The Red River did not get its name from blood—at least, not until today. Traditionally, the name referred to the iron-rich silt that turned the waters a muddy ochre during the spring floods. But as the three thousand armored warriors of the Hebei-Peng Family crest the northern ridge, the river looks less like a landmark and more like a grave.
Leading the Alliance vanguard was Peng Mu, the third brother of the Peng Patriarch. He was a mountain of a man, even by the standards of the "Noble Savages." His upper body was encased in black iron plates, and strapped to his back was a 'Mountain Splitting Blade'—a massive, slab-like hunk of steel that weighed more than two grown men.
"Look at them," Peng Mu spat, gesturing toward the southern bank. "Mountains of scrolls and decades of hiding, only to send twenty men to block a river crossing. Does the Yun Patriarch think we'll be bored to death by their poetry?"
On the opposite bank, twenty warriors in white linen stood in a perfect, silent line. They were the Swift Spears, the Yun Clan's primary reconnaissance and defensive unit. They carried no shields and wore no armor. Each man held a spear of pale, flexible ash tipped with a head of "Spirit Iron" that hummed with a faint, crystalline resonance.
"Young Master Baek-Ho gave us an hour," the Yun captain said, his voice carrying across the water with the effortless clarity of a man who had mastered "Sound-Transmission." "If you turn back now, the Hebei-Peng lineage may yet survive the week."
Peng Mu roared, a sound that physically shook the reeds along the bank. "Vanguard! Form the 'Rampaging Ox'! Crush their dantians and leave the river for the crows!"
The Alliance warriors charged. Three thousand "Peak" and "First-Rate" masters hammered into the shallow water, their heavy boots kicking up sprays of orange mud. To any ordinary strategist, twenty men against three thousand was a mathematical impossibility. But the Yun Clan did not fight with numbers. They fought with geometry.
"Universal Origin Scripture: First Harmonic," the Yun captain commanded.
The twenty spearmen shifted simultaneously into the Green Jade Horse stance. Instead of bracing for impact, they leaned forward, their spear-tips tracing circular patterns in the air. This was the "Wave Hands Like Clouds" philosophy—redirecting the kinetic energy of a stampede into a localized vortex.
As the first wave of Peng warriors reached the midpoint of the river, they swung their massive blades. The air should have screamed with the weight of the steel. Instead, there was only a sickening thrum.
The Yun warriors utilized Slash Projection. They didn't wait for the blades to arrive. By vibrating their internal energy at the atmospheric frequency of the river valley, they manifested "Sword Force" dozens of yards ahead of their actual weapons.
Invisible spear-tips erupted from the very air inside the Peng warriors' guards. One moment, a Peng master was roaring in triumph; the next, a puncture wound appeared in his throat, his black iron armor offering no more resistance than wet paper.
"What is this?" Peng Mu screamed, as the front three ranks of his elite vanished in a spray of real crimson. "They aren't even moving! Are they using arrays?"
"It is not an array, Savage," the Yun captain replied, his spear flickering like a tongue of white flame. "It is resonance. Your blades rely on mass. Our spears rely on the Truth."
The slaughter was geometric. Every time a Peng warrior tried to close the distance, the Swift Spears shifted their weight, their movements mimicking the "Divergent Flow" of wind. They occupied the "dead zones" of the heavy blades, striking with a precision that targeted the exact "Mana centers" of their enemies.
Desperate, Peng Mu unsheathed his Mountain Splitting Blade and leaped across the river, aiming a strike that could cleave a fortress gate. He utilized the Thunderclap Sword Art, his blade glowing with a destructive violet hue.
The Yun captain didn't dodge. He moved into the strike, utilizing the Black Glacier Charge.
As the massive blade descended, the captain's spear-tip touched the side of the steel. The violet glow didn't explode—it froze. A wave of "Heart-Chilling Frost" traveled up the blade and into Peng Mu's arms, instantly turning his internal Ki into stagnant ice.
The giant crashed into the water, his Dantian shattered not by force, but by the absolute cessation of movement.
By the time the sun dipped below the ridge, the Red River had earned its name. Of the three thousand warriors who had marched, only a handful of survivors crawled back toward the northern ridge, their spirits broken more thoroughly than their weapons. The twenty Yun spearmen remained on the southern bank, their white robes unstained, their formation as perfect as the moment the sun had risen.
The first pillar of the Alliance had not just fallen; it had been dismantled.