The poison clouds still rolled across the battlefield like living storms, but within the battered Western Region outposts, a new tide surged—the Tang Sect's mass‑distributed antidotes.
Crates were slammed open. Jade bottles clattered. Pill cases snapped. Every corridor, every trench, every shattered barricade echoed with the orders of Tang Sect medics and elders.
> Tang Sect Elder Liquan (voice sharp and urgent):
"Distribute counter‑poison pills to all units! One pill every six hours—no exceptions!"
Lines of cultivators, soldiers, and rune‑golem handlers stretched across the inner base. Assistants worked tirelessly, passing out Resistance Pills, Purified Breath Elixirs, and Clear-Marrow Detox Serum, each glowing faintly in the frost-lit night.
The antidotes were not gentle—they were weapons for survival. Upon swallowing them, every fighter felt fire surge through their veins, clearing the lungs, hardening their qi channels against the suffocating haze outside the walls.
Medic tents expanded rapidly. Rune lamps flared, illuminating exhausted warriors as healers pressed antidote talismans onto their chests and injected serum directly into spiritual meridians.
> Plump Blossom Sect Healer Yunmei:
"Steady—breathe. Let the serum circulate. The poison's residue will fade in a moment."
Those who coughed blood had their chests tapped with bamboo needles infused with Tang Sect antidote ink. Aura channels flared clean. Breaths steadied. Warriors rose again.
Even the Azure Sect and Obsidian Sect defectors received detox vials, their qi realigned so they could rejoin the defense lines. It was not charity—it was survival.
Meanwhile, Tang Sect envoys rushed across battlements, handing bags of pills directly into trembling hands. The defenders swallowed them without hesitation; the poison clouds outside left no room for doubt.
> Kaelven:
"Good. Keep mass distribution continuous. Every soldier must be resistant before the next poison wave hits."
Outside the walls, banshees shrieked and crumbled in the toxic haze. But inside, the defenders were becoming immune.
The "Poisoned Tide" that decimated the enemy would not claim the Western Region.
Antidote steam vents opened along the inner walls, releasing greenish restorative mist to counter the faint traces drifting backward from the battlefield. Rune-golems activated detox crystals, cleaning the air around the frost towers and supply lanes.
And still, Tang Sect technicians prepared more—
more pills,
more elixirs,
more antidotes,
more experimental compounds.
> Tang Sect Elder Zhiren (cool and composed):
"Our poison reshapes the battlefield. Our antidotes ensure only the enemy pays the price."
The defenders' lungs strengthened. Their bodies adjusted. Their qi stabilized.
They were ready again.
And outside the walls, the Obsidian Fang forces realized the terrifying truth:
The Western Region could poison the world…
but could not be poisoned in return.
The balance of the siege shifted.
The night sky above the Western Region had become a living nightmare. The Tang Sect's mass poison radiated, filling the air with a sickly green haze. Arcane conduits vibrated violently, Death Towers pulsed in layered volleys, and along the battered walls, the Frost Towers rose incomplete, skeletal scaffolds obstructing sections, lattice frameworks half-built, and frost-forged pylons struggling to channel energy through exposed gaps.
Formation lines wavered under the combined strain of toxic radiation and relentless siege bombardment. Barrier walls flickered as lattice threads groaned under the pressure, and every vibration from Death Tower volleys sent tremors through the unfinished Frost Towers, threatening to collapse sections of the scaffolds while leaving critical points underprotected.
Outside, Obsidian Fang forces pressed without hesitation. Banshees shrieked as they plunged into the poison clouds, undead tree beings convulsed under the searing chemical radiation, and corpses of hundreds of thousands piled into mountains. Ash clouds spiraled upward, blocking the sun, casting the battlefield into a grim green twilight that even the lattice struggled to illuminate.
> Tang Sect Elder Liquan (shouting over the roar):
"Conduits must hold! Frost Towers are still obstructed—channel every pulse through the Death Towers! Every barrier must survive this wave!"
