rested tip-down in the ground, his presence both grim and commanding.

“Advance,” he ordered, his voice as unyielding as stone. “We will not allow the corrupted beings to regroup.”

As his officers relayed his command, Bai Li Zonghu hefted his blade. The battlefield’s cacophony roared around him, but his focus was unwavering.

“Corrupted beings,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing. “You will find no sanctuary. Not while I draw breath.”

The Celestial River flowed crimson with the blood of both allies and enemies, but the cultivators pressed on. They believed in the path ahead—a path carved by their own sacrifices, leading to salvation for all realms.