Chương 340: The Weight of Old Ways

The leaders and representatives of dozens of the continent's powerful sects and clans had gathered. The air was thick with the weight of centuries of history, pride and deep-seated mistrust. Banners hung from each group, each a declaration of identity and power. The single pristine lotus of the Serene Heart Valley. The interlocking shields of the Ironwood Bastion. The swirling mists of the Whispering Isles Conclave. The roaring flame of the Crimson Sun Clan.

There were some that Li Yu had seen before or acted with, the Azure Wave Sect, The Boreal Empire and the Asura Demon clan to name a few. Li Yu, seated with the Golden Shell Guild's delegation led by Kui, watched the assembly. It was a gathering that could reshape the continent or shatter under the pressure of its own inertia. When all had settled, Lysander stepped into the center platform. He wore no ostentatious robes, only the simple practical attire of his sect.

His calm steady presence commanded a respectful silence as he stepped up. This was an incredibly powerful person and everyone had gathered to hear what he had to say.

"Honored Sect Masters, esteemed Elders, valued friends," he began, his voice resonating with a quiet power that needed no amplification.

"I thank you all for answering our call on such short notice. I know our sect is new and we have not yet earned the deep trust that is forged over centuries. I ask you today not to trust in us but to trust in what your own eyes are seeing across this continent." He paused, his gaze sweeping across the powerful figures before him.

"We are all aware of the recent beast tide that threatened the southern coast, an assault of unusual scale and ferocity. We have all heard the troubling reports from the northern empire, of the coordinated attack that breached their ancient defenses. Many of you in your own territories have seen a rise in skirmishes, in monstrous beasts appearing where they should not, in a palpable restlessness in the very Qi of the world." Lysander chose his words with care, grounding his argument in their shared reality.

He spoke of the symptoms, not the cause. He had to focus them towards real things happening in front of them, in their homes, their place. Threats that they themselves are facing and how uniting together will benefit them.

"These are not isolated incidents," he stated firmly.

"They are tremors, warnings of a coming earthquake. We, the Forest of the Radiant Dawn, propose that we prepare for that earthquake. We propose the formation of an alliance across our entire land. Not to dissolve our sects or cede our sovereignty but to create a united front, a system of mutual support and rapid communication, so that when a true threat presents itself, we are not picked off one by one. We would be one force, ready to act and truly save ourselves." His proposal hung in the air.

The silence that followed was a mix of consideration but more so of deep-seated skepticism. It was the Sect Master of the Ironwood Bastion, a stern man named Lord Tiber who was the first to speak up. His voice was as hard and unyielding as the mountain fortresses his sect was famous for.

"An alliance?" he scoffed, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet amphitheater.

"Sect Master Lysander, with all due respect, you speak of unity as if it were a simple matter. We have alliances already. The Ironwood Bastion has stood with the sects of the western mountains for a thousand years."

"The southern coastal sects have their own pacts. These are bonds of trust, sealed with the blood and sacrifice of generations. You ask us to set these aside for a new, untested 'super alliance' led by… whom? By you?" The accusation was plain: this was a power grab. Lysander's expression remained calm.

"Sect leader Tiber, we do not ask you to set aside your traditions. We ask you to build upon them. Regional pacts are vital but they will not suffice if a threat emerges that strikes the entire continent at once. As for leadership, we propose a council, with each member sect having a voice. The goal is coordination not command." A wizened old woman, the Matriarch of the Whispering Isles Conclave, spoke next, her voice raspy like dry leaves.

"Words. You speak of potential threats and tremors. But I see no earthquakes. I see a beast tide that was repelled. I see an imperial skirmish that was contained. You ask us to pool our resources, to share our secrets, to commit our warriors based on a feeling of danger. Show us this enemy, Sect Master Lysander. Show us this undeniable common threat and you will have your alliance. Until then, you are asking us to prepare for a ghost."