Repair golems and rune engineers darted along precarious scaffolds, lifting shattered beams, stabilizing lattice nodes, and shoring up incomplete Frost Towers while medics attended to exhausted cultivators. Supply lines never stopped, delivering timber, warding crystals, antidote elixirs, and enchanted bolts to every compromised point.
The Death Towers fired in layered volleys, crimson arcs slicing through clouds of poison. Each arc ignited pockets of toxic vapor, collapsing enemy formations in waves. Banshees fell mid-air, undead tree beings toppled, and siege engines splintered before reaching the obstructed Frost Towers. Yet even as enemies thinned, the stress on incomplete defenses pushed the lattice and defenders to their limits.
> Kaelven (voice strained, frost-lit eyes scanning the lines):
"Barrier nodes critical! Frost Towers are obstructed and unstable! Conduits overheating! Every repair pulse must hold them together—no mistakes!"
The battlefield had become apocalyptic: poison radiation shimmered across frost-laden plains, corpses piled like blackened snowdrifts, ash clouds blocked the sun, and the incomplete Frost Towers groaned under bombardment, still obstructed yet partially functional. Every pulse of lattice energy, every repair, every Death Tower volley, and every antidote administered was a fragile lifeline.
Even under the full weight of mass poison radiation, nonstop bombardment, and structural obstruction, the defenders of the Western Region held firm—exhausted, strained, but unbroken. The Frost Towers continued their construction amid chaos, a testament to Murim ingenuity and the relentless determination of Kael, Khaldron, and their allied sects.
The Western Region battlefield writhed under a sickly green haze. Poison radiated in waves, saturating the air and shimmering across frost-laden plains. Lattice conduits vibrated violently under the stress of Death Tower volleys, while skeletal Frost Towers, still obstructed and incomplete, shuddered with every impact. Sparks flew from exposed beams, groaning scaffolds threatening to collapse under the relentless bombardment.
Formation lines strained, barrier walls flickering under overload. Siege engines crashed into obstructions while banshees screamed into the toxic clouds. Undead tree beings toppled in spasms, roots snapping as chemical radiation seared necrotic qi. Corpses of hundreds of thousands mounted into mountains, ash clouds rising to block the sun, turning the battlefield into a grim, green-tinted twilight.
Repair golems moved ceaselessly along battered walls, lifting shattered beams, reinforcing obstructed Frost Towers, and shoring up lattice nodes. Rune engineers patched broken formations, ensuring conduits carried every pulse from Death Towers to the partially constructed towers. Medics and healers wove between exhausted cultivators, stabilizing those poisoned by the radiating clouds and burned by stray arcs of energy.
> Frost Sentinel Lieutenant Kaelven (shouting):
"Hold the barriers! Reinforce every conduit! Every Frost Tower node, obstructed or not, must endure!"
Death Towers fired in layered volleys, arcs of crimson energy slicing through toxic clouds, igniting vapor pockets and collapsing enemy formations. Banshees fell midair, undead tree beings collapsed under chemical fire, and siege engines splintered before reaching the partially obstructed Frost Towers. Every volley vibrated through walls, every impact tested lattice nodes, and every repair pulse raced to meet damage faster than it could accumulate.
The battlefield had become apocalyptic: poison radiation shimmered across the frozen plains, ash blocked the sun, corpses piled into mountains, and skeletal Frost Towers groaned under bombardment while conduits hummed at near-maximum capacity. Yet, despite obstruction and unrelenting waves of attack, the Western Region's defenders endured.
Every lattice pulse, every repair, every antidote distributed to exhausted cultivators, and every pulse of Death Tower energy sustained the fragile lifeline that kept the Western Region from collapsing. The obstructed Frost Towers continued their construction under fire, a skeletal but vital backbone holding the line against annihilation.
Even amid the green-tinged apocalypse, mass radiation, and endless bombardment, the defenders held. Walls groaned, arcs flared, and lattice threads shivered—but the Western Region survived, stubborn, tireless, and unbroken.
The battlefield of the Western Region was chaos incarnate. Poison radiated through the air in waves, ash blocked the sun, and skeletal Frost Towers, still obstructed and incomplete, shivered under constant bombardment. Despite the relentless siege, a calm force moved through the defenders: Khaldron.
