Path of the Sect Leader

Chapter 93: Battle for the Soldier Station Workshop

The Wang family—and the Soldier Station Workshop they clung to—occupied a peculiar niche within Qi Cloud Nation, under the Qi Cloud Sect's iron grip.

By sect traditions, a Foundation Establishment cultivator like Wang Juan, without the clout to found a proper sect, couldn't even establish a legitimate cultivation clan. Take the old Chu Qin Sect: nominally subordinate to Qi Cloud. In peacetime, they might leave you alone. Come war? You'd bleed manpower and resources for free, no questions asked.

Chu Qin faced the same leash now. If South Chu Sect called, they'd march without a peep.

Wang Juan's type should have bowed under some Qi Cloud banner to claim territory. But over a century ago, this workshop bordered savage southern beasts—barren, cursed land no one wanted. Qi South City dumped the guard duty on him: Soldier Station Defender, reporting straight to them.

No full legal dominion over the surroundings—just the post, holding the fort.

South Chu's rise drove the beasts to extinction. The defender role? Obsolete. And posts weren't hereditary. No private hand-me-downs. Legally, the Wangs had zero claim to inherit his legacy.

Qi Xiu and Kan Lin arrived to exactly that mess. Propping up Wang heirs against the tide? For cultivators of their standing, near impossible.

"Senior Kan, Brother Qi—your presence means the world. Wang Qing is eternally grateful. This aid today... we'll repay tenfold someday."

The new Wang head greeted them after paying respects at Wang Juan's grave. Mid-thirties, maybe. He'd often shadowed the old man in meetings, silent observer—familiar faces all around.

"No need for thanks. It's only right."

Polite exchanges done, they settled in. Kan Lin furrowed his brow, worry etching deep over the standoff.

"Nephew Wang, forgive my bluntness—where's the confidence in holding this workshop coming from?"

No sense charging a lost cause blind. Kan Lin cut straight.

"No lies between clear-eyed men. Truth is, by rights, we Wangs shouldn't stay. But Qi Cloud's vast— we're a drop in the ocean. One post's fate? Hinges on a word from above."

Wang Qing's gaze drifted casually toward Qi Xiu as he spoke.

"Our ancestor poured blood and sweat into connections. Qi South's heavy hitters won't voice support outright, but they're turning blind eyes—tacit approval. Only two neighboring minor sects covet our market. Wouldn't touch the border hardships back then, shirked duty—that's why he got exiled here. A century of grinding out this foothold, and now? Corpse barely cold, they pounce. Outrageous!"

He slammed the armrest, fury building.

"Plenty owe the old man favors—Foundation Establishment from here, there..." Wang Qing rattled off seven, eight names. "All pledged aid. Should arrive soon. Opponents? Five Foundation Establishment total. We clash, no way we lose!"

Kan Lin and Qi Xiu shared a glance. This trip meant risking necks for the Wangs. Neither thrived in brawls; those old debts never specified life-or-death repayment. Hesitation flickered.

Wang Qing pressed on quick. "If you're uneasy, no hard feelings. Debts were to the ancestor—I claim none on his grace."

Pinned by that, how could they back out? Both stayed.

Qi Xiu figured: settle Wang Juan's favor today, necks on the line or not. Debts like these chained you anyway. Wang Qing's stance—zero regard for their safety—pure favor-fishing. Clean slate after? Fine by him.

Wang Juan's network paid off slow. Cultivators trickled in. Some lingered; most heard Wang Qing out, then vanished.

Others huddled, debating stay or go.

Days dragged—fifteen in all. The two sects massed outside the workshop: dark swarm of cultivators, pressure thick though nowhere near the Wei clan's Shandu siege.

Defenders? Four Foundation Establishment including Kan Lin—far short of boasts. Wang Qing's face turned ashen, curses spilling at no-shows' ingratitude. Confidence? Shattered.

Kan Lin's expression grimmed. He pulled Qi Xiu aside, slipping him a low-grade bronze blade artifact.

"Once it kicks off, I can't watch your back. He Yu mentioned you're no fighter—this for protection."

Qi Xiu's chest tightened. Kan Lin wouldn't be here, neck-deep in danger, if not for that old mishap on Black River Peak—Chu Qin's fallout dragging him in.

"Stay safe yourself. But don't fret overmuch. Qi Cloud disputes differ from White Mountain—rarely fatal. No need to fight to the death."

"Understood..."

Firm grip exchanged, Kan Lin soared to Wang Qing's flank, joining the three other Foundation Establishment—bolstering the front.

Qi Xiu melted into the Qi Condensation crowd below.

Wang Qing traded barbs across the void with the enemy leaders awhile. He blasted their greed; they slammed the Wangs' illegitimacy. Everyone had their spin.

Words won nothing with arrows nocked. Insults exhausted, the order dropped. Hundreds of artifacts and talismans flared, slamming into the mountain-protecting array.

Last time against Shandu, Qi Xiu attacked—easy, lobbing spells and tools. Defense? Whole different beast. The barrier shuddered under barrage, humming frantic like it'd shatter any breath. Outside: sea of heads, numbers unknowable. Fear of the unseen gnawed deeper than any assault—pressure crushing in ways attackers never felt.

"Forget it—we're out! Wang Qing, let us leave!"

Waverers clustered tight; one cracked first, yelling surrender. Too late—array fully engaged, no casual exits. Cowards pounded the shield futile, realized entrapment, wails rising as terror broke them to tears.

Up high, Kan Lin and allies tangled in pairs: four Foundation Establishment plus the Wangs' top late-Qi Condensation veteran from Black River tournaments—against five. Fierce deadlock, no clear edge.

Qi Xiu's knuckles whitened on the bronze blade, sweat slicking his palm.

Half an hour ground by.

The array let out a massive, mournful wail.

Breached!