"How about this then?" Kyorin said, turning slightly as sunlight cut across his face. His voice was even, with a hint of exasperation. "An exchange... That should prove I'm no master."
Jianxin's eyes lit up. "A learning exchange, is it?" She clasped her hands, smiling. "Very well. I'll be taking points from you, Daoist."
"Again with the Daoist title…" Kyorin sighed.
But even as he spoke, his feet slid apart—smooth, practiced. His shoulders eased, spine straight. The sun slipped behind clouds, casting a brief white-amber glow. A breeze stirred, lifting the edge of his robe like a storm's breath.
His hand drifted to his side—not to draw, just the suggestion of it. Yet that motion was enough for the world to hold its breath.
Rover and Yangyang paused. Jianxin's smile twitched. For a moment, their jaws seem to drop and hearts skipped a beat as they looked at him.
Dust hung golden in the air. One beam caught his face, half shadowed, half lit—silver flashing beneath his brow.
Though his robes hung loose, rustling and mirroring his inner turmoil of nervousness, his composed outer presence sliced the moment clean.
"Please," the corner of Kyorin's lips finally curled into a faint smile.
His eyes glazed over with a mysterious calm, and a subtle tilt of his head locked his gaze with Jianxin's—making him look every bit the master, a poised and charming Daoist.
"Instruct me well," Jianxin said, moving in swiftly.
Kyorin thought, 'Alright, with this provocation she must—pft.'
But before he could react, Jianxin struck like a bullet. Kyorin was sent sprawling, his body dragged across the ground before crashing into a tree. He spat saliva and gasped for air.
"Eh—?" Jianxin looked mildly surprised.
Rover shook her head, thinking, 'Moron. Why even try to pretend?'
"I—I lost," Kyorin rasped as he tried to get up, thinking, 'Damn she is ruthless, I was merely trying to look arrogant but was she that offended to use that much force?!'
If only Kyorin could have seen himself in that moment. Even he wouldn't have believed that the man the three maidens had just seen was truly him.
"I-I'm sorry, Daoist," Jianxin stammered, rushing forward to help, but Kyorin raised a hand to stop her.
"Ugh," he grunted, rising and wiping his lips. Despite the few grains of dirt clinging to his face, his movements carried a subtle charm—an effortless grace that caught the three maidens' attention, prompting another skip of heartbeat.
He hadn't even tried to look confident—but they stared like he was glowing.
"I'm no Daoist, Master Jianxin," he said, casting a sideways glance toward the three.
"Dao—" Jianxin began, but a faint frown from Kyorin made her pause. She quickly rephrased, cheeks flushing slightly. "Sir Kyorin, um… do you practice bewitchment?"
"Hm?" With a slight tilt of his head, Kyorin let out a confused hum. But even that small gesture—paired with the way his eyes met hers—was enough to make Jianxin falter.
She dropped to her knees in a sudden plea, flustered. "I'm sorry, Sir Kyorin! I'm a monk, please—stop!"
"Miss Jianxin…" Kyorin blinked, startled, and stepped closer. He knelt to help her up, his touch light, steady.
Now standing face to face, Jianxin's cheeks flushed as Kyorin gently asked, "Why are you kneeling?"
The tone, the delivery—it wasn't forced. It felt natural, practiced, like a seasoned actor guiding a noble lady to her feet.
Jianxin stood frozen for a heartbeat, stunned by how effortlessly composed—how impossibly graceful—he was.
Unable to bear the scene any longer, Rover stepped in, placing herself between the two. She clicked her tongue, then shot a glance at Kyorin.
"Were you a womanizer before losing your memories?" she asked, voice laced with quiet spite.
"What?" Kyorin blinked, caught off guard.
A faint frown crept onto his face as he leaned slightly toward her, one hand resting over his chest. "Do you… really think that I am such a person?"
Rover felt steam rising to her head as she quickly broke eye contact, thinking, 'He does have the face, but—' She glanced at him again, flustered. 'He wasn't like this yesterday.'
And he truly hadn't been. While Kyorin had always been handsome, there was something different now. Beneath the lingering innocence, a quiet grace had emerged—a poised presence that felt oddly dignified.
"Could it be that you're regaining your memories—and some of your old habits along with them?" Yangyang asked.
Kyorin shook his head faintly. Nothing had returned. No memories, no flashes. Just silence.
"I don't think so," he said. "Nothing new in my head, but—" He rested the back of his right hand beneath his chin, elbow propped on his other arm, slipping into a thoughtful pose.
The gesture alone drew their eyes. Casual, elegant—like a portrait that moved.
Mistaking their stares for concern, Kyorin offered a faint, reassuring smile, head tilted just slightly. "No worries. I feel fine. Maybe... just some cognitive habits resurfacing."