Stepping along the battered walls, frost-lit aura flaring faintly, Khaldron began distributing regeneration conduits. Each conduit hummed with arcane energy as he placed it along damaged lattice nodes, partially obstructed Frost Towers, and the barrier walls. Threads of energy snaked across formations, knitting together weakened defenses.
> Khaldron (commanding, voice echoing through the lattice):
"These conduits will restore alignment. Every formation, every lattice, every node must stabilize before the next bombardment wave."
Repair golems and rune engineers moved alongside him. Together, they installed backup channels for Death Tower energy, linking overtaxed conduits to auxiliary reserves. Filtration systems for poison radiation were reinforced, cooling channels for the towers adjusted to prevent meltdown, and every structural beam, scaffold, and Frost Tower obstruction received magical reinforcement.
> Technician Lyren (panting):
"Master Khaldron, energy consumption is critical—backup reserves may deplete rapidly!"
> Khaldron (calm, precise):
"Then we distribute evenly. No conduit is wasted. The towers may overheat, but the lattice and wall fortifications will hold. Focus on stability first."
Material repair and conversion spells flowed from his hands. Timber was reforged from shattered beams, stone walls reforged into reinforced lattice blocks, and rune nodes were recalibrated to amplify energy flow from the partially operational Frost Towers and fully active Death Towers. Even obstructed scaffolds were integrated into the defense, reinforced with arcane wards and supporting beams.
Every placement, every pulse, every energy line worked in harmony. Conduits hummed as walls glowed faintly with regenerative energy. Poison waves hit the barriers, but instead of faltering, the lattice pulsed, the walls shimmered, and Frost Tower scaffolds flexed under controlled strain.
> Khaldron (calm, frost-lit eyes scanning the battlefield):
"Filtration, cooling, material integrity, energy backup—all synchronized. The walls will not fail, and every tower will endure long enough for counteraction. Every moment we hold is an opportunity to turn the tide."
Across the Western Region, defenders moved with renewed confidence. Medics administered antidotes with precision, rune-golems repaired walls and conduits under his guidance, and supply lines flowed without pause. The obstructed Frost Towers, bolstered with reinforced conduits and energy backups, emitted faint glows as they partially channeled Death Tower energy into the battlefield.
Even amid mass poison radiation, nonstop bombardment, and skeletal Frost Towers under obstruction, Khaldron's interventions transformed the line from precarious endurance into controlled resilience. Every wall, every conduit, every formation pulse had a purpose.
The Western Region stood—reinforced, repaired, and ready—its lattice and towers a living network of energy, regeneration, and arcane engineering, prepared to withstand the next wave of apocalypse.
The Western Region lay under a green-hued poison haze, ash swirling in thick clouds, skeletal Frost Towers obstructed and incomplete, groaning under relentless bombardment. The temporary ceasefire allowed a fleeting moment of respite—but the work ahead was monumental.
Repairing the obstructed towers, reinforcing conduits, recalibrating runes, and restoring barrier formations were projects that would normally take weeks, even months, yet now had to be executed under the constant pressure of enemy return. Every lattice pulse, every repair rune, and every energy channel was pushed to maximum output, working at speeds that defied normal cultivation practices.
Repair golems moved ceaselessly, lifting shattered beams, shoring up skeletal scaffolds, and supporting incomplete Frost Towers. Rune engineers recalibrated damaged nodes, restored regeneration conduits, and reinforced auxiliary Death Tower energy channels. Medics and alchemists administered antidotes and energy-stabilizing elixirs to exhausted cultivators, keeping them functional despite fatigue and poison exposure.
> Engineer Lyren (yelling over the hum of conduits):
"If we were doing this normally, it would take months! Weeks, at least! Now every pulse, every node, every tower must be restored in hours!"
Material conversion spells reforged shattered timber and stone into lattice-reinforced walls. Obstructed Frost Tower scaffolds were magically reinforced with supporting beams, wards, and runes—all done at a speed that would destroy lesser conduits if misaligned. Even Death Towers, overtaxed and humming with critical energy, had auxiliary channels integrated in record time.
