The sunset was red as blood, and the skies were dark and heavy.

Bloodthistle Yao Mountain covered a vast stretch of land, a full thousand miles, and it coiled and twisted like a giant serpent.

Off to the southwest, not far from the mountain, was a military encampment. 

Buildings were densely packed as trees in a forest, and flags fluttered in the wind.

The elite warriors of the Spiritmartial Marquis, the Greenplate Army, were stationed here year-round.

Over the past few years, under Chen Zheng’s leadership, they’d slain countless yao and racked up enormous military merit. This was why the name of the Greenplate Army reverberated throughout the Great Zhou.

“The Marquis still isn’t back?” 

Within the hall of a tower hewn of coarse stone, Zhang Yiren stood with his hands behind his back, pacing back and forth, his brow furrowed with deep concern.

“No, not yet,” responded a tall, stalwart man in heavy armor.

Five days ago, strange movements occurred within Bloodthistle Yao Mountain. A sound like the low rumble of thunder lasted for a full hour, and all of the mountain’s spirit beasts roared in agitation. 

The Spiritmartial Marquis, Chen Zheng, sensed that something was amiss and went in on his own to...