The same night descended, yet the heavens had changed.
The storming clouds had long scattered, revealing a vast ocean of stars. The full moon hung high—silent, solemn, bathing the land in silver light.
Only the murmur of the river broke the stillness, its gentle ripples slicing through the night wind. From afar, the lonely howls of beasts echoed between mountain ridges, mingling faintly with the rhythmic chirps of crickets.
The village below had fallen into slumber. Every door was shut tight, the scent of extinguished incense still lingering in the air. Along the narrow paths, lanterns swayed softly, their dim golden glow pushing back the night's embrace—like fragile embers guarding the dreams of men.
Inside Mu Feng's quiet house, the air was still, carrying only the faint scent of medicinal herbs.
On the bed, Zixiao lay motionless—whether asleep or unconscious, none could tell. His face, both arms, his abdomen, and legs were all wrapped carefully in white bandages. The soft moonlight drifted in through the open window beside him, bathing his frail figure in a silver glow that seemed both pure and sorrowful.
"Sigh…" Mu Feng exhaled deeply, setting down a wooden bucket filled with cool water on the table next to the bed. He took a folded white cloth, dipped it into the bucket, and wrung it gently, water droplets falling softly like rain against the wood.
Mu Feng slipped his hand beneath Zixiao's waist and gently lifted him into a sitting position. The boy's body was light, fragile—almost weightless in his arms. With calm precision, Mu Feng took the damp cloth and ran it across Zixiao's chest, arms, and back, wiping away the traces of sweat and blood that still lingered. The young man's breathing was shallow, yet steady.
After a while, Mu Feng laid him down again, resting his head on the pillow before returning the cloth to the bucket. He pressed two fingers lightly against Zixiao's wrist, feeling for the pulse.
"Hmm…" he murmured softly.
It was still faint—slower than it should be—but stronger than before. A small comfort, though not enough to ease his heart.
The moonlight spilled gently across Mu Feng's face, revealing the exhaustion and quiet sorrow etched into his features. His eyes, once filled with serene wisdom, now held the weight of deep regret.
Taking the bucket in hand, he left the room silently.
In the small living room, he placed it upon the wooden table at the center. Sitting down beside it, Mu Feng leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands covered his face as his head lowered.
For a long moment, he stayed that way—alone beneath the soft glow of a hanging lantern—while the faint sound of the river outside whispered through the night like a forgotten lullaby.
After a long silence, Mu Feng exhaled deeply and lifted his gaze.
Across the dimly lit room, the small window near the door stood open, letting in the cool breath of night. Through it, the full moon hung high—round, clear, and silent.
He rose slowly, the wooden floor creaking beneath his steps as he walked to the door. With a soft groan, the door opened, and the night air embraced him. Outside, silver light draped the courtyard, bathing the world in a calm, ethereal glow.
Beneath the old blossom tree stood a wooden swing—one he had built for Zixiao. Its ropes swayed gently in the breeze, petals drifting down from the branches above like soft rain.
Mu Feng sat upon it, his robes whispering against the wood. A few pink petals landed on his shoulders and hair, catching the moonlight. The wind brushed past, carrying the faint scent of flowers and river mist.
He closed his eyes briefly, then whispered to himself,
"The Holy Soul Empire… they're not the kind to forgive or forget. Even if I run, even if I hide the boy to the ends of this world—they will find us eventually."
The swing moved gently as he spoke, the chains creaking softly.
A faint smile curved his lips.
"Still… tomorrow is his birthday. The boy deserves at least one peaceful day."
He tilted his head toward the moon, eyes soft.
"After everything he's endured… this will be his first true birthday."
A few petals fell upon his lap as he looked up again, the moon's reflection shimmering faintly in his weary eyes.
After a while, Mu Feng rose from the swing and quietly made his way back inside, closing the door behind him with a soft creak.
He walked to the table and picked up a spatial storage talisman, its surface etched with faint runic patterns that shimmered under the lantern's glow. With a calm yet deliberate motion, he began placing items into it—white jade bottles, glowing medicinal herbs that pulsed gently in the dark, and ancient scrolls and books whose seals flickered with dim blue light as they vanished one by one into the talisman's space.
Each item disappeared with a soft clink, echoing faintly in the still night air.
Though Mu Feng was in the other room, unaware—upon the bed, Zixiao's bandaged fingers twitched ever so slightly, a faint sign of life stirring beneath the silence.
"Kill... kill... kill...!"
The battle cries of countless men thundered across the desolate plain as waves of armored soldiers charged forward, their roars shaking the earth itself. The clatter of metal boots and weapons merged with the furious rhythm of war, while a storm of dry brown dust rose skyward, veiling the battlefield in a choking haze.
They surged across the vast barren field—no trees, no shelter, only the horizon drenched in blood-red light. Behind them, a second formation marched in perfect unison, banners of the Sunrise Empire raised high and fluttering violently in the wind.
The blare of long black war horns reverberated through the air, deep and mournful, as if announcing the descent of death itself. Meanwhile, the war drums pounded relentlessly, their beats so fierce that the drummers' hands were already raw and crimson—yet they did not stop.