> Rune Master Faelin (pointing to a lattice node):
"Every formation pulse must be continuous! There is no room for error—the next bombardment will exploit any weak point immediately!"
Time had been compressed. What normally required weeks of meticulous work and slow energy calibration was now condensed into hours, each second a battle against exhaustion, conduit overload, and structural instability. Poison radiation continued to swirl outside the walls, reminding everyone that every repair was temporary until the next wave.
Even under impossible strain, the defenders moved as one: repair golems, medics, engineers, and cultivators weaving a fragile lifeline across the obstructed towers, partially rebuilt walls, and stressed lattice. The Western Region had become a crucible where weeks of repair had to be executed in a single day, a feat of endurance, precision, and sheer will.
> Engineer Lyren (gritting his teeth, adjusting a conduit):
"We may not have weeks, but if we push every formation, every conduit, every repair pulse… maybe the line holds through the evening."
The battlefield remained apocalyptic: skeletal Frost Towers strained under obstruction, Death Towers hummed at near-critical output, and poison waves rolled across shattered plains. Yet through exhaustion, meticulous repair, and maximum energy use, the Western Region held, a fragile bastion ready for the next inevitable onslaught.
The sun had long been swallowed by ash and green poison haze. Shadows flickered over skeletal Frost Towers, still obstructed and trembling under incomplete construction. The Western Region's walls, lattice conduits, and fortified barriers were stabilized only through maximum-effort repairs that would normally have taken weeks or months.
Now, the enemy resumed their assault. Siege engines thundered across the plains, massive projectiles tearing into partially repaired walls. Banshees screamed through the air, trailing toxic clouds, while undead tree beings surged forward, each step shaking the frozen ground. Death Tower volleys clashed with the green-tinged poison, arcs illuminating the night in bursts of crimson light.
> Lieutenant Kaelven (shouting over the roar):
"All formations, brace! Every Frost Tower node, every conduit—hold! Repair pulses, now!"
Corpses of countless fallen filled the plains, stacking into mountains, ash rising in turbulent clouds that blotted out the already dim light. The battlefield had become a living mausoleum; every step forward brought the defenders face-to-face with death incarnate.
Amid the chaos, a figure emerged atop a scorched ridge: the lord of the assaulting cult, frost-tinted and cloaked in poisonous haze, commanding his legions with silent authority. With a wave of his hand, new waves of banshees, undead tree beings, and siege engines surged forward, coordinated and unrelenting, each attack more precise than the last.
> Cult Lord (voice carrying over the battlefield, cold and commanding):
"Push the walls to the edge! Leave nothing standing! Every tower, every formation, every soul—crush them beneath our might!"
Even the partially obstructed Frost Towers groaned under the bombardment, scaffolds trembling. Death Towers fired in layered volleys, their conduits pushed to near-critical output. Repair golems darted among walls, rethreading lattice nodes, reinforcing barriers, and shoring up obstructed scaffolds, their movements frantic but precise. Medics and alchemists administered antidotes and stabilizing elixirs, keeping cultivators alive amid the radiating poison.
The evening sky roared with fire and green haze, each volley of siege weapons and Death Tower energy shaking the obstructed towers to their limits. Yet despite the overwhelming assault, the defenders' efforts held the line—barely.
> Engineer Lyren (panting, shouting to a fellow golem master):
"Every repair pulse, every rune alignment… we're burning through months of work in hours!"
Corpses continued to pile, ash clouds thickened, and the Western Region trembled beneath unrelenting assault, yet the line did not break. The cult lord's eyes swept over the battlefield, assessing weaknesses, preparing for his next decisive move, knowing that even a momentary falter among the defenders could shatter the fragile equilibrium.
The night had truly begun, and the Western Region's defenders braced for the longest, deadliest hours yet.
The sun had long been swallowed by ash and green poison haze. Shadows flickered over skeletal Frost Towers, still obstructed and trembling under incomplete construction. The Western Region's walls, lattice conduits, and fortified barriers were stabilized only through maximum-effort repairs that would normally have taken weeks or months.
