Dragon-Fang Mountain.

It was the most secret of all the routes from the Xu family to Great Qian.

At this moment it was the dead of night.

Yet this place was lit up bright as day.

Twelve golden dharma forms hung in the heavens, like so many blazing suns, their expressions grim with killing intent, glaring fixedly at the figures opposite.

Whenever one of them ran out of strength, another divine spirit immediately took its place.

Zhu Jue stood at the very front, weakened.

He was the armory's guardian, and had not left the Imperial Capital in several thousand years.

Yet at this moment he was also the only one who had crossed hands with the enemy.

Gravely wounded though he was, he felt not the slightest regret.

The Xu family had come at Junior Brother Shen's invitation; Zhu Jue had to act — and even if it accomplished nothing at all, the Xu family had to know where Great Qian stood.

"Do you see this, Dao Friend Miao?"

A dark robe snapped and cracked in the wind, and the white-bearded old man glanced over with a narrow-eyed smile. "These are our allies. Assuming the posture of men staking their lives, they brandish this heap of scrap metal at us."

At his side stood a rather petite figure.

She could hardly be called a beauty who'd topple cities, yet she was pleasant enough to look upon — but paired with the cold indifference on her face, it snuffed out in everyone any flicker of an urge to look down on her.

Miao Qinghui likewise stood upon an azure cloud.

She said nothing.

But from the position she'd taken, her stance couldn't have been plainer.

As far as Wutong Mountain was concerned, setting aside for the moment all questions of who was close and who was distant, Great Qian's conduct was indeed rather off.

The enmity between the Xu family and Xuanguang Cave hadn't been forged in recent years.

To claim Great Qian knew nothing of it would be absurd.

And the War Temple hadn't merely committed this blatant breach of…