When the Cannon Fodder Male Supporting Role Picks Up the Script - Chapter 166

Lingshan Sect, known simply as Lingshan, was a land of verdant mountains and crystal waters, warm and springlike all year round. From the main gate to the surrounding valleys, the entire mountain range fell within Lingshan’s vast domain. Under its protection, the people cultivated countless spiritual plants, creating a landscape both lush and serene. It was no wonder that the finest physicians and alchemists in the cultivation world hailed from Lingshan, and that most of the spiritual herbs circulating in the market originated here.

Yet even such a prosperous, well-defended sect now faced invasion. The Xingxiu Sect and Zhuyin Sect advanced together—like two starving beasts descending upon prey—under the pretense of avenging Young Master Yin, when in truth they sought Lingshan’s abundant resources.

Striking suddenly and with full force, the demonic sects breached the mountain’s outer barrier before reinforcements could arrive. Though cultivators from the righteous sects rushed to assist, the protective formations had already been shattered. The invaders’ tactics were ruthless—they infiltrated, burned, looted, and killed with precision. 

To the newly arrived righteous cultivators unfamiliar with the terrain, the situation was nothing short of catastrophic.

As dusk fell upon the western foothills, a small town at Lingshan’s base struggled to hold the line. A hundred Lingshan disciples remained to defend it while evacuating civilians into the mountains. Beyond the walls, an endless tide of demonic cultivators loomed. A dozen young disciples fought at the front, clinging to what remained of their barrier. The monsters conjured by the demonic cultivators tore at it mercilessly, leaving a web of cracks that spread by the second.

The air was thick with blood, smothering the herbal fragrance drifting from nearby fields. Dozens of female disciples in green robes fought shoulder to shoulder, some reinforcing the barrier, others feeding it with their spiritual energy. 

None retreated. They were already too close to the sect’s main gate—if the barrier fell, the monsters would surge straight up the mountain.

The barrier finally collapsed. The backlash flung several disciples back, blood spraying from their lips. Healers rushed forward to tend to them, casting weak defensive spells to hold the line. But the onslaught was overwhelming. The monsters advanced, and within moments, the defenders were nearly engulfed.

“I heard the young master of the Zhuyin Sect led their forces toward the front mountain,” one disciple gasped, voice trembling. “All our allies went there. We didn’t expect their main force to be here… I sent a message, but I don’t think help will come in time.”

Tears streaked her dirt-stained face as she gripped her soft sword, glancing at her wounded sisters beside her.

Her companion, robes soaked in blood, swung her blade with shaking hands. “Even so, we can’t retreat. Even if we die, we won’t let them through!”

They formed a defensive line at the gate, pale but resolute.

Outside the town, a demonic cultivator sneered, raising his hand. Spiritual energy condensed into a pitch-black arrow, demonic flames flickering along its length. With a flick of his sleeve, he released it. The blazing projectile tore through the air toward the Lingshan disciples—Only to vanish in a burst of golden fire.

The black arrow disintegrated before impact, its demonic aura consumed entirely.

“Who—who did that?” someone whispered.

The demon cultivators turned in alarm, their eyes catching two figures high on the cliffs—a man in white and another in red. Their faces were shadowed by the fading light, but their posture radiated effortless power. The Lingshan disciples’ hearts surged with relief.

Reinforcements—finally!

The wind swept across the cliff. White robes rippled like clouds as Yun Zhuoran gazed down upon the dark sea of enemies, his calm eyes gleaming. “Mostly Zhuyin Sect.”

A murmur of energy rippled through the demonic ranks. 

The Heart Demon Weiran, eyes faintly red, stepped forward, smiling. “Brother, let me take this one.”

Yun Zhuoran nodded once. “Go ahead.”

Weiran’s lips curved into a feral grin.

A red shadow leapt from the cliff. The lead demon cultivator sneered and unleashed a horde of monsters to meet him. Against that grotesque tide, the falling red figure looked frail, insignificant. 

The Lingshan disciples cried out—but halfway down, the youth vanished into thin air.

A moment later, black mist surged across the battlefield. The monsters howled in terror as their spiritual bonds were severed one after another. Within seconds, their cries faded into silence.

The demon cultivator choked, clutching his chest as blood spattered from his lips. His beasts—his entire summons—were gone.

Cheers erupted from the Lingshan disciples. 

The red-clad youth reappeared amidst the swirling mist, licking his lips in satisfaction before soaring lightly back to the cliff. Yun Zhuoran met him with a faint smile.

“Finished eating?”

“Full,” Weiran replied, grinning.

Below, the demonic cultivator seethed, but a calm voice stopped him cold.

“Retreat.”

A luxurious black sedan descended, carried by streams of demonic energy. Inside sat a man in black robes, crimson sigils etched into his pale brow, his face eerily similar to Young Master Yin’s.

Yun Zhuoran’s eyes narrowed slightly. The respect shown by the demonic cultivators said enough—this was Sect Leader Yin, the true head of the Zhuyin Sect.

A sinister glint crossed the man’s gaze. “The two Island Masters of Penglai—so alike they could be twins. I see the rumors were true. I didn’t expect the Young Island Master to appear in person.” The Lingshan disciples gasped.

Yun Zhuoran’s expression remained calm. “Sect Leader Yin. Hasn’t the one behind you shown himself yet?”