The ground trembled beneath the stampede, and the sky itself seemed to shudder in anticipation of the storm that was about to begin.
Another wave of soldiers heaved massive catapults forward, the wooden frames groaning under their own weight—each one towering as large as a house. The ground shook with every push, the iron wheels carving deep trails into the dry earth.
From the hazy horizon, the frontline soldiers of the Sunrise Empire finally caught sight of their foes.
Across the open plain, a wild horde emerged like a living storm—men and women clad in wolf pelts and animal furs, their faces painted with tribal markings of red and black, symbols of war and death.
They carried crude yet vicious weapons—spears tipped with sharpened bone, clubs reinforced with beast fangs, bows strung with sinew—and their voices merged into a single, savage cry.
"Kill… kill… kill!"
The echo of their roars collided with that of the empire's soldiers, and for a moment, the very sky seemed to split between two worlds—civilization and savagery, empire and wilderness—each rushing to erase the other.
Both armies charged like two roaring tides about to collide. The earth trembled beneath thousands of feet, dust swirling high enough to blot out the sun.
The war drums of the Sunrise Empire thundered in rhythm with the soldiers' steps, while the tribal horns from the other side wailed like the cries of ancient beasts.
"Form the shield wall!" a general shouted, his bronze armor gleaming under the harsh light. Instantly, the front ranks of empire soldiers locked their shields together, forming an iron barrier that stretched across the field. Behind them, spearmen aimed their weapons forward, and archers pulled back their bowstrings, arrows glinting like a rising storm of death.
"Release!"
A rain of flaming arrows shot through the sky, cutting arcs of fire over the battlefield before plunging into the tribal ranks. Screams erupted as flames burst among them—but the tribesmen did not stop. Howling like demons, they pushed through the fire, charging straight into the steel wall.
The moment the two forces met, the world shook.
Swords clashed. Spears broke.
The sound of metal tearing flesh filled the air, and the golden banners of the empire were soon stained crimson.
The collision turned the battlefield into a storm of steel and blood.
At the very front stood General Han Yue — a towering man of muscle and might. His clean-shaven face was set in grim focus, and his short black hair whipped wildly in the dusty wind. Clad in the armor of the Sunrise Empire, engraved with radiant golden suns, he swung his halberd with merciless precision.
Each strike shattered shields, split skulls, and painted the dust red.
His voice thundered across the chaos, a call that pierced through the clash of metal:
"Hold the line! For the Empire! For His Majesty!"
"For the Empire!" the soldiers roared in unison, thrusting their spears forward. The sharp tips glimmered like a tide of silver fangs as they tore through the first wave of the tribal horde.
But the tribes were no ordinary foe.
From among the screaming mass stepped a colossal warrior, his bare chest adorned with a necklace of beast fangs, his skin painted in crimson spirals of war. In his grasp was a bone axe as large as a man, its edge still wet with blood. Each of his strides made the ground tremble as he roared:
"Empire dogs! You'll never cross our plains!"
Han Yue's eyes narrowed. He kicked away a fallen enemy, spun his halberd once, and faced the barbarian with cold, sharp resolve.
"Come then," he said. "Let's see if your strength matches your tongue."
With a guttural roar, the barbarian charged, swinging his axe down with a force that could have crushed a boulder. Han Yue sidestepped like a storm wind and countered—their weapons met with a thunderous clang, sending a shockwave that threw soldiers to the ground.
Dust and sparks danced through the air as the two titans clashed again and again, every blow carving deep scars into the earth.
"Die!" the barbarian howled, veins bulging like coiled serpents.
"You first," Han Yue growled, golden light flickering across his halberd.
Then—BOOM!—his weapon flashed like lightning. The halberd's edge tore through the air, cleaving the barbarian's axe in half and plunging straight through his chest.
Blood erupted in a crimson arc. The barbarian's roar broke into a dying gasp as he sank to his knees, eyes wide with disbelief before collapsing lifeless into the dust.
Han Yue exhaled slowly, the weight of battle heavy in his gaze. But his expression darkened as he turned toward the horizon.
A vast cloud of dust was rising again. Within it, figures marched—orderly, deliberate—and at their head strode a man draped in the skin of a great wolf, its fanged snout resting atop his head like a crown. Two long strands of black hair trailed across his bare chest, where a necklace of wolf fangs glimmered under the fading sun. His face was painted in streaks of red and black, his presence wild yet commanding.
Han Yue's grip tightened around his halberd.
He could feel the air itself growing heavy.
"So…" he muttered.
"The true battle begins now."
The wolf leader roared into the fray, his bone spear spinning in wide arcs that tore through flesh and armor alike. Soldiers fell one after another, blood spraying as he rushed forward like a raging tempest.
"All tribesmen—ascend!
Slaughter these petty dogs who dare defile our homeland!" he bellowed.
"Yes, Chieftain!" the warriors cried, their voices like thunder rolling across the plains.
Then, with a resounding boom, a surge of energy exploded from the wolf leader's body. Blue lightning coiled around him like living serpents as he shot into the sky, the bone spear spinning in his hands, trailing streaks of azure light.
He thrust the weapon downward, his voice echoing through the heavens:
"Heavenly Lightning Strike!"