"I—I see," Yangyang muttered, then turned. "Miss Jianxin, where is this person—Zhiyuan?"
Now steady on her feet, Jianxin answered, "I believe he's on the Desorock Highland."
"Alright." Kyorin stretched, joints popping with a soft crack as he added through a groan, "We should go."
Yet this time, the graceful presence he'd exuded just before was gone. The gesture, the tone—it all felt... normal again. Mundane.
'Back to normal?' Rover and Yangyang both wondered, exchanging a glance.
'Could he be well-versed in acting?' Jianxin thought, glancing at him with growing curiosity.
'Hopefully we don't run into any TDs,' Kyorin thought. He didn't want to be consumed by that hunger for strength again.
As he hoped this, Rover approached him and asked, "Can you compliment me?"
"Uh…" Caught off guard, Kyorin blinked. "Your eyes are as beautiful as the sun," he offered hastily.
Rover raised a hand to her chin, muttering, "Strange… I don't feel anything."
'Exactly what are these girls trying to get at—!!?' Kyorin frowned, but then his eyes shifted ever so slightly, and something clicked.
'Could it be...?' He looked at Rover again. Something stirred—a flicker of recognition, a thought perhaps.
'It can't be,' he thought, baffled. But the feeling pressed closer, drawn from a place that didn't quite feel like his own.
A breath escaped him.
A memory—no, not a memory, but the shape of one—began to rise. Something he shouldn't know, yet did. Something that didn't quite belong to him—yet lived inside him all the same.
"Rover," he said again, his tone had shifted slightly.
She glanced back at him, and her heart gave a quiet stir.
With a soft smile and eyes that seemed to carry meaning beyond words, he said, "Your beauty is enough to leave even the sun undone."
Rover instinctively stepped back, visibly flustered. Kyorin tilted his head up slightly with a smile.
"I thought you weren't satisfied with the earlier compliment," he said—but now his tone was casual, his expression plain. Whatever mysterious presence had flickered moments ago, it had vanished.
"T-The first one was enough!" Rover snapped, looking away quickly. "Miss Jianxin, let's go."
"Un," Jianxin nodded, casting one last glance at Kyorin who, now looked normal.
With that, the troupe set off toward the Desorock Highlands. Kyorin walked at a steady pace, his expression calm, almost indifferent—but inside, a storm churned.
'This doesn't make any sense,' he was screaming inwardly, confusion gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.
Earlier, Rover and the others had spoken in veiled tones, throwing cryptic remarks his way. It had taken time, but he'd finally pieced it together. Only, what he found wasn't clarity—it was sheer bewilderment.
Yesterday, he had experienced the lives of ten different individuals. Though all were martial artists, they each excelled in other professions as well—among them were a courtesan, a prince, a theatre actor, and a versatile assassin.
He had watched them all—how they carried themselves, how they moved and responded to others. And somehow, he had absorbed something other than just strength.
Their experiences—the subtlety of their gestures, the instinctive grace honed by years of practice—had flowed into him. As if unseen threads were stitching their fragments into his being.
'But my heart—the Slaughter Heart—it didn't thump...' he thought, unsettled.
Though he felt no flutter in his chest, his body had begun to mimic their elegance on its own—adapting, adjusting. Subtle habits, regal posture, effortless charisma... they surfaced without thought.
This was his first Inherit Skill: 'Slaughter Heart'—a heart that killed the former self, shedding the past like a shell with each new experience, forcing evolution. But that alone wasn't the reason.
All of this, could traced back to his single, desperate wish: "I want to be strong."
He hadn't said it to protect anyone. Not to conquer. Not to be admired. It held no noble shape, no lofty dream. Just a pure desire to be strong. And that—was the problem. His body had taken him at his word.
As for the reason his heart didn't pound violently this time, unlike before, was simple—his face was already striking.
What the Slaughter Heart refined now were posture, habit, and presence. With just a touch of polish, grace emerged naturally—turning charm into quiet command.
It wasn't just strength that was growing—his very presence was evolving. The way he stood, the way he moved… it was all beginning to take on an elegant, deliberate shape, growing sharper with each passing moment.
And it left him uncertain—was this something he wanted? Or even needed?
***
The troupe soon found themselves at the Rearguard Battalion Camp. Though quieter than the battlefield, the air still simmered with tension—strained, alert, and heavy.
Orders snapped through the air. Crates thudded onto the ground. Data pads flickered with shifting manifests.
"Have you confirmed the inventory?" a stern voice sliced through the din. "What about the spare list?"
