Multicolored light danced across the faces of the survivors. Over thirty pairs of eyes stared transfixed at the heavens as explosions blossomed in the sky, their thunder arriving seconds later.

  To the far right, a stray sphere of energy crashed into the earth, gouging a crater from which black smoke billowed.

  A wave of dry swallows passed through the small crowd. A single, shared feeling resonated among them: they were not safe yet.

  Aotian swiftly produced a series of small spikes, distributing them to the remaining soldiers. Without a word, they dispersed, moving to their designated positions.

  “Defensive and concealment formation,” Aotian announced to the others. “Standard procedure.”

  “We can’t stay here. We need to run, now,” one of the disciples urged.

  “Cease your pointless chatter,” Prince Daniel retorted. “If you wish to leave, then go. No one will stop you. Lachlan is gone; you are free of orders, are you not?”

  All eyes turned to Nathan and Zeryn.

  Nathan ignored the prickling sensation on his back, his gaze fixed on the clash of beings who could only be described as gods. A single stray blow or the aftershock of a clash would be more than enough to obliterate him several times over.

  And it made sense. Two beings who were only Tier 3 had already wreaked unimaginable devastation on Maelivar. If not for the city's layered defensive arrays and preparation, it would have been reduced to dust. The battle between Tier 4 and Tier 5 cultivators could only lead to destruction on a scale several times greater. Nathan now understood that the clash between Darkan and the high-tier cultivators after The Shifting Trials was not a true measure of their power. Back then, they were restrained by the presence of civilians, forced to hold back with every move. This was completely different; their battlefield was the vast, open sky.

  The muscles around Zeryn’s bandaged eyes tensed, as if he were trying to pierce the distance.

  “A Tier 6 is among them,” Zeryn murmured.

  The statement silenced all arguments behind them.

  “How do you know?” Nathan asked.

  He was met with only a shake of the head.

  The two switched to private channels. “Tell me,” Nathan sent. “Can we run back to the sect?”

  “With our current strength, it would be difficult,” Zeryn replied.

  “It’s not that far. I don’t think it's impossible.”

  “You and me, yes. But are you willing to leave them here?”

  The question made Nathan freeze. He quietly turned his head to look at Frank, Elen, and the three other disciples from Verdant Spire Sect. The image of Frank leaping to protect him during their escape surfaced in his mind. He didn't want to leave the young man here.

  “Nate,” Zeryn said. “My protector. He can get you and me out of here.”

  “Didn’t you just say he couldn’t?”

  “The city center was too crowded with heavy hitters. We were right under the noses of their leaders. But here, at the edge, he can swoop in.”

  “Can’t he bring the others?” Nathan asked.

  Zeryn bit his lip. The thunderous booms of explosions echoed around them.

  “You are the limit. He doesn’t care about the others.”

  The bitterness in Zeryn’s transmitted voice infected Nathan. He felt his throat tighten, food and medicine churning in his stomach. Once again, he was faced with a choice: save himself or take responsibility for others.

  “My vote is we leave.” Zeryn gripped his shoulder, his voice audible now. “You’ve done enough. This war has spiraled completely out of control.”

  Nathan didn’t answer immediately. He wondered if Darkan was present among those painting the sky with deadly, beautiful colors. Could he naively believe that the man would protect him?

  Another thought crept in. Darkan being around was to keep an eye on him. This lazy master of his would hardly want to get involved in the muddy waters between two nations. Darkan’s inaction in stopping Nathan from joining the war was a paradoxical sign that he was exactly where he needed to be.

  “Do you think the sect is safe?” Nathan asked.

  “I’m really not sure.” Zeryn shook his head. “If you’re truly one of the targets, then the risk is still there. Unless that Space Aspect cultivator is dug out, I can’t give you an answer.”

  Nathan’s throat constricted as an invisible noose tightened around it. One wrong step, and he would be beyond salvation. Moirath Forest, The Shifting Trials, and Cascade Gardens—he had always had someone watching over him from behind. Now, having just escaped a near-death situation with Zeryn, the weight of reality pressed down on him. Standing at the vanguard, he kept his face turned away. Despair, loneliness, and a simmering resentment warred behind his eyes, threatening to fracture his fragile calm. He truly didn't know what to do.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “We’ll go once we’ve recovered enough,” Nathan announced for everyone to hear, not just Zeryn. Verdant Spire Sect might not be a safe choice, but it was still better than staying here.

  Aotian silently nodded, offering no protest. Prince Daniel simply raised an eyebrow before turning and walking back into the cave. The other disciples huddled together, whispering amongst themselves. A few who wanted to approach Nathan and Zeryn were blocked by the Verdant Spire disciples.

  A low hum vibrated through the ground as the defensive formation fully engaged. The survivors fell silent, watching the apocalyptic display above.

  Nathan had feared the barrier would crumble, but as it weathered tremor after tremor, his anxiety began to recede. His decision to leave would no longer feel so heavy.

  The battle between the high-tier cultivators raged for over three hours and showed no signs of stopping. Amid the chaos, a gap in the PsiLink interference finally opened, allowing fragmented information to get through. Only battle-related information was prioritized, preventing journalists or unnecessary gossip from seizing the opportunity.

