From Ruin to Reign Leander's Unbreakable Will novel Chapter 385

Mount Martial—known in ancient times as the Great Mountain and later called Mount Harmony—was the sacred ground of Astria's Taoist tradition. Nestled within the Northlake region, it was praised through the ages as "a peerless wonder of the world, the foremost immortal mountain beneath the heavens."

For centuries, Mount Martial had produced one prodigy after another. Around six hundred years ago, it reached its golden age when a true Taoist master emerged—a figure later revered as Saint Greaterson.

Saint Greaterson's cultivation was beyond compare. He dominated an era, earning the reverence of every faction under the heavens. His legacy, the Eternal Flow Technique, was passed down through generations, spreading far and wide. Today, it was practiced by men and women alike, young and old—a symbol of balance and strength that transcended time.

The mountain's front slopes had long been developed into a major tourist destination, bustling year-round with visitors from across Astria.

But while the front mountain teemed with noise and excitement, three army-green jeeps, each bearing military plates, quietly made their way up the back mountain.

Mount Martial had seventy-two peaks, thirty-six cliffs, twenty-four valleys, eleven caves, three deep pools, nine springs, ten ponds, and nine wells. The convoy was heading straight for the highest of the seventy-two peaks.

Most people knew of the Palace of Concord and the Golden Sanctum, but few realized that deep within the heart of those seventy-two peaks lay a hidden sanctuary known only to the initiated—Martial Hall.

That secluded hall was the true sacred heart of Mount Martial, where only the most devoted disciples were ever allowed to set foot.

The jeeps stopped halfway up the mountain when the road vanished into rock. The doors opened, and a tall, silver-haired man in a crisp military uniform stepped out—Logan.

With several guards following him, Logan began the steep climb along a narrow forest trail leading toward the summit.

By the time they reached roughly seven-tenths of the way up, the path ended at a sheer cliff. A few guards volunteered to climb it by hand, but Logan raised a hand to stop them.

Reaching into his coat, he drew out a token engraved with the Tai Chi Diagram and called out in a firm, commanding voice.

"I am Logan of the Riverstone family from Highcliffe, bearer of the Token of Balance. I humbly request an audience with the Grandmaster of Mount Martial. Please, reveal yourself!"

Though Logan was past seventy, his voice was deep and steady, echoing through the mountains with a weight that lingered in the air.

For a while, there was only silence. The guards exchanged puzzled looks.

Then suddenly, the wind shifted.

A sharp gust roared through the peaks, sending the mists swirling like waves. The fog rolled and rose, twisting as if alive.

The guards stood frozen, their eyes widening in disbelief as the clouds began to move in deliberate formation—coalescing, turning, and finally shaping into a vast, glowing Tai Chi Diagram that slowly spun in midair.

They were speechless. Even as elite military guards accustomed to danger and discipline, none of them had ever witnessed anything remotely like this.

Logan stood firm, holding the Token of Balance, his gaze fixed on the center of that massive, turning symbol.

From its heart, a small black speck began to grow larger—until it took the shape of a tall man in flowing robes, descending lightly as though carried by the wind itself.

In his hand was a horsetail whisk, his age impossible to tell. With a single step, he seemed to traverse centuries—the distance between them closed in the blink of an eye.

The guards could only stare, struck dumb. To them, the man might as well have been an immortal descending from the clouds.

The figure approached without a sound; even his footsteps left no trace. When he stopped before Logan, he raised one hand—and the Token of Balance floated from Logan's grasp as if drawn by an invisible force, settling gently into the man's palm.

"The Token of Balance…"

The man's voice was quiet, almost reverent, yet it carried the weight of centuries—like wind passing over the bones of history.

"It truly is the Token of Balance."

His fingers brushed lightly across the intricate Tai Chi emblem carved into the token, his gaze shifting with emotions too complex to name.

Decades ago, among these very seventy-two peaks, two of Mount Martial's most revered masters had faced each other in a duel that stunned the entire sect. It was not a battle to the death, but one to determine mastery—a test of skill, not survival.

The two had once been brothers in all but blood, bound by years of shared training and mutual respect. Yet the victor of that duel would ascend as the Grandmaster of Mount Martial, inheriting the sect's most sacred techniques. The one who lost would be given the Token of Balance—an honor, but also a mark of exile—stripped of the right to ever vie for leadership again.

In the end, he became Grandmaster. Homer, the defeated one, took the Token and left the mountain in silence. He had never returned—not once in all these years.

A cultivator of that level possessed innate vitality—an extended life span easily exceeding a century and a half. Unless he faced catastrophic misfortune, there was simply no way Homer could have died.

"Mr. Pierce," Logan said gravely, steadying himself under the pressure, "that is precisely why I came."

He drew a slow breath, each word deliberate.

"Two days ago, in Highcliffe… Homer was killed—with a single punch—by a young man."

"A young man?"

Galen paused only a beat, and a name flashed through his mind.

"Jeff Ashcroft."

Though he had long lived atop the peak and kept his distance from the world, Galen's disciples were many, and news from the martial world reached him frequently. He had already heard of this young, formidable prodigy and had watched him with quiet interest.

If Homer had been killed by a young man, there was no one else in all of Astria who could likely have done it.

"That's him," Logan said, nodding hard and clasping his fists again in salute to Galen.

"Mr. Pierce, my two grandsons were thrown off Westvale Peak by Jeff. Their limbs were shattered; they're left disabled for life," he said.

"Homer and I were close for twenty years. He cared deeply for me, and because of matters involving the Riverstone family, he died at Jeff's hand.

"We were ready to move against Jeff. But he is one of the martial world's strongest. We needed an unmatched master—a steadying anchor—to make sure our plan would succeed without fail."

Logan's gaze turned steely; his words carried a hard, unforgiving resolve.

"I came with the Token of Balance to ask you to come down from the mountain—for my Riverstone family, for Homer—to be that decisive force that ensures Jeff can no longer rise again."