Two full years had passed since Wei Wu had fled Pine Brook with the survivors and brought them safely to Redbranch Town. In those years, the wounds of war had faded, but never truly healed. People rebuilt their homes, merchants reopened their shops, children played in the dusty streets again—but fear never left completely. Everyone knew the Ironblood Knights still marched the northern continent.
The only reason Redbranch had survived as long as it had was because their raids had been small—testing attacks, probing strikes. Twice, maybe three times a squad of knights had tried to force their way into Redbranch. Each time, Wei Wu had been there. With improvised formations, quick thinking, and just enough Foundation Stage power to make the difference, he had turned them back becoming a beacon of the town .
And in that time, Lin Feng grew.
He had been a trembling, grief-stricken orphan when Wei Wu found him. But over two years, he became lean and fast, with bright eyes that never stopped trying to understand every lesson his master gave him. Wei Wu taught him formations, footwork, how to hold a sword without letting fear weigh down the blade. Not cultivation—not yet—but discipline, reflexes, and survival.
There was joy in their quiet routine.
There was peace.
And both knew it couldn't last.
The morning the attack came, the sky was calm—strangely calm. Mist rolled lazily across Redbranch's rooftops, clinging to the stone walls. Wei Wu stood on the northern watchtower, arms folded, feeling the cold wind run through his hair.
It had been too quiet these last months. No raids. No scouting parties. No strange tracks in the woods. Peace always came with a price in this world, and today, he felt the bill coming due.
Lin Feng climbed the steps to the tower, breathing lightly despite the steep climb.
"Master," he said, "the patrols returned. No signs of enemies."
Wei Wu nodded slowly.
"Mm. But keep your senses sharp today."
Lin Feng tilted his head. "Is something wrong?"
Wei Wu kept staring toward the horizon.
"I don't know. That's what bothers me."
The boy didn't argue. Two years under Wei Wu had taught him this much—when his master felt uneasy, he was rarely wrong.
The sun had barely climbed above the hills when the sound reached them—soft at first, like distant thunder. Wei Wu's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, gripping the wooden railing.
Dust rose on the horizon.
Banners lifted in the cold wind.
Metal glinted.
And the ground trembled.
Lin Feng's breath caught.
"Master… that…"
Wei Wu inhaled deeply.
"A full battalion. No—more."
A thousand Ironblood Knights marched across the hills, armored from boot to helmet, shields locked, formation precise as a blade. Their captains barked orders. Their banners snapped sharply.
This was no raid.
This was an extermination.
Wei Wu's heart tightened painfully.
"So it finally comes."
Lin Feng stared, fear shaking his fingers. "We can't fight that… we can't…"
Wei Wu placed a hand on the boy's shoulder—warm, grounding.
"No. We can't. But we can survive."
He pulled Lin Feng down the tower steps and into the streets below. People were already panicking—doors slamming shut, children crying, guards scrambling into defensive posts. Wei Wu began barking orders, guiding them to fallback positions he had planned months ago.
He didn't shout with panic.
He shouted with purpose.
"Seal the eastern routes! Guide the elderly to the underground shelters! Anyone who can lift a spear—hold the western street barricades! Move!"
His voice steadied the town like a pillar dug into bedrock.
The first wave hit with the force of a storm. Ironblood Knights stormed the main street in tight formation, shields raised, spears out. Redbranch's defenders, a mix of militia and trained townsfolk, held their ground with shaking arms. Wei Wu was there in the heart of it, pulling men back at the right moment, pushing them forward at another, turning narrow streets into choke points and collapsing ambush nets onto the enemy.
Lin Feng fought close behind him, following every order sharply. His sword wasn't steady—but his resolve was.
"Lin Feng, left flank—block the spear!" Wei Wu yelled.
Lin Feng stepped in, parrying just enough for Wei Wu to drive his shoulder into the knight's armor, knocking him off balance. The retaliation was quick—a sword swung wide, slicing Wei Wu's sleeve—but the man pivoted and ended the attacker with a clean strike to the neck joint.
"We're holding, Master!" Lin Feng said, almost breathless.
"Not for long," Wei Wu muttered. "The next wave will break through."
And he was right.
They came like a flood through the shattered barricade, overwhelming the defenders.
Wei Wu made his choice instantly.
"Lin Feng! Follow me! We're going to the forest path."
"But the others—!"
"We cannot save the town," Wei Wu said, voice thick with pain. "But I can save you."
They ran. Through burning streets, splintered wood, collapsed walls, and bodies. Wei Wu struck down knights where he had to, guided Lin Feng with sharp commands, and forced a path toward the hidden escape route behind the herb fields.
But the enemy spotted them.
Twenty knights broke off from the main force, sprinting toward them with murderous speed. Wei Wu threw himself forward, meeting the first blows head-on. His blade flashed, cutting two down instantly—but the effort made his core flare violently. A jolt of pain shot through his chest.
Not now.
Not here.
"Lin Feng, don't stop moving!" he shouted, voice almost breaking.
The boy hesitated a moment too long—and a spear flew toward him. Wei Wu reacted without thinking. He grabbed Lin Feng's shoulder, spun him away, and took the blade through his side.
Lin Feng screamed.
"MASTER!"
Wei Wu gritted his teeth, turned the injury into momentum, and swung his sword in a wide arc, cutting down the attacker.
Blood poured from his wound. His legs trembled. His vision blurred.
But he smiled.
"Go. Don't look back."
Lin Feng shook his head violently. "I won't leave you! I won't!"
Wei Wu placed his hand on the boy's head, gentle and warm despite the chaos.
"You will. Because you will live. And you will grow. And one day…" His voice faded, trembling. "…you will be stronger than even these lands."
He pushed him—hard—forcing Lin Feng onto the forest path.
Lin Feng stumbled forward, sobbing, reaching out with trembling hands as Wei Wu turned back toward the advancing knights.
And then it happened—the final clash.
Wei Wu fought like a man with nothing left to save except one precious life. He cut down knight after knight, even as blood soaked his clothes, even as his core pulsed irregularly like a dying flame.
A dozen spears and blades pierced him, but he did not fall until the boy was completely out of sight.
Only then, with a final exhale, did he collapse.
When Lin Feng reached safety, he collapsed beneath a withered tree, clutching the wooden token Wei Wu had given him in their first winter together. Tears streamed down his face, and a hoarse cry tore from his throat.
His master was gone.
But his teachings lived in every breath the boy took.
Lin Feng would rise.
He would grow.
And he would search for Wei Wu until the ends of the world.