The winds that crossed the Gian front were cold and empty.
The ground, blackened and torn, stretched for miles — littered with twisted steel, splintered carts, and the pale, frozen bodies of the dead. Not even the crows came.
Ren stood at the edge of it, silent. His Gu Ren Tai had arrived too late to help — just early enough to bear witness.
Behind him, Kai scanned the horizon with narrowed eyes. "There's nothing left," he muttered. "No survivors. Just…"
A rider stumbled into view — gaunt, blood-caked, leaning hard against the neck of his horse.
It was Ma Ron.
He collapsed off the saddle before anyone could catch him.
They treated him in silence. His wounds were superficial. His spirit was not.
By nightfall, Ma Ron sat wrapped in a blanket, hands trembling as he spoke.
"They never stood a chance. Ri Boku had them caged before they even knew it. Zenou's pack broke first — scattered under cavalry pressure. Raido was surrounded. Ringyoku never made it out of the second encirclement. Koku'Ou… she charged into the pikes. Refused to run."
Kai looked pale. "And Kan Ki?"
Ma Ron's eyes twitched. "He… tried to kill Ri Boku himself. Cut down Ko Haku Kou, but that was it. The trap closed. I saw him at the end, surrounded, laughing… like a man already gone."
Silence.
"And the Saki?" Ren asked finally.
"They were on the outskirts. Scouting east. Never got pulled into the core. When they realized it was over, they melted into the hills. Only reason I got out alive is because they found me. Carved a hole and dragged me out."
He looked up at Ren, eyes hollow.
"There's no Kan Ki Army anymore. Just ashes."
Later, Ren stood at the edge of the battlefield again. No burial for these men. There were too many. And too little time.
Kai stepped up beside him. "What now?"
Ren's answer was firm. "We take what's left and hold the line. That's all we can do."
A beat.
"And Ma Ron?" Kai asked.
Ren glanced back at the tactician, now sitting with his head bowed, speaking quietly with one of the Saki warriors.
"He stays. He owes us."
In Kanyou, the news hit like a hammer.
Inside the war chamber, ministers shouted, nobles panicked, and maps were redrawn with trembling fingers. But Sei said nothing.
He read the full report alone — start to finish — then placed the parchment down with care.
"Three hundred ten thousand enemies," he whispered. "And still he tried."
Shou Bun Kun approached cautiously. "The lords are in disarray. They fear a Zhao counteroffensive. Some even speak of suing for peace."
Sei didn't look at him. "Peace with a vulture doesn't save the carcass."
"And Kan Ki?" Shou Bun Kun asked gently. "He was… a difficult man. But he carried us further than we ever expected."
"He was a sword," Sei said quietly. "Too sharp. Too unpredictable. But it cut through walls we could never breach on our own."
He turned to face the court.
"Now it's broken. And we must fight without it."
Back at the front, Ma Ron stood before Ren for the first time without pretense.
"I'm not here to be forgiven," he said.
"I'm not here to offer it," Ren replied.
Ma Ron nodded. "Then let's win this."
Behind them, the Saki Clan, silent as ghosts, melted into the shadows of the Gu Ren Tai ranks — no longer Kan Ki's blades, now repurposed tools in a quieter war.
Kan Ki had died screaming into the storm, alone and surrounded.
But from his ashes, Ren began to build something else.
Not a fire.
A wall.