Daqin Zhentiansi

A military officer distributed roughly polished pieces of demon bone.

The top is written with a simple carving knife, with vague information such as "remnant lineage of the Zhao family, Jiazi District" and "Wang Gou'er, native of Xudong". At the bottom is an imprint of a simple "Cracking Wind" rune.

Those survivors who received the bone fragments clutched the small plaques tightly, their knuckles turning white, as if they were holding not just a piece of bone, but the hope of rebirth after 100,000 years.

On the side closest to the most blinding beam of light from the barrier, there was a cloth tent that reeked of wormwood and sulfur, called the "Exorcism Tent".

The Qingnang Sect's medical officer, dressed in a clean robe with a green vine emblem, had a solemn expression. He would place his fingers on the wrists of the survivors to feel their pulse, or lift their eyelids to check their pupils.

Beside them stood a talisman master, holding a compass or a ceramic pot burning with special herbs, intently watching the subtle tremors of the compass needle.

Most of the survivors were weak and pale, with unfocused and fearful eyes, and were at the mercy of others.

Suddenly, when a thin woman was being examined, her eyes rolled back violently, and she let out a low growl that sounded inhuman. A fist-sized, wriggling, purplish-black tumor bulged out under the skin of her neck!
The air froze instantly, the chilling atmosphere overpowering the scent of herbs.

Two cold-eyed Xuanjia soldiers immediately stepped forward, tied his arms behind his back with special leather ropes, and dragged him away from the crowd without saying a word, forcibly taking him to the "purification zone" in the very center of the barrier's pillar of light, surrounded by dense rune stone towers.

A faint hum of runes and a mournful, desperate cry could be heard from there.

Suppressed sobs rose softly from the queuing crowd, only to be drowned out by even greater fear and numbness.

……

Valley surrounding Riftwind Fortress.

The wind whipped up sand and gravel across the scorched, battle-scarred ground.

The exploration team trekked through high mountains and scree.

Below a collapsed cliff, several surveyors from the Ministry of Works were tapping away at the exposed dark red rock layers with small hammers.

"It's blood iron, but the content is low, and the impurities are mixed with a strong demonic aura, making it difficult to forge."

The team leader dug out a small piece, weighed it in his hand, and frowned as he looked at the wisps of grayish-black aura swirling around the edge of the crimson ore.

He spat and said, "It's better than nothing! Mark it first!"

At the other entrance, a faint, sweet smell of sulfur and a scorching heat filled the air.

A young exploration team member, his face covered with a multi-layered gas-filtering mask specially made by the Qingnang Sect, carefully used a specially made stone pickaxe to pry open a patch of moss, revealing the rock wall below.

A dark red, viscous liquid, like semi-congealed blood, slowly seeped from the cracks in the stone, gathering into a thin layer.

"Boss! Look at this!"

His voice was muffled because of the mask.

The prospector leaned closer, dipped a metal rod into the liquid, and the dark red liquid shimmered faintly in the light of the barrier.

"A by-product of the Earth's core's fiery saliva! It's sticky, not very hot, but has plenty of fire elemental power! This stuff... hmm, it should be useful for making those low-level array inks!"

A hint of joy flashed in his eyes, and he quickly and precisely marked the animal hide map.

In a shady valley filled with sticky humus and broken vines, several soldiers were wielding machetes to clear away the remains of the Soul-Eating Vines.

"what?"

A young soldier parted the slippery black moss beneath his feet, revealing several clumps of slender grass growing close to the ground.

The leaves are verdant, with fine silver lines inlaid along their edges. They gleam slightly in the dim light and emit a cool, bitter scent.

An old soldier nearby had his eyes light up. He squatted down to examine it closely, picked up a leaf, crushed it, and brought it to his nose to inhale deeply: "Heart-clearing grass! Haha, good stuff! Quick, be careful to dig it up by the roots and take it back to the herb garden!"

His voice carried the joy of discovering a treasure.

At dusk, beside the herb garden.

The pharmacist was carefully dripping a few drops of the pale green juice freshly squeezed from the heart-clearing herb into a bowl filled with water.

After drinking it, a survivor who was suffering from a splitting headache due to demonic energy drank it, and his tightly furrowed brows slowly relaxed, and his painful expression visibly eased.

Not far from the mining site, several simple thatched huts have been newly built.

Although the dozens of survivors were still thin, their eyes had regained some vitality. Along with some support soldiers, they lined up to receive tools from the work shed.

The large wooden-handled pickaxe had a low-quality blood iron ore blank with a simple "break through" rune attached to the front.

Each person was also given a coarse cloth to barely cover their mouth and nose.

Under the watchful eyes of several soldiers, the corps marched deep into the mine and caverns.

The clanging and banging sounds echoed through the valley as black iron ore and dark red fiery saliva crystals were loaded into wicker baskets and slowly transported out.

Near the makeshift shed, wisps of smoke rose from cooking fires lit to keep warm.

