SSS rank Mother-In-Law to an Invincible Family

Meanwhile, back in the Western Continent.

The smoke had finally started to fade.

The fires were out.

The screams had stopped.

But the weight in the air lingered.

Across the Western Continent, the aftermath of the beast invasion left scars that wouldn't heal anytime soon.

The fields outside Dawn River City were blackened and covered in ash. Once, those lands had fed half the surrounding towns.

Now, the soil was burned through, poisoned by beast blood, and the formations were shattered.

The main streets of Sunreach Fort were cracked and broken, deep gouges tearing through stone roads like claw marks.

Half the buildings still standing were barely holding together.

Here and there, soldiers and civilians worked silently, stacking rubble into neat piles, gathering broken spirit stones, trying to find whatever could be salvaged.

No one spoke much.

There wasn't anything left to say.

Outside the fallen gates of Moonshade Town, survivors sat against the broken walls, bandaging wounds with strips of torn robes.

The medics moved between them, handing out spirit-soothing pills, checking pulses, offering quiet words of encouragement where they could.

One woman, no older than twenty, sat alone, staring at a broken sword lying at her feet.

But it wasn't just a weapon.

It was her brother's.

He hadn't made it through the last beast charge.

She didn't cry.

She just stared, her fingers clenched tightly around the hilt, as if holding onto it would somehow bring him back, even though she knew that it was impossible.

Nearby, a squad of Unified Army soldiers walked through what was left of the old defense line.

Their armor was still intact.

Their faces were calm.

But their steps were heavy as they made sure that everyone was fine and that no robbers were taking advantage of this incident to steal stuff.

Their job was almost done here.

The Western front had stabilized—barely.

Now, it was time for the locals to take their own ground back.

At one of the old sect towers overlooking the city ruins, a meeting was held.

It wasn't grand.

It wasn't organized.

A few battered elders, a few surviving generals, and what remained of the Western leadership gathered around a half-broken table, patched together with spirit glue and prayer seals.

General Zhou stood at the head.

His right arm was still bandaged.

His robe was torn at the shoulder.

But he stood straight, as he knew that this country needs a strong leader, not someone who will be unable to deal with this situation just because of her health.

He looked around at the gathered leaders.

Some bowed their heads.

Some couldn't even meet his gaze.

Finally, he spoke.

"Make no mistake," he said, voice low and rough from shouting orders in too many battles. "We survived because others saved us."

The words hung heavy in the air.

No one argued.

They couldn't.

"You all know it," Zhou continued. "The Unified Army came when we failed. The Xu family's influence prepared the battlefield long before we ever realized we were in trouble."

He paused, looking down at his own hands, scarred, bruised.

"And now it's our job to clean up the mess we made."

He nodded toward the broken window, where the battered city stretched beyond.

"Rebuild the towns. Refortify the walls. Strengthen the cultivators who can still fight."

"And next time…" His voice sharpened. "We don't wait for someone else to save us."

The elders nodded quietly.

No pride left.

Just reality.

In the ruins of the old Spirit Guild building, young sect disciples hauled broken formation cores out of collapsed basements.

The work was brutal—dirty, dangerous—but nobody complained.

In the Grand Market of Starvale, merchants whose shops had been burned down started setting up makeshift stands under torn tents, selling salvaged wares and basic supplies.

Life, somehow, was already crawling back.

Slow.

Ugly.

But stubborn.

In the refugee camps, healers worked day and night to stabilize the wounded.

A few small children ran between the tents, carrying water buckets too large for their hands. Some of them laughed.

The sound was thin, cracked—but it was laughter all the same.

It felt almost unnatural against the wreckage.

Almost wrong.

But it was real.

And that mattered.

Far away, across the mountains that framed the Western plains, Unified Army units began pulling back.

Their mission was over.

Slowly, methodically, they packed their tents, cleaned their weapons, rolled up their formation scrolls, and rejoined their transport caravans.

No victory parades.

No celebration.

Just quiet, professional efficiency.

They left behind training manuals, trap blueprints, updated communication devices, and reinforced supply caches—everything the Western survivors would need to defend themselves next time.

It was a silent message.

We saved you once.

Next time, stand on your own.

At the edge of the retreating lines, General Wei Shan stood with her hands behind her back, watching the battered Western defenders salute the departing soldiers.

She didn't smile.

She didn't wave.

She simply bowed her head once—a simple gesture of respect—and then turned away.

The Western leaders bowed back.

For many of them, it was the first real bow they had ever given anyone outside their own sects.

At the same time, deep within the still-rebuilding cities, normal people were finally letting out the breaths they had been holding for weeks.

Mothers hugged their children tightly, shopkeepers set up new tables, even if they had nothing to sell yet.

Young cultivators, bruised and battered, sat down under broken roofs and quietly began to meditate again.

Life wasn't beautiful here.

But it was alive.

And that was enough for now.

In one of the shattered council halls, two Western elders sat alone, looking at the city skyline.

The younger one sighed. "We were fools."

The older one nodded slowly. "We mistook history for strength."

The younger elder closed his eyes. "And we paid for it."

They sat in silence for a while longer.

Watching the sun set over the ruined city.

Watching the small, stubborn sparks of life begin to flicker in the darkness.