The despair that descended upon the Crimson Ridge Pass was a physical thing, a cold, heavy blanket that smothered the last embers of hope in the hearts of the allied cultivators. The sight of their seven Core Formation experts, the pillars of their world, being violently thrown back by the arrival of three new Beast Kings was a truth their minds could not fully accept.
They had won a great victory, paid for in the blood of their comrades, only to be faced with an even greater, more impossible enemy. The new army of hundreds of Rank 6 Hegemon Beasts and dozens of Rank 7 Overlords was not a force they could fight. It was a judgment, an executioner's axe waiting to fall.
High in the sky, the seven sect leaders regrouped, their auras flickering, their faces pale. The Green Mountain Sect Master wiped a trail of blood from his lips, his gaze fixed on the four colossal, shadowy forms that now stood patiently on the horizon.
"Four of them," the Sword Sovereign of the Jade Spring Sword Sect whispered, his voice tight with a grim disbelief. "Four Rank 10 Abyssal Beasts. How can such a thing be possible?"
"They are not attacking," the Myriad Graves Sect leader noted, his scholarly calm now a brittle facade. "They are waiting. They know we are exhausted. They know our formations are broken. They are waiting for us to collapse under our own despair before they claim their prize."
The Green Mountain Sect Master looked down at the thousands of disciples, at their pale, terrified faces, and a look of unshakeable resolve hardened his own. "Then we will not give them the satisfaction." His voice, imbued with the full, desperate power of his Core Formation, boomed across the pass, a golden bell of hope in the encroaching darkness. "All formation masters, to the central array! Pour every last ounce of your spiritual energy into it! We will activate the Myriad Mountains Guardian Array!"
A wave of shock and a dawning, desperate hope washed through the disciples. The Myriad Mountains Guardian Array was a legend, a last-resort defensive formation that had not been used in over five hundred years. It was an array that required the combined power of a dozen Foundation Establishment experts and the sacrifice of a mountain's worth of high-grade spirit stones to activate. It was said to be able to withstand the assault of a mid-stage Core Formation expert for three full days. It was their final, desperate gambit.
A hundred formation masters, their faces grim, flew to the center of the pass, where a series of ancient, dormant runes were carved into the very bedrock. They took their positions, and at the Sect Master's command, they poured their spiritual energy into the array.
The entire Crimson Ridge Pass groaned, a deep, tectonic sound that shook the mountains to their core. A brilliant, emerald-green light erupted from the ground, a pillar of pure, earthen energy that shot into the heavens. The light spread, forming a massive, semi-transparent dome over the entire pass, far larger and more powerful than the Grand Formation had been. Within the dome, the ethereal images of a hundred great mountains, each one a testament to the Green Mountain Sect's profound connection to the earth, rose and fell like silent, watchful giants.
The new army of Hegemon and Overlord beasts, which had been advancing with a slow, inexorable purpose, crashed against this new barrier. The sound was not a sharp crack, but a deep, resonant BOOM that shook the heavens. The ethereal mountains flickered, and the faces of the formation masters grew a shade paler, but the array held.
They had bought themselves time.
The four Beast Kings, who had been watching from the horizon, stopped their advance. A wave of cold, intelligent amusement washed over the battlefield. They were in no hurry. They would simply wait for this new, more impressive shell to crack under the relentless assault of their army.
With a fragile, temporary safety secured, the deep cracks in the allied army's morale finally began to show. In a hastily assembled council of the remaining disciples, a fierce argument broke out.
"We must retreat!" a disciple from the Crimson Cauldron Sect, his face streaked with tears, shouted, his voice cracking with fear. "The formation will not last forever! To stay here is suicide! We must abandon the pass and flee, to preserve the seeds of our sects!"
"Flee?" Tie Gang, the warrior from the Iron Fist Peak, roared, his massive frame trembling with a furious rage. "Flee where? If this pass falls, the tide will wash over our homes, our families! My parents, my wife, and my children are behind this mountain! I will die here before I let a single one of those monsters take another step!"
"He is right!" Feng Xuan added, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his expression one of grim, unshakeable resolve. "To run is to condemn our homes to annihilation. We stand and fight, or we die as cowards."
The camp was divided, the primal instinct for survival clashing with the unyielding demands of honor and duty. The argument raged, threatening to tear their fragile alliance apart from the inside.
Finally, the seven Core Formation experts descended, their presence a silencing wave of authority. The Green Mountain Sect Master looked out at the faces of the terrified, exhausted, but still defiant disciples.
"The situation is indeed dire," he said, his voice calm and steady. "And we, the leaders of our sects, will not force any disciple to face a hopeless battle." He raised his hand, and a single, narrow path in the Myriad Mountains Guardian Array, at the very back of the pass, shimmered and opened. "This is the Gate of Life. Any who wish to leave, to preserve their own life and seek shelter elsewhere, may do so now. You will not be branded a coward. You will not be punished. You will simply be a survivor. You have one hour."
A heavy, profound silence fell over the encampment. The disciples looked at the shimmering gate, then at the vast, dark tide of monsters crashing against the outer barrier, and then at each other. A few, their wills completely broken, began to stumble towards the gate, their faces a mask of shame and a desperate, overwhelming relief.
Li Yu watched from the side, his expression unreadable. He stood with his three friends, a silent, unmoving rock in the river of fear.
"Sir Li?" Hu Jian asked, his voice a low, uncertain whisper. "What do we do?"
"We stay," Li Yu said, his voice quiet but absolute. "This is our home."
He looked at the shimmering gate, then at the resolute faces of Feng Xuan and Tie Gang, and a slow, quiet understanding began to dawn. The sect leaders were not offering them an escape. They were offering them a choice. A choice to define who they truly were.
The hour passed in a state of tense, profound silence. A few dozen disciples, perhaps two percent of the total army, had chosen the path of survival. But the rest, over ninety percent of the thousands of cultivators from a dozen different sects, both righteous and demonic, remained. They stood, their backs straight, their gazas fixed on the dark, roiling tide, a silent, unified army that had made its choice.
When the Gate of Life finally shimmered and closed, a new, powerful, and unshakeable atmosphere had settled over the pass. The fear was gone, replaced by a calm, absolute resolve. They were no longer a fractured alliance of rivals. They were a single, unified army, a bastion of defiance against the coming darkness. They were the last wall.