My Xianxia Harem Life-Chapter 369 Veteran

Morning came, and the first rays of sunlight painted the walls of the compound gold.

By the time the sun had fully risen, the entire camp was already buzzing with life.

Fires crackled, iron pots steamed, and the rich aroma of roasted meat filled the air.

Riley had given a rare order—to prepare the best meal possible with everything they had.

It wasn’t just breakfast; it was a feast.

The long tables overflowed with freshly baked bread, golden fruits, and thick cuts of seasoned meat that sizzled and dripped with fat.

Even the most disciplined warriors couldn’t help but smile as they ate.

"It’s like a festival," one disciple said, grinning as he tore into a juicy piece of meat.

"Haven’t seen everyone this busy since the time we first arrived in this immortal realms."

"Festival? More like a farewell feast," another joked while turning a spit over the open flame.

The meat hissed as he brushed it with oil.

"Maybe this is our last meal."

That earned a round of laughter from the nearby servants, though the edge of nervousness could still be felt in their voices.

"For us, no," someone said confidently, pounding his chest.

"But for our enemies? Definitely! Hahaha! I can already feel it—today will be a good day for killing!" 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"Don’t get too confident," another servant muttered while pouring soup into wooden bowls.

"I heard the enemy is over a million years old. A monster among immortals. I just hope Master Riley has some sort of plan to deal with that."

"It doesn’t matter." A tall guard leaned back against a pillar, his voice calm and assured.

"Our clan leader won’t let us down. Think about it—he’s been in this immortal realm for just a year, yet he can already soar through the skies and do things that defy reason. And don’t forget—he gave us the means to cultivate even without spiritual roots. Who else could do that?"

"Yeah," another added, his eyes gleaming with pride. "Our master’s too clever to face someone unprepared. Remember the ambush in the Dark Forest? Everyone thought we’d die that day, but he wiped them out like they were nothing."

The chatter spread through the camp as more people joined in, recalling Riley’s feats—the way he defeated enemies stronger than him and how he outsmarted even the strongest enemies.

Perhaps the most retold one was about the war that was won without any drop of blood sacrificed.

Every story added another layer of confidence, another spark of faith.

By the time the sun was high in the sky, the nervous laughter had turned to genuine excitement.

The soldiers sharpened their weapons with eager grins, servants refilled cups of ale, and the younger disciples stared at the horizon with blazing determination.

They all knew that a great battle awaited them.

And though the enemy was said to be ancient beyond imagination, the men and women of the Riley Clan believed in one thing above all—

Even if the heavens themselves descended, their master, Riley Rice, would have a way to stand against them.

***

Two hours later, everything had been cooked to perfection—the meat roasted golden brown, the soup thick and fragrant, the bread still warm and soft—but no one had touched their food.

Plates sat untouched, steam rising quietly into the morning air. All eyes were on Riley.

He stood in the center of the camp, his gaze fixed upon the endless blue above.

His expression was unreadable—calm, yet distant—as if he could see something beyond mortal sight.

One by one, the laughter and chatter died down. Soon, not a single voice remained.

Even the crackling of the fires seemed to fade.

The air grew heavy.

A strange stillness blanketed the camp, and everyone found themselves holding their breath without realizing it.

Warriors, servants, even the youngest disciples—all stood frozen, glancing between each other, unsure what their master was waiting for.

Minutes passed. The silence became suffocating.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Riley’s lips finally parted.

His voice was barely above a whisper, yet every ear in the compound caught it clearly.

"You’ve been watching us all night... guarding us with malice dripping from your mouth," he said softly, his eyes never leaving the sky.

"The least we can do... is offer you a meal."

Confused murmurs rippled among his followers. Watching them? Guarding them?

Who was he speaking to? But before anyone could ask, the air trembled.

For three breaths, there was nothing.

Then, without warning, a booming laughter echoed from the heavens.

The clouds twisted and churned like boiling smoke, and a colossal shadow began to take shape.

The clear morning sky turned dim, and lightning flickered at the horizon.

"Finally," a voice thundered, cold and arrogant. "You dare speak to me as if we are equals?"

The sky itself seemed to split open as a man stepped forth, descending from the clouds like a god of wrath.

