"Your Majesty!" The eunuchs and attendants outside the imperial quarters saw the Emperor hobbling out, and immediately rushed forward, eager to offer assistance. Zhang Yuanqing breathed a sigh of relief, yet didn't forget to uphold his image—loudly declaring, "There are assassins! Quickly inform the Imperial City Guard!" The eunuchs and attendants had also noticed the intense fighting inside the quarters, and with growing anxiety, hurried off to various parts of the palace, spreading the cries of "There are assassins!" and "Come to rescue the Emperor!" Word spread rapidly—first from ten to a hundred, then from hundred to countless—so that rescue calls echoed throughout the outer courtyard of the imperial quarters. With two eunuchs supporting him, Zhang Yuanqing, wounded on his lower leg, made his way toward the open plaza outside the quarters. While waiting for reinforcements from the Imperial City Guard, he leaned on the sleeve of the eunuch on his left and whispered a few words to him. The eunuch paused, then nodded firmly: "Understood!" And then, without looking back, he hurried into the night. Suddenly, a vast blaze drifted in from the distance, accompanied by the rhythmic clink of armor. A contingent of imperial guards, carrying torches, arrived first, led by Zheng Longtu—the same commander Suan Qing had seen earlier during the day. "Your Majesty!" Zheng Longtu rushed forward, clutching his sword, his voice tense. "I have come too late to attend to your safety. I am at fault, and I shall be held accountable." With the torchlight, he examined Suan Qing carefully. Seeing no signs of injury, the sternness in his expression softened slightly. Suan Qing quickly instructed, "Seize the three female assassins—keep them alive." Zheng Longtu nodded and waved his hand broadly: "Seize the assassins!" The imperial guards behind him responded with a thunderous chorus, setting down their torches and advancing swiftly toward the palace. Then, a steady hum rose—like the fluttering of insects—dense and resonant. In the shifting glow of the torches, Suan Qing noticed a creature alight upon a eunuch's face. The insect was about two inches long, entirely black, with thin wings, its species unidentifiable. "Ah..." The eunuch cried out in a piercing, agonized voice, collapsing and rolling onto the ground in pain. The imperial guards did the same. Several firemasters among the guards raised their torches and blew hard, sending flames several meters long soaring into the sky, illuminating the entire square and the swarms of insects above. "Sssshh..." The insects touched by the flames fell off in a rustling sound, emitting a charred, acrid odor. "These are the gushe insects—there must be hidden practitioners of witchcraft within the palace," Zheng Longtu said, his expression shifting, and ordered, "Hold fast to the imperial quarters, extinguish the insect swarms, and protect the Emperor." He seized Zhang Yuanqing's shoulder firmly and urged, "Emperor, follow me to the side pavilion for temporary shelter." Without hesitation, he dragged Zhang Yuanqing along. The frail Zhang Yuanqing, unable to move on his own, could only be pulled forward. "Clang!" Zheng Longtu kicked open the door of the side pavilion, ushered Zhang Yuanqing inside, and closed and latched the door behind them. Fortunately, throughout the journey, the gushe insects did not pursue them After closing the door, Zheng Longtu, who had been tense and serious, suddenly became incredibly relaxed. He walked over to the table, poured himself a cup of water, and sipped it slowly and calmly. Zhang Yuanqing remained at the door, observing the situation outside through the crack. More and more imperial guards were arriving, and more and more insect swarms were advancing. The swarms and the guards became locked in a steady struggle, while a fierce fire broke out inside the royal quarters. The three female assassins and Li Changshi had not yet emerged. The witch-physician behind the scenes had not directed the swarms to attack me—instead, the assault on the guards was clearly intended to hold them in place, creating an opportunity for the three female assassins to escape. Thus, the identity of the witch-physician who controlled the swarms now became clear. It must be Xiao Yuan! Only Xiao Yuan would have rescued them. But how did Xiao Yuan know their identities? What role did Xiao Yuan play? The queen had certainly been excluded—she had not attacked me, and her mission was not to assassinate the ailing emperor. But she couldn't save me either, which means she either doesn't know that the incompetent emperor is Yuan Shi, or she's still observing... Zhang Yuanqing quickly analyzed the situation. At that moment, a voice came from beside him: "Your Majesty, the