李淳罡死了还是飞升了

He immediately set to work casting various spells on the members of their group, subtly changing the appearance of each of them. None of the changes he made were obvious, but they left the mages looking younger, just different enough not to be easily recognizable.

With some amusement, Arran noticed the man reserved the biggest effort for himself — in a matter of moments, his gray hair turned black, the lines on his face disappeared, and his jaw now looked sharper.

When he finished, there was a look of satisfaction on his artificially handsome face, though beneath it lay a hint of exhaustion. "The illusion should last through the night," he said, "provided none of us use too much magic."

While the transformations weren’t nearly as convincing as those Arran had seen from Master Zhao and Panurge — not to mention Crassus — he had to admit they were effective. Where his companions had previously looked exactly like the group of Elders they were, they could now easily be mistaken for novices and adepts.

Still, the comparison gave Arran some pause. Years earlier, Master Zhao had effortlessly used a disguise on him that had lasted months. Yet now, he saw an Elder struggle to cast illusions that would last only a single night.

Arran had no time to give the matter any further thought, because with the illusions in place, they left at once.

They were stopped twice on their way out of the camp, each time by watchful adepts who were wary of the group of strangers. Both times, Elder Naran sent the adepts on their way by flashing a sun-shaped badge, though Arran could tell that he was pleased with his subordinates’ caution.

Before long, they had left the camp and entered the empty lands that lay in between the opposing armies.

The growth here was dense enough to provide them with ample cover, and in the failing light, it would be difficult to spot them from a hundred paces away, much less the miles that lay between them and the Iron Mountain camp. And while there might be Iron Mountain patrols about, those posed little threat to their group.

Yet despite this relative safety, Arran’s heart was aflutter with anxiousness — more so than the night ahead warranted.

"Nervous?" Brightblade asked, her voice low but cheery.

"A bit."

"Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe."

The reassuring grin she gave him did little to soothe Arran’s nerves. Instead, it made him realize why he felt uncomfortable: it wasn’t that he was heading toward danger, but that he was placing his life in the hands of others.

He had spent the past year honing his strength, and there was something unsettling about once more having to rely on strangers to protect him. But there was nothing for it but to accept that for the task ahead, his own strength was laughably insufficient.

They crossed the deserted lands at a jog, careful to take full advantage of the cover provided by the many shrubs and trees the area held.

At about a mile from the enemy camp, Elder Naran suddenly halted, then raised his hand. "Stop!" he hissed in a quiet voice. "We wait here until the Waning Moon and the Iron Mountain begin their battle."

The others did as he said, silently taking cover in the surrounding growth. Their plan wasn’t a complicated one, and it was clear that to get through the Iron Mountain camp unseen, they needed their enemies’ attention focused elsewhere.

And so, as the sky gradually grew darker, they waited.

After what seemed like an eternity to Arran, Elder Naran suddenly spoke. "It has begun."

Arran could neither Sense, see, nor hear anything different, and when he glanced at Snowcloud, she gave him an equally nonplussed look. Yet the others in the group tensed up, their eyes narrowing as if they were concentrating on something.

Barely a minute later, Arran heard it — the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance, as if a massive storm was fast approaching. But this was no thunder. The thunderclaps followed each other far too quickly for that, and as the sound grew louder, Arran recognized the sounds of blasts and bellows among the noise.

"Do we go?" he asked somewhat anxiously.

"Not yet." Elder Naran’s voice remained as calm as ever. "We wait until the battle has truly started, and the Iron Mountain camp is in chaos."

At that, Arran swallowed hard. Already, the sounds in the distance were overwhelming, yet Elder Naran said the battle hadn’t even truly started yet. If this was just a prelude, then the real battle would be devastating beyond comprehension.

For several minutes, Elder Naran remained still, seeming to ignore the increasingly violent sounds of battle in the distance. Then, finally, he said, "Let’s go. All of you, follow my lead."

At once, he set off toward the Iron Mountain camp at a run, with the others hurrying behind him. Arran did his best to ignore the commotion to the south as he ran, although he could not help but notice that there were regular flashes of light illuminating the night sky.

They reached the Iron Mountain camp within minutes, and as they approached, a small group of men and women ran toward them. At their head was a wide-eyed man with a tense expression, who eyed Elder Naran uncertainly.

"Halt!" the man called out, his voice sounding anxious to the point of panic. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

Elder Naran flashed a small badge at him. "Elder Herran sent us out on a mission last week. We have urgent news for him." Without giving the man a chance to respond, he continued, "And what in the hells is happening in the camp?"

"Word is the Waning Moon army attacked us," the man replied, his tone suggesting that he could scarcely believe it himself.

Elder Naran cursed loudly. "This is a disaster! The Elder sent us to keep an eye on the Soaring Sun camp..."

At that, the guard’s face twisted in terror. "They’re attacking as well?!"

"Tell your commanders to prepare for an attack!" Elder Naran snapped. "I have to inform the Elder!"

He did not wait for the man to reply, and instantly set off at a run once more, Arran and the others following closely after him. Already, Arran could hear the guards behind them shouting, fearfully preparing for an attack that would never come.

When they entered the camp a moment later, they found it in a state of complete chaos. Recruits and novices could be seen running in all directions, some of them heading toward the battle to the south while others ran the other way.

Although the Iron Mountain mages were many, their numbers now seemed to work against them, with the sudden battle leaving them in utter disarray. And within the confusion, few of them barely even noticed the small group that passed through their ranks.

Those few who did confront them were easily dealt with by Elder Naran, whose brief but confident orders they followed without question. To Arran, it looked as if they were glad to have someone tell them what to do, even if they did not know whose orders they were taking.

Yet despite Elder Naran’s unexpected skill at deception, their progress was slow. Because while the Iron Mountain recruits and novices might not actively try to stop them, their sheer masses meant that each pace forward required pushing half a dozen disoriented men and women aside.

But slow though their progress was, it was progress nonetheless. And while the chaotic battle to the south only increased in terrifying intensity, they steadily moved forward, coming ever closer to the mountains — and with them, the Valley.