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Her argument resonated with many. The cultivation world was pragmatic and mostly selfish. They reacted to tangible dangers, mainly to their own interests, not abstract possibilities. Elder Mei of the Serene Heart Valley, a woman known for her serene and insightful nature, finally spoke, her tone as calm as a still mountain lake.

"Sect Master Lysander's concerns are not without merit. My own sect has noted the disturbances in the world's Qi. There have indeed been more disasters and fights in recent times. There is indeed a storm on the horizon." She looked around the assembly.

"However, Lord Tiber also speaks the truth. An alliance of this scale… it is a monumental undertaking. My own Sect Matriarch and council of elders would never agree to cede authority without a more present and compelling reason. Trust is not built in a day." This was the crux of the issue. Even those who were sympathetic were bound by tradition and the cautious politics of their own sects. The debate began to fracture, with smaller clans and sects voicing their own concerns.

"And what of us?" called out the leader of a lesser clan from the central plains.

"In this grand alliance would we be equal partners or would we simply become fodder for the ambitions of the larger sects? When a beast tide comes, will it be our sons and daughters sent to die on the front lines to soften the blow for the disciples of the Serene Heart Valley or the Ironwood Bastion?" The chamber erupted into a cacophony of arguments. For hours, the discussion went back and forth, circling the same points of contention.

"This is a solution in search of a problem!" one elder declared.

"And when the problem is at our gates, it will be too late for a solution!" a supporter of the alliance retorted.

"Who guarantees that the Forest of the Radiant Dawn will not use the alliance's combined might for its own ends?" Lord Tiber challenged again.

"Who guarantees the Ironwood Bastion will not hoard its strength and let everywhere burn to protect its own borders?" One of the Elders of the Forest shot back, his patience wearing thin. The debate led nowhere. It was a tangled knot of pride, fear and deeply ingrained self interests. They saw no immediate benefit, only the risk of losing autonomy.

They saw the potential for a few powerful figures at the top of such an alliance to gain immense influence and they feared that power would not be used for the common good. Li Yu watched it all unfold with a sense of weary familiarity. Without a visible, undeniable enemy standing right before them, unity was a pipe dream. People clung to their old ways, their familiar rivalries and their comfortable spheres of influence.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows through the amphitheater it was clear that no consensus would be reached. Lysander, seeing the futility of it all, stepped forward once more to bring the meeting to a close. The result was not what he had hoped for but it was not unexpected. It was precisely what had happened on the Southern Jade Continent in the early days. It took the tangible threat of annihilation to forge them into a single weapon but even now they are fractured and not truly whole.

"I thank you all for your candid discussion," Lysander said, a hint of disappointment coloring his tone.

"It is clear that the time for a formal alliance has not yet come. However, I urge you all to remain vigilant. Increase communication between your sects. The offer to stand together remains should the day come when it is needed." The meeting dissolved. Delegates began to depart, their expressions ranging from smug satisfaction to weary frustration. The grand chance for unity had passed. Later that night, Lysander stood alone on a high balcony, looking out over the moonlit forest. He had done what he could.

Now, they could only wait for the inevitable. The seeds of caution had been planted; perhaps they would sprout when the storm finally broke. As he stood in silent contemplation, a soft chiming sound emanated from his sleeve. He withdrew a small, intricately carved token made of a strange, star-silver metal. It was a long-range communication device that required the equivalent of a small fortune in high-grade spirit stones to operate. He channeled his spiritual energy into the token.

It glowed with a brilliant, blinding light, and a frantic voice, distorted by the vast distance it had traveled, echoed directly in his mind.

"Lysander! It is Elder Fang. The Grand Conclave is breached! The outer defensive perimeters are falling! We are under attack from all sides and require more help. Several different groups and factions are attacking as though united. We need more forces back home, leave a tiny group there to hold the formations and headquarters. Everyone else, including you, is to return back home." The message cut out, the token's light fading to a dull grey. Lysander stood frozen, the cool night air suddenly feeling like ice.

The tremors were over. The earthquake had begun and it was in his home. He knew it was coming but he didn't think it would happen in just a matter of days, he was expecting months.