side pavilion is secure. You can now rest assured." "Commander Zheng, why not have the imperial guards stationed outside the side pavilion? What if thieves break in?" Zhang Yuanqing turned his gaze back, facing Zheng Longtu inside the room. He suddenly went rigid, his back pressed against the lattice door, motionless. A sword was now pressed firmly against his chest. "You..." Zhang Yuanqing's eyes widened in surprise, staring at this commander of the Imperial City Office—by blood relation, Zheng Longtu was Zhao Shun's cousin, and thus should have been a trusted confidant. The flickering candlelight in the side pavilion cast a gentle glow on Zheng Longtu's face, making his expression appear uncertain as well. Zheng Longtu spoke calmly: "If the imperial guards are stationed outside, how would I be able to assassinate the Emperor?" Indeed, you are fortunate—the peculiar poison crafted for you has failed to claim your life. It is only then that I have had to risk my life and carry out this assassination. Who among you devised the brilliant strategy of using poison to counter poison? The imperial physicians in the palace lack such expertise. …… Linxia City. Night is hushed and misty, all sounds of life quiet. The flames on the city walls sway gently in the night breeze, casting a line of torchlight along the ramparts, like a coiling dragon. As the guardian of the night, Zhao, the City God, naturally assumes the duty of night watch. Standing atop the ramparts, he gazes out over the dark expanse beyond the city, where the northern dynasty's army has pitched its tents by the river. To his eyes, only faint silhouettes are visible. The first night of the arrival of the quest was remarkably calm—so calm that the city guards yawned continuously. After the daytime trials involving the insects and their toxins, the northern army found no further opportunities for action and thus remained at ease, facing each other across the battlefield, neither side daring to initiate hostilities. Yet Zhao Chenghuang knew that all this was merely quiet before the storm—from the perspective of the quest, it needed time for the Spirit Realm travelers to adapt and gather intelligence. From the practical standpoint, the siege itself was a prolonged campaign, possibly lasting ten to fifteen days of sustained resistance. War would inevitably come. Zhao Chenghuang had never experienced such a large-scale conflict before, feeling a mix of nervousness and tension, though not fear—after all, as a night-wanderer deity, the battlefield was, in essence, his home. For there were countless bodies and spirits lying still throughout the land. As his thoughts drifted, he noticed a thick mist beginning to spread across the open fields, gradually enveloping the sky and deepening the already melancholy night. At the same time, the vengeful spirits he had stationed along the field's edge detected swift footsteps moving rapidly through the mist. The very next moment, the spirits wrapped in the mist lost contact with him. Zhao Chenghuang was struck with alarm, shouting, "Attack! Attack!" Shouting loudly, he rushed to the drum, grabbed the drumstick, and struck it with great force. "Dong-dong-dong!" The deep drumbeats spread through the night, reaching every corner of the city. The quiet barracks instantly came alive. The soldiers on guard, like ants in motion, hurried either to the parade ground to gather or into the storage buildings to fetch defensive equipment and tools. On the city walls, soldiers resting in the watchtower surged out, efficiently retrieving arrows, oil, logs, and operating the crossbows mounted atop the walls. Fu Qingyang, the Mage-Eyed King, and Xiahou Aotian reached the city wall first. Surveying the scene, they saw a thick gray mist rolling in at a pace comparable to that of a swift horse, now less than ten paces from the city walls. Fu Qingyang said firmly, "The mist leader can teleport through the fog—let’s scatter it immediately." This was clearly addressed to Xiahou Aotian. The only armorer in the group opened his inventory calmly, removed a large white fan measuring six feet long (about two meters), and waved it vigorously. "Wheeeew...!" The wind surged, pushing the surging fog back. Xiu Hou Ao Tian strained, continuously waving his fan—taller than that of others—creating an invisible barrier atop the city walls that deflected the rushing mist. As he kept waving, the airflow within a hundred meters grew increasingly turbulent, forming gusts several tens of meters high. Some of these gusts slammed against the city walls, scattering the defenders, while others swept outward across the open plains. The violent winds whipped up the fog, scattering it in all directions or lifting it into the sky. In