Outside Riftwind Fortress lies a rocky ravine with an inconspicuous, low-lying cave entrance.

The scout team spread out in a fan shape, vigilantly surrounding the cave entrance, their swords drawn.

A scout cautiously threw a stone into the cave, causing a low, rustling sound.

By the light reflected off the rock wall, one could see more than a dozen giant gray tortoises, each the size of a millstone, curled up inside the cave!
Sensing the threat, their heads and limbs instantly retracted into their thick, iron-like shells, leaving only a cold, stone-like sheen.

A scout tentatively struck the tortoise shell with a knife. With a crisp "clang," sparks flew, leaving only a shallow white mark on the stone armor!

On the surface of the chopped tortoise shell, a very faint yellowish-brown halo flashed and disappeared in an instant.

"Damn, it's really hard!"

The scout shook his numb wrist.

The message flew to the commander's tent.

Soon, Zhang Yuan strolled in, surrounded by his personal guards, his black python robe remaining perfectly still in the wind.

His gaze swept over the pile of "stubborn rocks," and his eyebrows twitched slightly.

He raised his hand to signal his guards to step back, and slowly walked towards the cave entrance, his powerful and domineering aura receding like the tide.

An aura originating from the "Dragon Elephant Suppressing Prison Technique," as powerful and all-encompassing as the pulse of the earth, yet containing supreme majesty, gently swept through the entire cave like a warm breeze.

On his wrist, the faint shadow of a dark gold chain, barely perceptible to ordinary people, flickered slightly.

Deep inside the cave, several turtle shells trembled slightly.

After a moment, the smaller rock tortoise closest to the cave entrance cautiously and very slowly poked out its round little head with cloudy and dull eyes from the gap in the edge of its shell.

Its small eyes blinked in utter confusion, turning slightly as it looked blankly at the dark figure whose aura was as heavy as a mountain, yet whose gaze was as calm and steady as a still, deep pool.

Despite lingering fear, a faint, almost imperceptible hint of curiosity and tentative "closeness" flickered deep within his eyes.

Zhang Yuan looked at the bold little turtle and silently nodded.

The first step of building trust has been achieved.

……

At the end of Rift Valley lies a desolate rocky land that once witnessed tragic sacrifices.

A massive, dark blue rock, three zhang high and steeped in the vicissitudes of the northern frontier, stands majestically, carved from the valley wall.

Above it, the four powerful characters “岂曰无衣” (How can we say we have no clothes) are deeply engraved into the stone, each stroke seemingly soaked with the blood and tears of that nameless old man and his final, indomitable cry. Beside the characters, the names and hometowns of the soldiers who died in this battle are densely engraved.

Today, even the light of the fortress seems to have softened its fierceness, casting a solemn golden glow.

Zhang Yuan, dressed in a black casual suit and with a golden unicorn on his shoulder, stood alone before the newly carved giant bone tablet.

In his hand, he solemnly held the tattered ancient Qin battle flag, soaked in blood in the flames of war, which had guided the survivors and carried the will of "How can we say we have no clothes?"

Although the flag was torn by the wind, the dark gold character "Qin" still reflected an indelible brilliance in the sunlight.

Below, tens of thousands of soldiers and civilians were being guided and gathered in an orderly manner.

The Xuanjia soldiers stood in formation, as solid as a mountain, utterly silent.

The ragged survivors of Xuzhou, their numbness fading somewhat, now had a heavy sorrow and a veiled expectation in their bewildered and inquisitive gazes.

Many people recognize this flag, the four characters on the monument, and even more so, they know that it represents the old man who fell like a lighthouse.

There were no elaborate rituals.

Zhang Yuan surveyed the crowd, his voice not loud, yet clearly resonating throughout every inch of the land, carrying a profound power that transcended ten thousand years of sorrow: "The loyal souls of our comrades return to heaven and earth; the ten thousand regrets are etched into our hearts!"

"This monument is erected for 'How can we say we have no clothes!' It is erected for the heroic souls who sacrificed themselves to pave the way for our Great Qin and our homeland of Xuzhou! This flag is the banner that the people of Xuzhou used to pierce the darkness and guide our army!"

He suddenly raised the battle flag high, his voice rising abruptly like the roar of a dragon and the howl of a tiger: "But Xuzhou has not fallen! The flame has not been extinguished! Today we erect this monument to proclaim to heaven and earth: Xuzhou belongs to Qin! Wherever my Great Qin territory lies, we will never allow evil to run rampant again! Wherever my comrades shed their blood, we will never forget!"

"You were all once slaves, suffering immense torment! But today, the Great Qin has drawn its sword and severed your shackles! The dead are gone, but where do the living go?! What I want to see is—"

"Take up your tools and rebuild your homes! Stand tall and fight for your people! From this day forward, the shame of being a remnant of the fallen will be forever erased! You are all—people of Great Qin! People of Xuzhou! We are brothers in arms, how can we say we have no clothes?!"

"How can you say we have no clothes?!"

