A skeletal warhorse crushed through the fallen leaves of the forest, each step breaking them with a dry, brittle crack.
The sound did not carry the wild urgency of a chase.
It was measured, deliberate—more like the act of confirming direction than running.
Pale bone ran from the horse's neck along its ribs, bare and cold.
The leather saddle had been worn smooth by years of use, bleached pale, its surface catching a faint light.
In the deep cracks of the hide, old blood had dried and darkened, pressed into the seams and never cleaned out.
A torn military banner hung from the saddle's side. The cloth was thin and frayed. It moved slowly in the wind, like a hand lifted long ago and never brought down.
The general in golden bracers reached out and patted the warhorse's back.
The gesture was light.
It was not praise.
It was closer to reassurance.
He did not urge the horse forward.
There was no need.
The prey had nowhere left to go.
—
On the opposite side of the forest, Lin was running.
Not the blind, reckless sprint of someone fleeing death, but a forced, restrained pace—one chosen with care. He knew what lay ahead.
A cliff.
A dead end.
And the only way out.
Beyond the trees was a broken precipice, where a mountain spring burst from the rock and plunged downward, carving a narrow, twisting river that ran toward the valley below. The water was fast, icy, and black. Once you entered it, there was no way to tell who was alive and who was already dead.
If he had been alone, Lin would have reached it long ago.
But he wasn't.
Undead warriors were closing in from three directions behind him, tightening like a net. Ahead, the pregnant woman was clearly exhausted. Her steps grew heavier with each stride, her breathing ragged and uneven, wheezing like a broken bellows.
Lin suddenly reached out, seized the seven-year-old boy beside him, and lifted him straight onto his shoulder.
The child screamed.
Not from pain.
From terror.
He began thrashing wildly, crying without restraint. His legs kicked in the air, his small hands clawed desperately at Lin's collar, as if trying to tear himself free from this strange, unyielding body.
"Slow down! Slow down!"
The pregnant woman cried hoarsely behind them."You're hurting him!"
Lin did not turn back.
He drew in a rough breath and pressed the boy more firmly against his shoulder.
Ahead of them, another young couple had already reached the edge of the ravine.
Night pressed down low over the forest. In the darkness, the stream glimmered with a cold, dim sheen. Water thundered along the stone walls, deep and coarse, like some beast crouched in the shadows. That was no river—it was something that swallowed people whole.
The woman holding a two-year-old child did not hesitate. Her toes left the ground, and in the same instant, she was taken by darkness and the roar of water.
The splash came a heartbeat later.
Her body slammed into rocks and tangled brush below. Sharp branches and jagged stone tore into her skin. Blood seeped out at once, invisible in the night, leaving only raw, burning pain. Freezing water surged over her, and the child in her arms screamed and writhed in panic.
Pain and confusion stole her sense of direction. The current shoved her aside, forcing her out of the main flow.
There was a dull, heavy sound.
Her head struck a sharp rock.
Blood burst forth instantly. White matter spread across the stone, glaring and obscene in the faint reflected light. She lay there without moving, pinned by the night itself. The child in her arms was still crying—small, thin cries, full of hopeless fear.
Above, the man collapsed.
He screamed his wife's name until his voice tore raw, scrambling desperately along the edge for a way down. His steps were frantic, unsteady.
Then his foot slipped.
He vanished into the darkness, swallowed by the roar of the ravine. No struggle. No shadow left behind. No one could tell where the water carried him.
—
Less than twenty meters remained.
On both sides of the forest path, the reflections of bronze arm-guards appeared in the darkness.
Not from one direction.
From left and right at the same time.
Cold light closing in.
"Go! Jump!"
Lin carried the boy to the edge of the stream and nearly set him down rather than placed him. Then he turned at once and rushed back toward the pregnant woman."Move!"
He ran back less than ten meters and grabbed her arm, yanking her toward the ravine. In that moment, he turned his head sharply—
The boy was still there.
Standing exactly where he had been.
He stared at the corpse below and the blood-smeared rocks, frozen in place as if nailed to the ground. His small body trembled. His crying came in broken gasps, choked by terror. He would not move. He only cried, as though waiting for his mother to climb back out of the water.
The pregnant woman stumbled closer, dragged forward. The cold spray from the ravine and the nearness of death shattered her completely. Her voice rose into a shrill scream.
"Stop crying! If you keep crying, I'll hit you!"
The words changed nothing.
The boy screamed harder. His feet dug into the stones at the edge of the bank, knuckles white, refusing to take a single step forward.
Lin's heart dropped.
There was no time.
The shadows of the forest were closing in, like an unseen net. The enemy advanced faster than the wind.
Lin drew his hunting knife and turned to face the darkness.
But it was already too late.
Bronze bracer warriors glimmered around them in a wide arc. The distance was not close—but there was no escape left.
The child kept crying, his voice piercing in the night, refusing to jump into the stream.
The pregnant woman cursed him through sobs, then looked helplessly at Lin. Her lips trembled. Her body did not move forward.
She could not jump either.
Lin scanned the approaching undead warriors, then tilted his head slightly, searching for another place along the cliff where someone might leap.
"Where are you going?!"
At the edge of life and death, the pregnant woman seemed to realize something at last.
Her voice broke."Now? You're going to leave us—"
Lin did not answer.
He truly had no intention of wasting more time.
If he stayed any longer, he would die here too.
He had already done enough. Leaving this woman and child now was, by any rational measure, blameless.
The forest fell suddenly quiet.
Then a low, steady voice emerged from the darkness.
"You did nothing wrong."
Lin stopped.
"Crying attracts pursuit."
"Extra weight slows everyone down."
"You led us here successfully. I assume more villagers have escaped in the opposite direction by now."
The voice was calm, almost detached. It did not sound like a hunter closing in, but like someone reciting conclusions proven again and again.
"Leave one behind, and the rest have a chance to live."
"We have walked this road many times."
The golden-bracer figures continued their approach, maintaining a composed, deliberate distance.
"Jump."
"You've done well."
In the instant those words settled, something in Lin twisted sharply.
When had he begun using the same logic as the undead he despised most?
He cursed them every day for their cruelty, their lack of feeling—yet without realizing it, he had made the same choices.
He had seen villagers fleeing deeper into the forest, running the other way.
He had used this pregnant woman to buy them time.
"You've completed your task."
The general even lifted his hand slightly, a gesture almost polite, as if courteously seeing Lin off.