The world seemed to hold its breath—then BOOM!
The spear struck the earth, shattering it into a thousand splinters. A blinding blue light erupted outward, and from the cracked soil countless bolts of lightning burst forth in every direction, devouring over a hundred meters of battlefield in a single instant.
The soldiers of the Sunrise Empire screamed as the blue lightning swallowed them whole, armor melting and bodies turning to ash beneath the crackling storm.
The ground sizzled with lingering arcs, smoke curling upward as the wolf leader stood tall amid the devastation—his spear still humming with thunder, his crimson war paint glowing faintly beneath the electric haze.
Seeing the deadly lightning bolts surging toward him, Han Yue sprang backward with a powerful leap. For a fleeting moment, he hovered above the ground before landing firmly, dust swirling beneath his boots.
The wolf leader's voice cut sharply through the chaos, echoing like thunder across the battlefield:
"Han Yue..." His spear rose high, pointing directly at him.
"Call your leader to the field at once! Tell him to stop hiding like a coward."
A mocking laugh burst from Han Yue's lips, cold and fearless.
"To deal with the likes of you peasants, a great warrior doesn't soil his hands," he said, spinning his halberd with practiced ease.
"I am more than enough."
With a powerful swing, the halberd sliced through the air, gleaming faintly with golden energy as it cut toward the tribal leader.
Within moments, the two warriors' weapons collided, unleashing a shower of blinding blue and fiery sparks.
A thunderous boom erupted as blue lightning energy exploded outward, forcefully pushing Han Yue and the tribal leader apart. Both were dragged across the scorched earth, carving deep furrows as they fought to regain their footing.
A sharp grunt escaped Han Yue as a trickle of blood slipped from the corner of his lips. Brushing it away with the sleeve of his armor, he muttered under his breath,
"This guy's strength... he's at the peak of Ocean Lord level."
Without hesitation, the tribal leader spun his bone spear like a whirlwind and charged forward, eyes blazing with fury, targeting the weary general who was now on his last legs.
Seeing the tribal leader charging forward, Han Yue's voice rang out with authority.
"All catapults—release toward their leader!"
"Yes, sir!" the catapult squads roared in unison.
Soldiers dashed toward the catapults, torches held high. With sharp hissing sounds, they lit the spheres ablaze, the fiery orbs glowing bright red and trailing thick black smoke.
"Release!" the squad leader commanded.
With a loud creak, the soldiers pulled the levers, and a powerful whoosh echoed as the blazing spheres soared through the air, streaking toward the tribal leader like meteors of fire.
Seeing the blazing spheres hurtling toward him, the tribal leader twisted and turned in snake-like trails, narrowly evading their fiery descent.
Boom… boom… boom!
Thunderous explosions ripped through the battlefield as the spheres slammed into the ground. Though the tribal leader narrowly escaped, many of his tribesmen—and even soldiers of the Sunrise Empire—were caught in the deadly blast.
"Ahh! Ahhh!" came the agonized screams of those engulfed by the fiery inferno, clutching at burning wounds as they fought for their final breaths.
Seeing his tribesmen and even enemy soldiers fall, the tribal leader's roar cut through the chaos.
"You bastards! Not only do you kill my people, but you would slaughter your own men too!" His eyes burned with unyielding fury.
"Only a small price to pay for the greater good," Han Yue replied coldly, his voice steady despite the raging battle.
Lightning crackled fiercely around the tribal leader's body, each bolt illuminating his wrath. His speed surged, now at least ten times faster. Like a living thunderbolt, he screamed as he charged forward, weaving through the blazing spheres that exploded beneath his feet.
"Soldiers, listen—" Han Yue's command was cut short.
Sling…
The tribal leader's bone spear pierced through Han Yue's throat, the weapon emerging from the other side with sickening finality. Crimson droplets dripped from the gleaming spear as Han Yue gasped, blood staining the battlefield.
Han Yue's mocking smirk twisted into ragged, choking coughs. Blood sprayed from his mouth, splattering the battlefield like crimson rain.
With a brutal tug, the tribal leader yanked his spear free. Han Yue's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, a dark pool spreading beneath him.
Nearby, a tribesman's bone sword sliced clean through a soldier's neck with a wet grunt. The soldier's head dropped, and the tribesman's eyes locked onto the victorious leader.
With a roar of pride and awe, he shouted so all tribal warriors could hear,
"Leader Ming Nian has slain the Imperial Dogs' commander!"
Cheers erupted across the ranks—bloodied, fierce, and unyielding.
A victorious smile spread across Ming Nian's face as his warriors roared their cheers. But in an instant, that smile was swallowed by a chilling shadow—an oppressive, murderous aura that clawed at the very air.
The sky darkened ominously, thick clouds swirling as if heralding an impending storm.
"How dare you!" a deep, thunderous voice ripped through the battlefield, cutting through the clamour like a blade.
Suddenly, the dark clouds split apart, revealing a blazing slash of fire as vast as a mountain. It descended with crushing force, painting the battlefield in shades of yellow and red, its immense pressure warping the very air as it barreled straight toward Ming Nian.