moments, the thick, smoky fog vanished entirely, revealing the enemy hidden within it to the defenders' eyes—archers on horseback leading the charge, infantry bearing ladders forming the central line, and siege engines drawn by slow warhorses stationed at the rear. Two experienced centurions raised their small flags, signaling commands through flag gestures. In ancient large-scale battles, commands were given through flag signals. Human speech often failed to reach the entire army amidst chaos, even for heroes like Zhang Fei, renowned for breaking through the Long Board Bridge. Soldiers on the city walls adjusted their actions according to the changing hand flags—some drew their bows and aimed at distant targets, others loaded and calibrated their trebuchets. When the Northern Dynasties' cavalry approached within two hundred paces of the city walls, two centurions simultaneously heaved their hand flags heavily. Instantly, an overwhelming barrage of arrows erupted from the walls, falling like a downpour. The heavily armored cavalry of the Northern Dynasties charged through the rain of arrows, advancing until they reached within a hundred paces, then drew their bows to counterattack, resulting in a mutual exchange of arrow volleys between the city walls and the ground. Meanwhile, the infantry advancing on foot, protected by their cavalry, raised their shields, positioned their ladders, and climbed swiftly. At this moment, the garrison troops stationed in the camp had already ascended the walls, armed with defensive equipment, and began hurling beams and stones downward, causing the enemy besiegers to fall like rain. Yet more infantry surged toward the city, crawling like ants up the ladders, climbing swiftly. The defenders brought oil barrels and poured the thick, flammable liquid downward, while the army's fire brigade launched successive streams of flame, igniting the oil. The flames consumed the attacking enemy mercilessly. Fiery blazes erupted beneath the walls, rising in thick, billowing smoke, and the intense heat and smoke tormented even those enemy troops not drenched in the oil. Fu Qingyang watched the scene with cold composure. As a high-ranking scout, he had witnessed such scenes countless times, but Ling Jun, Tian Xia Gui Huo, Zhao Chenghuang, and Xia Hou Aotian had never seen such a scene where lives were treated as mere grass blades—each of them was deeply moved and struck by awe. Their professions had ensured they never encountered large-scale war campaigns. "Whoosh!" A sharp, piercing cry rang out, and an arrow sped across the battlefield, striking Fu Qingyang with astonishing velocity. Fu Qingyang remained motionless, raising his hand to catch the arrow aimed directly at him. Among the enemy ranks, a robust figure surged skyward, charging like a cannonball, laughing wildly, "Yang Ce! I never expected a wine-and-meal-drinking dilettante from a noble family to have any real skill. We haven't had enough action today—let's fight again!" The man wore a blood-red armor, his hair matted into a tangle of dirty braids, with a broad face, flat nose, and single eyelids—typical of a Northern Wei figure. He was General Wan Yan Batian of the Ju Qu Army. "I'll take care of him," the Mago-Eye King exclaimed, already eager, leaping with a solid "thump" and colliding from the side into Wanyan Badao. The impact between the two ancient war gods resonated like the deep, resonant chime of a temple bell—long-lasting and powerful—sending Wanyan Badao crashing into the ranks of cavalry beneath him, shattering both men and horses, with widespread casualties. The two ancient war gods engaged in fierce combat amidst the army, occasionally scaling the city walls or plunging deep into the Northern Dynasty's forces, leaving devastation in their wake wherever they went. Though ranked below Wanyan Badao, the Mago-Eye King's ability to mesmerize and influence his opponent gave him the upper hand, consistently pressuring the eighth-tier Wanyan Badao. Yet, the ancient war gods' unyielding strength—impenetrable to weapons and remarkably resilient—was further enhanced by the constant stream of blood blisters across their bodies. When weary or injured, they could simply seize a soldier and draw upon their vital essence to fully recover. As the battle reached a stalemate, a vibrant, resonant drumming sound erupted from the At the same time, a weight of authority from a high-ranking figure descended upon the battlefield, causing the soldiers, mid-level officers, and senior officers to tremble uncontrollably. Even Fu Qingyang, the overall commander, felt his muscles unconsciously tense, as if facing a formidable adversary. Fu Qingyang's expression was more serious than ever before. Tao Bao Guang... Nine levels?!