The Empire's third approach came not with drums or banners, but with silence. No horns. No siege wheels. No storm of arrows. Just earth.
Beneath the southern ridge, deep within the limestone bones of the canyon, Lord Qiu's engineers worked in shifts without rest. Pickaxes struck stone in muffled rhythm, dampened by silence runes. Cart wagons and latrines masked tunnel mouths. Engineers slathered their faces with ash to hide their sweat, tunneling into the heart of the cliff while the night sky looked on with stars like cold eyes.
Lord Qiu had tried fire, steel, and rune—and bled for it. Now he would try stone. Beneath the Blood Bridge, the earth split slowly, painstakingly, with imperial precision.
The plan was surgical: breach beneath the Gale Citadel, bypass Altan's infernal traps, and carve a strike to the war hall's throat. It would take time—but when the earth opened, it would birth death.
He chose thirty elite: the Onyx Blades. Feihu campaign survivors. Cloaked in shadow-stitched armor, silent, deadly, disciplined. Each carried weapons rune-sealed to their qi signature. General Lu Xun led them, a man with frost in his gaze and a blade that drank heat from the air.
"Once inside," Qiu said, "don't waste time on the Citadel. Find Altan. Kill him."
Lu Xun said nothing. He bowed and vanished into the earth.
Twelve nights passed before they broke through.
Stone cracked to reveal a hollow passage. The air beyond shimmered faintly, and copper veins ran like blood through the smoothed walls. Ancient, untouched.
No sound. No guards. Just a corridor yawning into endless dark.
The Onyx Blades moved in formation, blades drawn. A light-orb flickered to life, casting pale blue light along the stone. Sigils whispered from the walls, curling and fading. Language older than any imperial script.
Then the path split.
Three tunnels where one had been. Lu Xun signaled. Pairs split off, marking the walls with chalk, threading silk along the floor. They moved like ghosts.
But the Maze did not permit trespass.
The first to vanish was Blade Wei. One moment his footstep echoed, the next—gone. No scream. Just a wet sound, like meat struck by stone. When they reached the turn, they found only a smear of red, bones split down the middle like a fruit.
Another blade reached for his pendant. The wall groaned—then snapped inward. Screams. His arm severed at the elbow, pinned beneath stone teeth. He howled until the wall crushed his ribs with a grinding crunch that echoed.
The Maze awakened.
The layout changed with every breath. Runes flared dimly, then darkened. Floors turned to false stone, collapsing into pits lined with soul-spike pikes. One soldier fell screaming, his legs impaled, his body twitching as soul-qi was ripped from his chest. Blood fountained. He coughed foam and begged to be killed.
A mage panicked and unleashed fire.
The air ignited.
A roar of flame swallowed the corridor. Hidden vents had filled the air with ghost-gas—alchemical fog laced with silver powder. The ignition sent a wall of flame howling in both directions. Skin melted off skulls. Eyes burst. Armor plates turned red-hot, cooking flesh within. The mage who cast the spell staggered, his mouth open, tongue blackening. His robes had melted into his body.
One soldier ran, screaming, his armor fused to muscle. He tried to claw off his own gauntlets—tearing strips of skin from his arms. Another's face was a melted mass of teeth and smoke.
Lu Xun bellowed and pulled the last six into a chamber. The door slammed behind them—though none had touched it.
No doors remained.
The walls pulsed faintly. There was no ceiling—only a shifting void above. A mural moved on the far wall, alive with scenes of war. The longer one stared, the more it changed. Soldiers turned to beasts. Cities collapsed into ash.
One soldier dropped to his knees. "This place... it eats us."
"It's not alive," Lu Xun whispered.
He stared at the stone.
"It's worse."
Far above, in the Citadel's war hall, Altan stood over a black-stone map—an exact replica of the tunnels, alive with moving glyphs. Each Onyx Blade was marked by a flicker of red light.
Burgedai stood beside him. "They've triggered the second layer."
"I see it," Altan murmured. "The Maze reacts faster this time."
Khulan leaned in. "Should we reinforce?"
"No," Altan replied. "They're already dead. The Maze is simply finishing the rites."
He turned the dial. A lever clicked. Deep below, another shift began.
In the lowest level of the Maze, only five remained. Their bodies bore gashes and burns. Armor torn, faces blackened with soot and blood. They stumbled into a spiraling hall where a single door waited.
It opened.
No war room. No general.
A silent, black chamber awaited—its walls mirror-polished obsidian, etched with ancient runes that pulsed with icy light. In the center stood a statue-like figure. Twelve feet tall. Smooth metal skin. No face. No heart.
A Sentinel.
One of the old weapons. Thought lost. Altan had rebuilt it.
Its eyes flared.
There was no time to scream.
It moved like wind and thunder. The first soldier died with his body split in half—top sliding from his waist as his organs spilled steaming onto the floor. Another raised his blade, only for the Sentinel's hand to pierce his gut, lift him, and crush him against the ceiling. Blood sprayed in fans across the polished stone.
Lu Xun struck back, his sword a blur of green qi. The Sentinel caught it between two fingers. Steel shattered. The blade exploded in his hands. He stared in disbelief as the automaton's fist caved in his chest, ribs folding inward like wet parchment.
The last man tried to run. The Sentinel launched a spear of silver light through his back, impaling him to the far wall. His body hung, twitching, until the light dimmed.
Then silence.
Not a breath remained.
The next day, tremors shook the cliffs. No one emerged.
Lord Qiu stood at the edge, unmoving.
"They're not coming back," whispered his aide.
Qiu said nothing.
He turned from the dead earth.
"Phase Four begins."