Chapter 10: Carnage and Promotion

Suddenly, a loud crash—the aftermath of weapons clashing. The shockwave grew and spread, scattering the Heavenly Soldiers.

General Lee’s voice came from the front:

"All troops attack, flatten Flower Fruit Mountain!"

The air tasted like copper and ozone. Every scream echoed off the rocks, and the ground shook with the thunder of a thousand boots.

The shockwave was strong; some Primordial Immortal Heavenly Soldiers with connections were severely injured. Ethan also felt his spiritual energy stagnate, but being far away, he immediately took an elixir, stabilized his energy.

Before he recovered, he saw a discipline officer draw his blade and behead a Heavenly Soldier still in place. General Lee’s order had been given, the war drums resounded. To hear the drum and not advance is to defy the army—the penalty is death.

Ethan immediately raised his spear, ordered his men to attack. The battlefield was vast, but all were immortals—a thousand miles in a flash was normal. Fierce fighting broke out quickly.

The 118th Regiment’s hundred thousand Heavenly Soldiers followed the late Heavenly Immortal commander to attack a huge mountain occupied by demons. Generals against generals, soldiers against soldiers—Ethan knew his own strength. He could handle small demons, but if he faced a demon king, he would die.

This was still the outer area of Flower Fruit Mountain; the demons here were not ancient bloodlines, just ordinary demons—mostly Primordial Immortal, True Immortal, even many not yet immortal.

Ethan’s regiment was not a main force, nor was his battalion or company. Let alone Ethan as a company commander getting any tough opponents.

A snake-headed demon, about late True Immortal, with a scarlet tongue still stained with Heavenly Soldier blood, saw Ethan’s hundred-man team and charged.

Ethan waved his hand, the hundred Heavenly Soldiers instantly activated their barrier. No matter the enemy’s strength, defense first.

The snake demon, blocked by the barrier, transformed into its true form—a hundred-foot giant python. It coiled around the barrier, which cracked. Seeing the barrier about to break, Ethan had to attack.

With a wave of his right hand, the hundred Heavenly Soldiers changed formation—from defense to attack—scattering and thrusting their spears at the snake demon from all directions.

The snake demon missed, enraged, raised its head and swallowed dozens of Heavenly Soldiers. Seeing his comrades eaten, Ethan also became ruthless. He threw his spear at the snake’s head, drew his sword, which split into two, then four, then over a thousand swords flying around him, attacking the snake demon...

This small battle did not cause any ripple; throughout the thirty million miles of Flower Fruit Mountain, such battles were everywhere. Who among the combatants had not endured countless hardships to become immortal? Now, on this meat grinder battlefield, lives were as cheap as weeds. No one cared.

Ethan leaned on his spear, exhausted, half the spear stuck in the snake demon’s head, looking at the distant battlefield, sighed again. No matter how well you fight here, without capturing the Great Sage, it’s still defeat.

No time to think. After a short rest, he gathered his remaining forty or fifty men and went deeper into the forest, where even tougher demons awaited.

War is always the same, whether you’re in a muddy field in Normandy or the shadow of a sacred mountain—someone sends you in, and the world forgets the names of the fallen. The carnage was endless, the losses impersonal. I gripped my spear and pressed forward, wondering if there’d ever be a day I fought for something more than survival.

Clang, clang, clang—the sound of the zither.

Ethan killed a not-yet-immortal little demon, led his remaining ten or so Heavenly Soldiers off the battlefield.

Back in the sky, not in formation, just waited for all surviving 118th Regiment Heavenly Soldiers, then followed the deputy commander back to the Heavenly Command without a word. The commander died in battle, even his soul shattered. The 118th Regiment was disbanded.

When I heard this, my mind went blank. I served in the 118th Regiment for forty or fifty thousand years, knew every immortal herb and cloud here. This was the only place in the Immortal Realm I, Ethan Summers, could call home. Just because General Lee was defeated, the Eastern Front had no backing, over forty numbers were revoked at once.

The herald who announced the disbanding also brought personnel changes.

"Ethan Summers, mid-stage True Immortal, company commander, meritorious in the Flower Fruit Mountain battle, transferred to the 256th Regiment of the Western Front as battalion commander of the Independent Battalion."

I was promoted. Should I be happy? A new badge, a new title, but it all felt paper-thin. He missed the days when victory meant a slice of pie at Lacey’s diner, not a line in some cosmic ledger.

Cultivating for tens of thousands of years, was I just a brick for the Heavenly Command, moved wherever needed?

Two hundred years had passed since the Flower Fruit Mountain battle. For immortals, two hundred years is just one meditation. But for Ethan, these two hundred years were longer than twenty thousand.

Since transferring to the Western Front, Ethan was almost never idle. There were personnel changes almost every day. Every change required meetings, listening to appointment reports, then writing reflections. Utterly annoying.

Last report unfinished, Ethan was notified to attend a meeting. He crumpled the immortal paper on his desk, irritably tossed it out the window. Cursing, he left the barracks for regiment headquarters. Nearing, he adjusted his expression, entered the hall seriously. Found a middle-front seat, sat quietly, said nothing.

Soon, an old Taoist in coarse robes entered. The old Taoist looked fierce; Ethan thought he looked like a bad guy. Ethan was about to stand and salute, but the discipline officer ahead didn’t move, as if he’d forgotten.

The old Taoist didn’t care, went to the center. Suddenly released Golden Immortal power. The pressure made over a thousand officers instinctively afraid. Then a hoarse voice sounded.

"I’m Howard Stanley. I’ve been ordered to command the 256th Regiment."

He paused, looked around, continued:

"I didn’t want this, but had no choice. Today is just to meet you all, so you know me on the battlefield."

Who knows what the officers thought, but none showed it. The new regiment commander didn’t care, left indifferently. Then the front rows of regiment and battalion leaders left in turn. The lower-ranking officers got up, left in groups.

Ethan looked around, wondering why the Western Front was so unruly, growing more suspicious. He followed the crowd out.

Before reaching the barracks, he received orders. The 256th Regiment’s Independent Battalion was to garrison Pinehill Mountain in West Niu County. Ethan took the order, returned to barracks, gathered his thousand men, took equipment, and marched to Pinehill Mountain.

Though promoted, his soldiers were far worse than before. Before, Heavenly Soldier selection was strict—only those of upright family and orthodox Path could join. Now his soldiers came from all backgrounds, even dark cultivators. Their cultivation was lower, but their methods were vicious.

Upon reaching Pinehill Mountain, Ethan chose a key pass to set camp, checked passing immortals, claiming to guard against demon attacks. Life was comfortable.

The bureaucracy was the same as any government office back home: endless paperwork, pointless meetings, and a boss who’d rather be anywhere else. Pinehill Mountain felt like a forgotten outpost—a place you sent folks you didn’t want to fire but couldn’t promote. Still, I did my job. After so many years, what else was there?