"No!"
Lin roared the word.
It was not an answer.
It was closer to a final act of definition—forcing himself, at the edge of life and death, to decide what it still meant to be human.
He stepped back from the cliff. Loose stones slid under his boots and fell into the pitch-black ravine below, swallowed without even an echo.
Behind him, the pregnant woman lost control completely.
Curses, sobbing, and hysterical accusations tangled together. She had believed them—believed that handing over the child would make everything stop. Fear had gnawed away the last of her reason, until even her own voice no longer sounded like her own.
Lin did not turn around.
He knew he could not explain.
And that there was no point in trying.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a clay jar.
No hesitation.
No warning.
He hurled it with all his strength at the nearest bronze warrior.
The jar shattered on impact.
Black liquid burst outward, splashing across fallen leaves, exposed roots, and damp earth. It did not run like water. It crept—thick, slow, and silent, like a black snake sliding flat against the ground.
The forest air changed instantly.
It turned sharp and greasy, choking, carrying a bitter stench that refused to burn away and crawled straight down the throat.
For the first time, the undead warriors hesitated.
Someone muttered a curse. Someone else stepped back without thinking. It was not fear—
but instinct. A reflexive avoidance of something abnormal, something outside their understanding.
-----------------
Deep in the forest,
the general in golden arm-plates slowly lifted his head.
He did not look at the black oil spreading across the ground.
He did not look at the undead warriors backing away in disorder.
His gaze settled on Lin, and paused.
There was no anger in it. No urgency.
Instead, there was a calm, almost clinical appraisal, as if he were examining a finished piece of work, judging its craftsmanship.
Before any words could be spoken, Lin was already moving.
The black fire-oil continued to seep into the soil, flowing with the slope of the land, silently coating the narrow forest path worn smooth by countless boots—the fastest, straightest route for pursuit.
Lin pulled another object from his belt.
A slender bamboo tube, sealed tight.
Inside, the fire-seed crackled softly as it shifted, a faint pop-pop like a living thing trapped in too small a space, waiting to break free.
He did not look at the pregnant woman.
His eyes were locked on the bronze warrior splashed with oil.
"This is what you want," he said.
His voice was low, stripped of all excess emotion, cold and precise.
As the words fell, he raised his arm.
The bamboo tube was thrown hard.
For a heartbeat, the air itself seemed to tense.
The tube spun through the air, carrying a small but dangerous glow, and dropped toward the ground already soaked in black oil.
Clack.
The sound of impact was sharp and brief.
The next instant—
Fire exploded upward.
Not a spark.
Not a flicker.
A full ribbon of flame surged out, like a beast released after long restraint, snapping its jaws around the oil-slicked ground.
Boom!
Fire raced along fallen leaves, rolling low against the earth, dragging thick black smoke as it surged straight toward the bronze warrior's feet.
The warrior was swallowed whole.
Flames forced their way through gaps in armor, crawled along fur and cloth, spreading with terrifying speed. His shape twisted inside the fire, reduced to a burning outline, a broken, hoarse roar tearing out of his throat as his limbs flailed without pattern or control.
The burning warrior crashed into his companions.
Dry armor.
Blood-stained hides.
Oil-soaked bindings.
Perfect fuel.
Boom!
Boom!
The second—then the third—warrior caught fire as well. Flames burst from between metal fingers, as if igniting from inside their bodies.
The night forest was fully lit.
Fire rose from the ground, racing along the carefully guided path, spreading fast and wide until it formed a wall of flame—an absolute barrier that cut off the pursuit completely.
Heat rolled outward.
Firelight climbed the tree trunks, turning the forest into a living map of hell.
Lin stood before the wall of fire.
His shadow stretched long behind him, nailed to the earth like a lone spike driven into the edge of the world.
At this moment, the road was burned away.
-----------------
The fire was still burning.
But there were no new footsteps.
No sound of anyone trying to circle around.
No angry roar followed by another charge.
No commands echoing through the trees.
On the other side of the forest, everything suddenly went quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that came from being blocked—
but the kind that suggested pursuit was no longer necessary.
Lin's breathing faltered, just slightly.
For the first time, he sensed something was wrong.
Firelight lit up one corner of the woods.
The skeleton warhorse stood where it was. It had not retreated.
The general did not even look at the wall of fire again.
His gaze passed over the burning forest, passed over where Lin stood, and settled on the far side of the flames—
the direction deliberately left untouched by the spilled oil.
A cliff hidden by thick brush.
A ravine beyond it.
The sound of rushing water was still there, low and relentless, rolling through the darkness.
The general raised one hand.
Not as a command.
But as confirmation.
"He sealed this path," he said.
His voice was quiet, yet it cut cleanly through the roar of the flames.
"He wants us to understand that as long as he keeps blocking this way,"
"the real path is probably on the other side."
The skeleton warhorse slowly turned its skull.
Its hollow eye sockets fixed calmly on the depths of the forest.
In that moment, Lin understood.
What he faced today was no longer just a beast lurking in the woods—
but an enemy who could think, who could judge.
Today would not be easy.