Sect Leader Yin’s smile faded. His aura surged, demonic pressure spilling across the field. “You killed my son… and dare face me so boldly?”

“Your son died by his own hand,” Yun Zhuoran replied evenly. “He slaughtered innocents in Shengjing, sought the Floating Order, and met his end because of it. You should already know that Yun Duo is dead as well.”

Sect Leader Yin’s knuckles whitened on the armrest. His glare could have frozen steel, yet the white-robed man on the cliff stood unshaken. After a tense silence, Sect Leader Yin exhaled, his fury smothered by caution.

Yun Zhuoran read him instantly. He’s strong—but not invincible. If the Great Ascension cultivators among the demonic ranks joined him, a frontal confrontation would be dangerous, even for him and Weiran.

Weiran noticed his expression and took a step forward, but Yun Zhuoran shook his head. Not yet.

Sect Leader Yin reclined lazily in his chair. “So, Young Island Master of Penglai, you know why I’m here. You and that creature beside you—only two of you came. Are you here to atone?”

“Atone?” Yun Zhuoran repeated coldly.

A subordinate stepped forward at Yin’s signal. “Yun Zhuoran!” he shouted. “You murdered our Young Master and provoked this war. If the righteous path hands you over, our Zhuyin Sect will withdraw. Otherwise, how many more will die because of you?”

Weiran stepped to the cliff’s edge, his tone calm and cutting. “And how many have already died because of you?”

The man sneered. “This all began with Yun Zhuoran. Refuse, and Lingshan will fall—just as Shengjing did!”

The Lingshan disciples trembled with fury but stood their ground, eyes turning to Yun Zhuoran. They didn’t know the full truth, but they knew enough to understand he was not their enemy.

Weiran’s voice turned icy. “Do you really think the righteous will believe your lies? You blame my brother to disguise your greed. You invaded Shengjing for the Floating Order and slaughtered your own people for it. Now you come waving your banner of vengeance, pretending righteousness to sow chaos between the righteous and the demonic. If you truly seek revenge, why not come to Penglai and face us there?”

The man’s face darkened. “Our demand stands. Refuse—and we’ll keep striking until the righteous path collapses.”

Weiran laughed, low and dangerous. “Then try.”

Sect Leader Yin gestured for silence, his cold eyes fixed on the red-clad youth. There was grudging admiration there—tempered by hostility. 

“Young Island Master,” he said, turning back to Yun Zhuoran, “you’ve come to help Lingshan? Or to die for them?”

The tension hung thick.

Then, a crisp, cold voice sliced through the air like lightning.

“What the righteous decide, Sect Leader Yin, is none of your concern. Our Kunwu Sword Sect will answer today. Even in death, we do not yield our own!”

A blade of light tore through the clouds.

Wen Jianxian descended, sword gleaming, landing beside Yun Zhuoran and Weiran. He brushed his blade clean and nodded once to Yun Zhuoran—a silent assurance.

The righteous path had no single ruler. But before Gu Shenshu’s fall, Wen Jianxian had been second only to him in renown, his word carrying immense weight among the sects. Even now, when calamity struck, it was his presence that steadied the masses.

And indeed—his arrival was like the dawn breaking through stormclouds.

Countless sword lights followed him. Disciples from Kunwu Sword Sect, Tiandao Sect, and other righteous factions swept onto the cliff in shining ranks. Qin Zheng, leading Lu Qi and the Tiandao disciples, stood beside Yun Zhuoran and Weiran, their formation tight and resolute.

His clear voice echoed across the mountain: “Even our Tiandao Sect will never forsake its own or let fear divide the righteous. We stand united—Penglai included!”

A golden light flared, and Tong Ye, usually unassuming, appeared at the cliff’s edge. Hands folded across his chest, he spoke evenly, his gaze sharp as frost. “The disciples of Tianqing Sect uphold compassion and righteousness. We would never betray a fellow cultivator.”

One after another, the higher-ranking cultivators who had been defending the front mountain arrived. Several from Lingshan Sect followed closely behind.

At their head stood a tall woman in white and pale-blue robes, a whisk in her hand. Her eyes were calm, clear as still water, and carried a quiet authority. She glanced briefly at Yun Zhuoran, her expression unreadable, before turning her gaze toward the mass of demonic cultivators below.

“The Zhuyin Sect has grown bold indeed,” she said, her tone composed yet cutting. “Do they truly believe they can turn Lingshan Sect into another Shengjing?” Her gaze swept toward the group of wounded Lingshan disciples standing behind Penglai Immortal and Lu Yu, her voice cooling further. “Harm a single one of my disciples—and the Zhuyin Sect will repay it tenfold.”

Though her tone remained restrained, her authority was unmistakable. She was not the sect leader of Lingshan—the actual sect leader stood quietly behind her, head slightly bowed.

Yun Zhuoran understood instantly. Her presence and bearing eclipsed the others entirely. This must be Elder Luoyue, the Grand Elder of Lingshan Sect—exactly the person Gu Shenshu had spoken of.

He let his gaze drift over the gathering once more. Representatives of the four major sects stood together now—the Tiandao Sect, Kunwu Sword Sect, Lingshan Sect, and Tianqing Sect—each commanding immense influence.

The righteous path, which had once shunned him, now stood aligned at his side.