His robe fluttered without wind, his eyes glowing with boundless fury.

His mere presence made weaker cultivators drop to their knees.

It was Elder Harren.

And he was not alone.

Behind him appeared wave after wave of cultivators—tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands—until the sky was filled with figures cloaked in energy.

At a quick glance it seemed like tens of thousands, but in truth, the number exceeded a million.

The very heavens trembled beneath their collective aura.

The servants and soldiers of the Riley Clan felt their stomachs twist with fear.

Even the fires flickered and dimmed, as if afraid to burn in the presence of such power.

"Eat?" Elder Harren sneered, his voice dripping with contempt.

"We don’t take pleasure in your rotten food. You murderer—you and your pitiful people will know despair this day. I’ll kill everything you love. I’ll make you watch them die one by one before I end your life last."

He leaned forward, his smile cold and cruel. "And I’ll make sure it hurts. Your screams will be the sweetest music before the sun sets."

For a moment, Riley said nothing.

The people behind him waited, tense, some trembling but trying not to show it.

Then Riley exhaled slowly and turned toward his people.

"Fool," he said calmly, his voice steady and clear despite the overwhelming power in the air. "So be it."

And with that, he sat down.

The others followed his lead without hesitation.

Plates clattered softly as they began to eat, not hurriedly, but with composure—every bite deliberate, every sip unhurried.

The scent of roasted meat and spice filled the air once more.

It was a surreal scene—an army of over a million cultivators looming in the sky, radiating killing intent, while below them, Riley and his people calmly enjoyed their breakfast as if they were untouchable.

Even Elder Harren faltered for a brief instant.

There was no fear in their eyes—only loyalty, faith, and something even more dangerous...

Confidence.

And as Riley took another slow bite, his gaze lifted once again toward the heavens.

A faint, knowing smile curved his lips.

The storm was about to break.

***

The strange calm of the feast lingered like smoke. An hour passed in silence and small, deliberate movements—plates scraped, cups were set aside, and a few hands paused over food as if reluctant to break the ceremony.

When the last ember in the brazier guttered and the cooks stepped back, the mood changed like the sky before a storm.

Smiles were folded away; jokes died on the tongue. Men and women readied themselves without haste: belts were tightened, cloaks cast off, and weapons were checked with practised, unemotional fingers.

Where there had been laughter, there was now a hush of iron resolve.

Riley rose as if answering an unspoken summons.

He moved slow, every step measured, eyes already lifted toward the heavens where the gathering had gathered into a living shadow.

Elder Harren’s presence was a pressure—time itself seemed to compress at his voice.

A deep, cold voice rolled down from the sky, slow and deliberate.

"Then it is time for retribution." Harren’s tone carried across the camp like a blade.

"I gave you safe passage through the sect. I gave you time with your families. I gave you one last night with your wives—and I even granted you this uninterrupted meal. You will die with a full stomach and your pleasures satisfied. Take comfort in that small mercy. Your children and wives will be put out of their misery quickly—that is all the mercy you shall receive."

A hush deeper than any before fell over the gathered. Some of the younger disciples flinched; a few hardened veterans bared their teeth.

The words were brutal, meant to strip hope, to make fear bloom in the chest.

Harren’s laughter—low and cruel—strode among them like frost.

Harren’s contempt rattled across the camp

"Any last words?" he asked, and the question hung like a guillotine.

For an instant the world drew breath with them.

Faces turned to Riley: pupils dilated, lips parted, a dozen unspoken prayers rose and fell.

What looked like panic on the surface was tempered by something slower, older—faith hammered into bone.

Around Riley, a hundred small stories flashed: a mother’s quick kiss to a sleeping child, a veteran clenching his jaw until the knuckles blanched, a young pair of lovers squeezing each other’s hands as if stitching courage into flesh.

Riley’s reply was a quiet, dangerous thing.

He smiled—not with mirth but with the terrible calm of someone who had traded sleep for plans.

"Nothing," he said. "Only pity. It’s a shame that over a million souls must perish for the sake of your worthless son. Let us begin, then." His voice carried the heat of a coiled spring; it settled over the camp like a promise and a dare.

Then suddenly everything turned white.