Now, the enemy resumed their assault. Siege engines thundered across the plains, massive projectiles tearing into partially repaired walls. Banshees screamed through the air, trailing toxic clouds, while undead tree beings surged forward, each step shaking the frozen ground. Death Tower volleys clashed with the green-tinged poison, arcs illuminating the night in bursts of crimson light.
> Lieutenant Kaelven (shouting over the roar):
"All formations, brace! Every Frost Tower node, every conduit—hold! Repair pulses, now!"
Corpses of countless fallen filled the plains, stacking into mountains, ash rising in turbulent clouds that blotted out the already dim light. The battlefield had become a living mausoleum; every step forward brought the defenders face-to-face with death incarnate.
Amid the chaos, a figure emerged atop a scorched ridge: the lord of the assaulting cult, frost-tinted and cloaked in poisonous haze, commanding his legions with silent authority. With a wave of his hand, new waves of banshees, undead tree beings, and siege engines surged forward, coordinated and unrelenting, each attack more precise than the last.
> Cult Lord (voice carrying over the battlefield, cold and commanding):
"Push the walls to the edge! Leave nothing standing! Every tower, every formation, every soul—crush them beneath our might!"
Even the partially obstructed Frost Towers groaned under the bombardment, scaffolds trembling. Death Towers fired in layered volleys, their conduits pushed to near-critical output. Repair golems darted among walls, rethreading lattice nodes, reinforcing barriers, and shoring up obstructed scaffolds, their movements frantic but precise. Medics and alchemists administered antidotes and stabilizing elixirs, keeping cultivators alive amid the radiating poison.
The evening sky roared with fire and green haze, each volley of siege weapons and Death Tower energy shaking the obstructed towers to their limits. Yet despite the overwhelming assault, the defenders' efforts held the line—barely.
> Engineer Lyren (panting, shouting to a fellow golem master):
"Every repair pulse, every rune alignment… we're burning through months of work in hours!"
Corpses continued to pile, ash clouds thickened, and the Western Region trembled beneath unrelenting assault, yet the line did not break. The cult lord's eyes swept over the battlefield, assessing weaknesses, preparing for his next decisive move, knowing that even a momentary falter among the defenders could shatter the fragile equilibrium.
The night had truly begun, and the Western Region's defenders braced for the longest, deadliest hours yet.
The Western Region battlefield had become a furnace of chaos. Poison radiated in waves, ash blocked the sky, skeletal Frost Towers trembled under obstruction, and Death Towers fired relentlessly, arcs of crimson energy striking through the green haze. The defenders had stabilized the walls with maximum-effort repairs—but now, a new terror descended.
From every flank, all ten lords of the enemy coalition emerged, each a master of devastation. With synchronized precision, they coordinated the assault, directing swarms of banshees, undead tree beings, and siege engines. Every move was calculated; every volley aimed to exploit even the slightest flaw in the obstructed Frost Towers or weakened barrier nodes.
> Lord of the Eastern Vein (commanding):
"Focus the left wall! Disrupt the lattice and the Frost Tower scaffolds—collapse their conduits!"
> Lord of Tang Sect (shouting across the battlefield):
"Right flank! Poison wave intensified—every formation pulse must fracture!"
> Lord of the Obsidian Sect (calm, measured):
"Center push! Crush the barrier nodes! Leave no opening intact!"
The combined assault battered the walls and lattice formations. Conduits screamed under strain. Barrier nodes flickered under repeated volleys. Every obstructed Frost Tower groaned under the unrelenting energy draw. Repair golems and rune engineers moved frantically, stabilizing scaffolds, reinforcing damaged lattice, and recalibrating regeneration conduits—but even their efforts were stretched to the limit.
> Engineer Lyren (panting, pointing to lattice nodes):
"Barrier formation critical! Every node on the left and center is at maximum strain! Frost Towers are obstructed—we can't hold much longer!"
> Rune Master Faelin (voice strained):
"Repair pulses are continuous, but the Death Towers are overheating! Every formation must be synchronized!"