A Rearguard Battalion officer barked out commands. "Sort out the consumables as soon as possible. Check our communication lines while you're at it—"
Just then, he heard footsteps approaching. The officer turned. "Yue, take this to Ase." He paused when he looked up and saw unfamiliar faces. "Wait—you're not Yue. Where is she?"
His gaze narrowed, locking onto the newcomers. "State your business."
The arrivals were Rover, Yangyang, Kyorin, and Jianxin.
Yangyang stepped forward, her tone calm and polite. "Outrider, Midnight Rangers. This is Rover, and Master Jianxin. We need to speak with someone stationed here."
The officer sized them up, his gaze drifting back to the crates and the wounded soldiers.
Rover looked around, brow creased at the endless stacks of supplies and exhausted aides. "You look overwhelmed…"
The officer shook his head, sighing. "Jinzhou is the gateway to Huanglong," he said, his words clipped and edged with fatigue. "And the Desorock Highlands are the gateway to Jinzhou. One breach, and the whole region falls."
"The Tacet Discords don't parley," he added, his exhale tinged with frustration. "They don't retreat. No truces, no ceasefires. As long as they exist, this war grinds on."
At last, he met their eyes—red-rimmed and sleepless. "Supplies are our lifeblood. I keep them moving. But now…" He gestured toward a half-empty crate of shattered resonance cartridges. "Now we're bleeding out."
"Master Jianxin," Rover asked, glancing toward the young woman, "do you want to look for Zhiyuan first?"
Jianxin nodded. "Sure. Please excuse me. I'll join you soon."
Rover offered a reassuring nod. "We'll meet up with you."
Jianxin clasped her hand—a gesture of leave—as she slipped into the shadows between tents, her footsteps swallowed by the hush of the camp.
Left behind, Rover's gaze lingered on the Rearguard Battalion Camp—crates stacked like barricades, soldiers moving with weary urgency, tension thick as fog. The word "supply" echoed in her mind, heavy with unspoken worry.
She recalled Yangyang's words from yesterday—how mangosteens were rare, imported from distant lands, a taste of sweetness in a world gone bitter.
She reached into her Terminal and pulled out a mangosteen. Her fingers brushed the smooth, cool skin of the fruit, its deep purple shell catching the dim light.
Mistaking the mangosteen for something else, the officer snapped, "What… what are you doing?" His voice was sharp, suspicion flickering in his narrowed eyes.
Rover froze, fruit still in hand. The officer's hand hovered near his weapon, body tense.
Rover raised her hands. "What's going on?"
The officer's eyes stayed locked on the mangosteen, suspicion melting into mild embarrassment. "Oh… sorry. For a second, I thought it was a grenade." He let out a weary chuckle. "Is that… a mangosteen?"
"A grenade?" Rover echoed, the word unfamiliar on her tongue.
The officer exhaled. "Yeah. Old-fashioned explosives. Before the Lament. Before everything changed. We lost so much—technology, knowledge, even food. Back then, we made do with whatever we had."
His eyes darkened. "Tacetite Weapons took over, but people still mixed old tech with new. Hand grenades were crude, dangerous. Eventually, we moved on."
Rover pondered the officer's words—the grenade, its history. 'Practical,' she thought. 'Desperate times called for desperate measures.'
Curious, she held the mangosteen out to the officer. "What do you know about these?"
The officer shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "It's not local. We import them when we can. But with the Tacet Discord outbreaks, priorities changed."
"Only essentials get through. Mangosteens…" He smiled wistfully. "They'll have to wait until General Jiyan brings us victory."
He gestured toward the guarded perimeter. "Only one waterway's open now—Port Gunchao, south of the city. Rearguards escort shipments when it's safe."
A bitter laugh slipped out. "The military won't waste rations on fruit. Too short a shelf life, and it looks too much like a grenade. More trouble than it's worth."
Kyorin's eyes narrowed. 'As expected.'
Rover managed a small, understanding smile. "Thank you."
The officer gave a tired nod. Though the tension eased slightly, the camp's unrest still pulsed in every corner.
In the distance, crates were still being hauled, boots thudded through gravel, and orders were barked in low, grim tones. The quiet urgency of war never truly faded.
Rover, Yangyang, and Kyorin offered a polite salute and turned to leave. Outside, the air was brisk, carrying the chill of distant gunfire and the hum of Tacet activity. Ahead, they saw Jianxin emerging from another tent.
She appeared calm as always, but her eyes betrayed the weight of a difficult conversation.
"I heard you three still have other matters to attend to," she said, brushing wind-blown hair behind her ear. "When you're free, let's catch up at Liuxian Teahouse—it's quiet there."
Clasping her hands in farewell, she added gently, "It's been a pleasure."