Eight million soldiers erupted like a dormant volcano!

Armor clashed, and the battlefield was shattered!
The earth-shaking roar, carrying the pure, iron-blooded military spirit and will, swept across the entire field like a raging sea!
That invisible, powerful will resonated with the battle flag fluttering before the monument!

"Om-!"

An ancient, desolate yet undying spiritual torrent rose from the hearts of every soldier and civilian who witnessed the inscription and heard the old man's last words, converging into a glimmer of light and merging into the boiling torrent of military spirit!

Many survivors were trembling violently!

Looking at the tattered flag held high by the Marquis, seemingly burning under the resonance of the military spirit, and then at the four unforgettable words "How can we say we have no clothes?"...

The humiliation, grief, and hope that had been suppressed for 100,000 years, along with a sliver of hope that even they dared not contemplate, were ignited at this moment!

Suddenly, a blazing flame ignited in countless pairs of eyes that were previously empty or numb!
My fist clenched involuntarily!

Riftwind Keep.

Temporary camp inside the fortress.

The echoes of the Demon-Suppressing Platform still reverberated in the space, while another silent battle quietly unfolded within Riftwind Fortress.

A long, winding line stretched out in front of the rough wooden desk of the "Remnant People's Office".

No longer was there a deathly silence; the eyes of the crowd now gleamed with hatred, confusion, or a desperate gamble.

That was a spark of hope that had been utterly crushed over the past three hundred years, only to be forcibly ignited by the light of the barrier.

"Name?"

"Wang Hu".

"age?"

"Nineteen, maybe twenty, I can't remember."

"Have any relatives perished at the hands of the demon?"

The old clerk behind the desk looked up and saw the grotesque claw marks on the young man's neck that extended to his left cheek and were not yet fully healed.

The young man remained silent, only nodding heavily, his eyes filled with a wild, predatory hatred.

In his hand, he still tightly gripped a spear made from half a beast bone, its tip dark red, the blood of his clan scorched and congealed by demonic fire. This was his intense "desire for revenge."

On the other side, several relatively robust middle-aged men with calm eyes were led out of the line individually.

"You were once a foreman in the Demon Nest Mine? You know how to command slaves?"

One of Yuchi Changshan's fierce soldiers squinted and scrutinized him.

“We understand.” The leader’s voice was hoarse. “We also know how to sneak sharpened stone shards under the guards’ noses. We’re a few of us, strong, and we know where those beasts’ weaknesses are.”

This can barely be considered "combat experience".

After three days of selection, three hundred were chosen from tens of thousands of survivors.

They were taken to a cleared training ground.

Instead of imposing black armor, there were piles of mud- and rusty items sent from the rear.

Those were "old armors from the previous dynasty" seized from the Demon Cave and carelessly discarded by the demon race as spoils of war.

The artifacts include a simple, ring-pommel straight sword, leather-inlaid armor with peeling scales, and even several rattan shields with cracked edges.

"Listen up!"

The person in charge of reorganization was an old soldier with a centipede scar on his face, named "Scarface" Qin. He had been a sergeant under Tie Xing, the Marquis of Cuicheng, and his voice was like a broken gong.

"Old armor? Better than the rotten hides on your bodies! Dull blades? Harder than your claws! You're now called the 'Wind Rift Camp,' a name given by the Marquis! Wind Rift, Wind Rift, means we'll tear apart all the evil winds blocking this land!"

Three veteran soldiers, all retired from the front lines, were assigned as instructors.

The training was simple and brutal.

Line up, grip your sword, obey commands, and master the most basic shield parry and side slash/thrust.

"Don't even think about avenging your parents, your wives and children? What kind of bullshit is that? First, survive! First, be able to raise your shield and block a mouthful of demonic spittle for the women and children still shivering in the fortress!"

The old soldier roared until the veins on his neck bulged.

Within just a few days, these three squads of new recruits, dressed in ill-fitting old armor and wielding rusty ancient blades, began patrolling the outer edge of the fortress alongside the veterans.

They clumsily learned to identify the terrain and sentry posts, assisting the guards in maintaining order in the newly designated settlement.

When the work chants for moving stones and building walls sounded, they were also there.

Although their movements were clumsy and their steps unsteady, the three hundred pairs of eyes gazing at the wilderness beyond the walls burned with a fire completely different from that of the previous days—

It was no longer pure fear, but a firm resolve mixed with hatred and duty.

Deep within the fortress, beside the "Qingxincao" herb garden, a makeshift thatched shed is the location of "Shujiantang".

There were no bookshelves, only a few rough wooden boxes and straw mats spread on the ground.

Several elderly men, their hair and beards gray, yet their eyes unusually clear, carefully retrieved from their robes, the bottom of their bundles, and even from the inner linings sewn close to their bodies: a gleaming, worm-eaten animal hide scroll; a tattered clay tablet requiring careful piecing together; and a simple booklet sewn from the tough bark of a demonic vine. (End of Chapter)