  The Amber Path Coalition's rebellion had been quelled. The merchant guild was currently detained in mana-suppression confinement. However, no further punitive measures had been taken, as they had not caused any casualties in Maelivar. The Golden Path Consortium had sent a notice that they would resolve the matter peacefully after the war.

  Next came reports from various points on the front line. The cause of the battle in the sky was the death of Lachlan Rourke. General Axel Rourke, unable to contain his fury at his son's passing, had lashed out at both Mirothea and Maelivar, triggering a chain reaction that drew the entire leadership of Caelindor into the fray.

  Most importantly, among the reports, was an urgent message sent to all surviving teams.

  “Anyone who can hear me, respond!” Aotian pressed his hand to his temple, his face focused as he spoke into a crude-looking microphone attached to his collar. “Come to my coordinates to receive assistance. A temporary base has been established. Disciples from all sects, schools, and organizations are welcome. We will protect you!”

  Makeshift command tables had been set up. Figures in military uniforms moved back and forth, constantly establishing contact with anyone they could and receiving any information that came in.

  Nathan watched the tangled mess of wires, appreciating Aotian’s efforts. Using a specialized mana-conduit was still more effective than relying solely on the jammed PsiLink.

  On one side, he was re-bandaging Zeryn's wounds. The injuries had scabbed over, so he no longer needed to cover his friend's entire eye. The web of scars across the sword prodigy’s face somehow made him look even more handsome.

  “Look on the bright side: the scars suit you,” Nathan said with a dry chuckle.

  Zeryn shot him a glare, dabbing a healing mixture on his eye.

  Nathan took out the last of his food, distributing it to everyone. Thanks to his [Personal Space], he had stored what seemed like an endless supply.

  An hour later, the first group of refugees arrived. Over fifty soldiers and disciples stumbled in. Ragged, bloodied, and wild-eyed, they looked even worse than Nathan's group had upon their escape.

  The cave was expanded with the help of more Earth Cultivators. Beds made from stone were meticulously created to accommodate the wounded. Nathan distributed his rations, hoping to silence the chorus of groans.

  As he bustled from one place to another, he didn't notice the number of people had increased again. A group of five, then ten. Gradually, the initial thirty-plus people grew to a hundred.

  Aotian was overjoyed at the sight, shaking hands and celebrating with every comrade who had found a way to survive and take refuge here.

  Zeryn, on the other hand, grimaced, his arms crossed as he stood to one side after regaining enough strength. After a while, Nathan returned to his side with a similar expression.

  “Where are they coming from?” Nathan asked. “My reserves are dropping like a rock.”

  “Cut them off.” Zeryn’s voice was sharp with warning.

  Nathan nodded; he needed to save his supplies for the days to come. But the situation didn't stop there.

  When a new group arrived, the older ones pointed toward Nathan to get healing medicine. Some who had eaten his food also wanted more. And then, someone spoke up, criticizing why one person got something while another didn't. Inevitably, the tension snapped. Men lunged at each other, clawing for scraps of food that weren't theirs.

  The newly arrived Tier 3 cultivators had to assist Aotian in quelling the situation.

  Seeing his kindness twisted into something ugly, Nathan withdrew to the side of the Verdant Spire Sect disciples. They had suddenly become an isolated group.

  “Ungrateful bastards,” Elen cursed.

  Aotian approached, his hands clasped in apology. “I’m sorry this happened. It’s wartime, and their minds are a bit unstable.”

  “Where are the military’s medical supplies?” Zeryn asked. “Was you planning to stuff your spatial rings with only weapons and equipment?”

  Aotian flinched, his face scrunching into a ball. “The strategy for this war really requires optimizing every necessary space. And right now… most of the medics carrying the supplies didn't make it out.”

  The captain’s words hung in the air.

  Nathan waved his hand. “Do what you need to do. We’ll be leaving soon. My brothers and I have supported this campaign as much as we can. The rest is up to you.”

  Aotian opened his mouth, but Zeryn cut him off. “Swallow it! According to the newcomers, a few places on the front line have already been breached. You want us to stay here and face Mirothea’s madmen? Are you crazy? Because we'd have to be suicidal to agree.”

  Aotian froze, then bowed his head and returned to the command table, signaling for the others to seize the opportunity to contact whoever they could.

  The presence of enemies on Caelindor’s territory made Nathan’s head ache with calculations. If there were no obstacles, he wouldn't be too worried. However, the current situation was far from optimistic. Zeryn and he had pushed their bodies far beyond their limits; recovery would be a matter of weeks or a month, not just an hour or two. Even the strongest medicine wouldn't help much. Cultivators below Tier 4 lacked a Nascent Soul to regulate massive influxes of energy; consuming high-tier elixirs now would destroy their meridians rather than heal them.

  “They came prepared,” Zeryn said, “but I never thought to this extent. Even the old men in my family couldn't have imagined the current development between Caelindor and Mirothea.”

  They both shivered. This war could no longer be compared to any war in history. This time, it might earn its own place in the future.

  The arrivals became more scattered, mostly in small groups. Some bore wounds that wouldn’t heal. According to their accounts, their limbs had been devoured by creatures from Mirothea’s side.

  Near dawn, Aotian and the new commanders let out a triumphant roar. They embraced each other, tears streaming down their faces, their smiles exultant.