"I see. Farewell, Master Jianxin." Rover bowed slightly, respectful.
"Farewell," Kyorin added.
Yangyang nodded. "Take care."
They stood in silence, watching her silhouette fade into the haze of the Rearguard Camp. The calm in her stride felt almost surreal amid such tension.
Yangyang broke the silence, her voice thoughtful. "Us running into Master Jianxin was a one-off incident, wasn't it?"
She glanced at Rover, curiosity shining in her eyes. "And if the mangosteen was meant to mean something… what exactly is Madam Magistrate trying to say?"
Rover squinted into the sun-dappled distance, brow furrowed. "Maybe she wants me to meet someone. But…" Her tone dropped low. "The moment hasn't come yet."
"Maybe that leaf holds the answer," Kyorin said as Rover pulled it out, staring at it with quiet suspicion.
"Why did everything suddenly go wrong during the joyous time of the Moon-chasing Festival?" Kyorin murmured, a deliberate, irritated groan slipping through.
Rover, from every perspective, felt something click — her eyes widening in realization.
"Can it be?" she muttered, a new weight settling into her voice. Yangyang's eyes sharpened, alert.
"You've thought of something, haven't you?" she asked.
Rover didn't answer right away. Her mind sifted through the pieces: the token, the vision, Jianxin's timing, the strange gift of fruit in wartime, Kyorin's subtle clues.
After carefully weighing each piece, she finally spoke. "I think… the outbreak of Tacet Discords wasn't random. And neither was the timing."
Yangyang's expression turned grim. "If another outbreak happens in Desorock… it won't just be Huanglong. All of us will bleed."
But Rover continued, outlining what she knew—the port lockdowns, disrupted trade routes, and, most of all, the mangosteen's curious origin.
Yangyang recalled, "The officer said it was brought in from the south. By boat."
Rover nodded.
Then, slowly, she added one last piece: the image she'd seen—the General standing tall in a vision of burning skies and shattered ground.
Yangyang blinked. "So… is Madam Magistrate trying to tell us about General Jiyan? Or the war itself?"
Rover said nothing. She neither confirmed nor denied it. There were too few pieces, too many shadows.
Yangyang exhaled. "We haven't even reached the frontlines yet, but…" She looked up toward the looming Desorock Highlands. The clouds hung low. The winds howled.
"I can already smell the iron in the air," she murmured. "Something terrible is coming."
A pause.
"Our soldiers stationed beyond those hills…" Her voice softened. "I hope they're okay."
"Food... Food..."
Just then, a tremor surged through Rover's Tacet Mark.
She froze.
A soft glow pulsed at the back of her hand as a resonance stirred—not from the world around her, but from deep within. Her breath caught as her vision shifted, overtaken by a blooming, unfamiliar frequency.
Static.
And then it struck—like a tuning fork resonating with her Mark—she was seeing through someone else's eyes.
Raindrops shimmered before her—but instead of falling, they rose.
Gravity reversed in her vision. Droplets ascended from earth to sky, as if the laws of nature unraveled. Before her unfolded a strange place—a liminal realm that didn't quite exist in this world.
The air shimmered like heat haze over mirrored water. Ripples stirred. Something beneath the surface began to move.
From that glimmering boundary, they emerged—Tacet Discords. Crawling, leaping, howling through the rift, their forms twisted and unfinished, their cries laced with static and discord.
A lone soldier ran, bloodied and limping, desperate to escape. One Discord lunged, maw open—when suddenly—
ROAR.
A thunderous roar split the chaos.
The earth quaked beneath a colossal Jade Loong, formed of holographic light, descending in a blur of brilliance.
It coiled and dove, tearing through the Tacet Discords in an emerald spiral. The soldier stumbled, awestruck, as a figure emerged from the Loong's core—a tall man.
He wore a modified black hanfu that shifted with his powerful frame—one side cut away to reveal the tattooed upper section of his spine.
His expression was unreadable, but the weight of command rested on his broad shoulders.
Long teal hair whipped in the wind, and in his grip gleamed a jade spear—ancient in shape, yet humming with resonance.
This was General Jiyan.
"General…" the soldier gasped, hope flickering in his voice.
Jiyan's eyes swept the battlefield—sharp, relentless. In a flash, he moved, his spear dancing like a ribbon of green light, each thrust a lethal stroke, guiding the Jade Loong's strikes as if tethered to his will.
Tacet Discords were torn apart in droves, their shrieks drowned by the unyielding fury of spear and spectral beast.
More soldiers surged behind him—each wielding a resonator's rapier, their formation fanning out like an unfurling banner.
Jiyan raised his spear high, his voice thundering across the battlefield:
"Follow the Qingloong. To war!"
To be continued...