The battlefield was apocalyptic: ash swirled, poison waves shimmered, and corpses piled into mountains, yet the defenders' lattice pulses, Death Tower volleys, and partially obstructed Frost Towers held—barely.
> Lieutenant Kaelven (yelling over the roar):
"Every node, every conduit, every pulse—synchronize! The line must endure!"
The ten lords pressed relentlessly. Siege engines crashed into walls, banshees tore through gaps in the lattice, and undead tree beings shattered barricades with enormous roots. Each impact vibrated through obstructed Frost Towers, threatening collapse. Barrier nodes flickered violently as conduits screamed under the strain of simultaneous repair and attack.
Despite the chaos, the defenders moved with grim precision. Repair golems, medics, and rune engineers coordinated seamlessly, working at speeds that normally would take weeks compressed into hours. Every pulse of Death Tower energy, every reinforced scaffold, and every restored rune was a lifeline against total collapse.
The night deepened, and the battlefield became a maelstrom of death, poison, and fire. The Western Region walls and formations were pushed to the edge of collapse, groaning under the relentless assault of all ten lords—but the defenders endured, holding together a fragile lattice of survival against impossible odds.
The Western Region battlefield had become a furnace of chaos. Poison radiated in waves, ash blocked the sky, skeletal Frost Towers trembled under obstruction, and Death Towers fired relentlessly, arcs of crimson energy striking through the green haze. The defenders had stabilized the walls with maximum-effort repairs—but now, a new terror descended.
From every flank, all ten lords of the enemy coalition emerged, each a master of devastation. With synchronized precision, they coordinated the assault, directing swarms of banshees, undead tree beings, and siege engines. Every move was calculated; every volley aimed to exploit even the slightest flaw in the obstructed Frost Towers or weakened barrier nodes.
> Lord of the Eastern Vein (commanding):
"Focus the left wall! Disrupt the lattice and the Frost Tower scaffolds—collapse their conduits!"
> Lord of Tang Sect (shouting across the battlefield):
"Right flank! Poison wave intensified—every formation pulse must fracture!"
> Lord of the Obsidian Sect (calm, measured):
"Center push! Crush the barrier nodes! Leave no opening intact!"
The combined assault battered the walls and lattice formations. Conduits screamed under strain. Barrier nodes flickered under repeated volleys. Every obstructed Frost Tower groaned under the unrelenting energy draw. Repair golems and rune engineers moved frantically, stabilizing scaffolds, reinforcing damaged lattice, and recalibrating regeneration conduits—but even their efforts were stretched to the limit.
> Engineer Lyren (panting, pointing to lattice nodes):
"Barrier formation critical! Every node on the left and center is at maximum strain! Frost Towers are obstructed—we can't hold much longer!"
> Rune Master Faelin (voice strained):
"Repair pulses are continuous, but the Death Towers are overheating! Every formation must be synchronized!"
The battlefield was apocalyptic: ash swirled, poison waves shimmered, and corpses piled into mountains, yet the defenders' lattice pulses, Death Tower volleys, and partially obstructed Frost Towers held—barely.
> Lieutenant Kaelven (yelling over the roar):
"Every node, every conduit, every pulse—synchronize! The line must endure!"
The ten lords pressed relentlessly. Siege engines crashed into walls, banshees tore through gaps in the lattice, and undead tree beings shattered barricades with enormous roots. Each impact vibrated through obstructed Frost Towers, threatening collapse. Barrier nodes flickered violently as conduits screamed under the strain of simultaneous repair and attack.
Despite the chaos, the defenders moved with grim precision. Repair golems, medics, and rune engineers coordinated seamlessly, working at speeds that normally would take weeks compressed into hours. Every pulse of Death Tower energy, every reinforced scaffold, and every restored rune was a lifeline against total collapse.
The night deepened, and the battlefield became a maelstrom of death, poison, and fire. The Western Region walls and formations were pushed to the edge of collapse, groaning under the relentless assault of all ten lords—but the defenders endured, holding together a fragile lattice of survival against impossible odds.