The plains of Hango burned with shattered banners and broken dreams.
The Qin army was in full retreat.
What began as a bold strike — a confident gamble by Supreme Commander Ou Sen — had turned into a calculated massacre by Ri Boku. Lured in, flanked by Seika, and shattered by Shi Ba Shou's cunning, the Qin offensive had collapsed.
And in the midst of the chaos, Ren fought alone.
His Gu Ren Tai had already been splintered by the flood of Seika cavalry. His body bore the wounds of dozens of encounters. Blood soaked his arms, mud clung to his boots, and still, he stood — blade drawn, breath ragged — before two monsters of the Zhao front.
Kan Saro. Ji Aga.
They stepped forward without a word. No introduction. No taunt. Just quiet steps through the falling ash.
Ji Aga was a beast in flesh — towering, round-shouldered, face hidden behind a cracked mask. He swung a massive black mace that shattered bones with every blow.
Kan Saro was thinner, his glaive held with surgical grace. His eyes betrayed nothing. No hatred. No thrill. Only purpose.
Ren raised his sword and lowered his stance.
"You're alone," Ji Aga growled. "You're going to die here."
Ren's voice came like flint on steel. "So are you."
The first strike came from Kan Saro.
His glaive sliced through the air like a silver fang, and Ren barely twisted away. The edge nicked his shoulder, cutting through armor like silk.
Ji Aga followed instantly, his mace coming down like a falling mountain.
CRACK—
Ren slid aside, but the shockwave from the strike alone sent him stumbling. Dirt exploded. His ribs screamed from the near miss.
They pressed him together. Twin devils of reach and power.
Every swing of Ji Aga's mace threatened to flatten him. Every arc of Kan Saro's glaive came from angles no normal man could follow.
He was dying.
Piece by piece. Cut by cut. His parries slowed. His footing faltered.
But Ren kept moving.
He read them. Not just their strikes — their intent.
Ji Aga overcommitted. His rage made him loud.
Kan Saro stepped in clean patterns — perfect, but predictable.
Ren grit his teeth and waited.
It came in a heartbeat.
Ji Aga roared and brought his mace down for a two-handed crush.
Ren stepped into it — ducking under the arc and sliding low. The mace crashed behind him. Dust flew. Ji Aga's balance shifted.
Ren surged upward.
His sword cut straight through Ji Aga's ribs.
A wet gurgle. A stunned breath.
The giant teetered, then fell backward like a felled wall.
Ji Aga was dead.
But Kan Saro did not pause.
He rotated his glaive into a reverse grip and slashed upward. Ren blocked it — barely — but the force sent him sprawling.
Blood poured from Ren's scalp. His vision blurred.
Kan Saro advanced with precise steps, blade already rising again.
But now it was one-on-one.
Ren stood. Broken. Breathing fire.
"You're not the first glaive I've faced."
Kan Saro tilted his head slightly. "You're no general."
"No," Ren whispered, raising his sword. "Just a survivor."
Their blades clashed again.
It was a duel of instinct and form — Kan Saro with flawless movements, Ren with bloodied intuition. Glaive and sword locked and screamed.
Ren was faster.
Not cleaner. Not stronger.
But desperate.
And in desperation, he found the gap.
He caught Kan Saro's downward slash on his shoulder plate — let it dig in — then lunged forward and slammed his blade through Kan Saro's gut.
The Zhao commander gasped. Eyes wide. Blood spraying.
Ren twisted the blade.
Kan Saro fell, slow and silent.
Across the battlefield, Sou'ou and Shi Ryou tore through fleeing lines on horseback. Behind them, fires raged. Ou Sen's HQ had nearly fallen — but the two generals reached him just as Shi Ba Shou's trap tightened.
They found A Kou and Den Ri Mi fallen, their corpses shielding their Supreme Commander.
Ou Sen did not speak of their sacrifice. His armor was untouched, his face unreadable.
Shi Ryou bowed her head. "Orders?"
Ou Sen's voice was cold. "We retreat. The path forward is closed."
Behind him, the wreckage of Hango smoldered.
Ren collapsed to his knees, Kan Saro's blood soaking the earth.
Kai arrived minutes later with what remained of the Gu Ren Tai — fifty men at most.
He looked at the two bodies.
"You killed both…?"
Ren didn't answer.
He just looked east, toward the mountains.
"Get me up," he rasped. "We're not done."