Hong Lei led the army in retreat from the City of White Clouds.
Hong Chen, Qin Feng, and the wounded soldiers who still clung to life were all sent back to the Holy City together.
The battle banners hung low.
No horns were sounded.
When the city gates opened, there were no cheers.
In the royal palace, the moment the king received the battle report, it was as if something inside him was hollowed out.
City of White Clouds.
The name struck like an old blade, carving open his heart once more.
He had lost his beloved.
And now, another beloved soul had fallen—
beyond his reach, because of the battle for White Clouds.
The infirmary lights burned through the night.
Blood and medicine mingled in the air, while whispered prayers echoed again and again along the corridors.
Hong Chen's eyes snapped open.
His heartbeat was erratic. His breathing ragged.
"Qin Feng!"
He nearly tumbled from the bed, dragging his unhealed body out of the ward.
Bandages were instantly soaked through with blood as his wounds tore open under the strain.
Pain should have come.
But he felt none.
In his eyes, there was only one name.
The corridor stretched endlessly.
Each step felt as though he were walking on emptiness itself.
The cries of healers, the soldiers trying to stop him, the sound of blood dripping onto the floor—
he heard none of it.
He knew only one thing:
Qin Feng was waiting.
He had to find her.
Otherwise, this world would no longer hold any meaning.
At last, Hong Chen reached her.
Her breathing was shallow and slow, like the final breeze of dusk.
He lifted her into his arms and walked, step by step, toward the place where they had so often stood together, watching the sun sink beyond the horizon.
Beneath the cliffside tree.
Dusk spread across the sky.
The clouds were dyed a gentle orange-gold, as if the world were still pretending to be at peace.
Hong Chen knelt beneath the tree, carefully resting Qin Feng against his chest.
She was light—
terrifyingly light.
"Hong…"
Her voice was almost carried away by the wind.
"…Chen…"
He lowered his head, pressing his forehead to hers.
"I'm here…"
Her lips moved slightly, as if she wanted to say something more.
But the words never came.
Her breathing stopped.
The wind still blew.
The sun continued to sink.
But the person in his arms…
was gone.
Hong Chen's eyes widened.
In that instant, the world seemed to lose all sound.
"…No."
A broken syllable tore from his throat.
"No…"
The next moment, grief long suppressed shattered completely.
Hong Chen threw his head back and howled.
The cry tore through the mountain winds, tore through the dusk, and tore through the silence of the Holy City itself.
That single scream seemed to force the entire city to bow its head.
High Priest Phar stood in the distance.
He wanted to step forward—
yet an indescribable unease suddenly rose within his heart.
Hong Chen's wailing stopped abruptly.
He lowered his head, holding Qin Feng, utterly still.
As if something had dragged him into a deeper abyss.
Darkness swallowed his consciousness without a sound.
In the next instant—
Flames erupted uncontrollably from within him.
The crimson fury before Phar's eyes faded away, replaced by something else—
Blue fire.
Cold.
Silent.
Yet capable of burning everything.
Blue flames surged along the cliffside.
The air warped.
Grass and trees turned to ash the moment they were touched—without explosion, without sound.
As if it were not burning,
but quietly holding a funeral—
for him, and for the world.
Phar stood frozen, watching the red fire drain away, cooling, transforming into blue.
The color drained from his face, inch by inch.
The blue flames rolled silently along the cliff.
No roar.
No detonation.
Only cold, relentless burning—
as though bearing the grief Hong Chen could not voice.
Phar's pupils shrank.
In that moment, he finally understood the source of his unease.
This was not an awakening.
This was an out-of-control Origin Flame.
If it continued to spread, the Holy City—
the entire land—
would be consumed.
Phar did not shout.
He did not hesitate.
He charged straight into the edge of the blue fire.
The hem of his priestly robes blackened instantly under the heat.
Pain tore into his flesh, but he crushed it down.
Phar raised his hand.
Runes ignited in his palm.
An ancient, weighty sigil formed in the air.
Soul-Suppression Strike.
A deep, muffled impact echoed.
The blue flames shuddered violently.
Hong Chen's body was struck, flung backward as his consciousness was forcibly dragged out of the abyss.
The flames extinguished at once.
The wind returned to the cliffside.
Night slowly descended.
Phar stood there, chest heaving, staring at Hong Chen's unconscious body on the ground, his hand still trembling.
"If you had continued to burn…"
"You would have destroyed even her final rest."
"Lord!"
A sharp cry from one of the Ten Attendants cut through Hong Chen's sinking thoughts like a blade.
The horns of White Clouds, the stench of blood, Qin Feng's broken breathing—
all of it scattered at that call.
Hong Chen shuddered slightly.
The emotions surging in his eyes were forced back into their deepest depths.
He slowly raised his head.
In the distance, City of White Clouds still stood silently on the horizon—
like a wound that would never heal.
Hong Chen did not look a second time.
"City of White Clouds…"
he murmured, his voice nearly carried away by the wind.
"I will return."
It was not a vow.
It was a certainty.
His teal robes snapped in the night wind.
Firelight reflected in his eyes—
yet could no longer ignite any emotion.
"Let's go."
The Ten Attendants moved in perfect, silent unison.
And the direction they marched toward was—
Wolf Mountain.
The orc stronghold waited there in silence.
That night, there was no thunder.
Yet the orcs of Wolf Mountain
would never live to see dawn again.
洪雷率军撤离白云城.
红辰,琴风,以及那些仍在喘息的伤兵,被一同送回圣城.
战旗低垂,号角无声.
城门开启时,没有欢呼.
王宫内,国王得知战报的那一刻,整个人仿佛被抽空.
白云城.
那个名字像一把旧刀,再一次割开他的心.
他失去了挚爱.
而现在,又一个挚爱
也因白云之战,倒在他无法触及的地方.
医院的灯火彻夜未熄.
血与药味交织,低声的祈祷在长廊里反复回荡.
红辰猛地睁开眼.
心跳失序,呼吸紊乱.
"琴风!"
他几乎是从床上翻身而起,拖着尚未愈合的身体冲出病房.
绷带瞬间被血染透,伤口在剧烈动作下撕裂.
剧痛本该袭来.
可他没有感觉.
他的眼里,只剩一个名字.
走廊很长.
每一步都像踩在虚空之上.
医者的呼喊,士兵的阻拦,血顺着地面滴落的声音
他全都听不见.
他只知道
琴风在等他.
他必须找到她.
不然,这个世界,将再没有任何意义.
红辰终于来到琴风身边.
她的呼吸,短而慢,像黄昏里最后一缕风.
红辰抱起她,一步一步,走向他们曾无数次并肩看日落的地方.
崖边的大树下.
黄昏铺满天空,云层被染成温柔的橘金色,仿佛这个世界仍在假装安宁.
红辰跪坐在树下,将琴风轻轻靠在自己怀中.
她的身体很轻,轻得让人心慌.
"红..."
琴风的声音几乎被风带走.
"辰..."
红辰低下头,额头贴着她的额头.
"我在..."
她的唇微微动了一下,像是想再说什么.
可那句话,终究没有来得及出口.
呼吸,停了.
风声仍在.
夕阳仍在下沉.
可怀中的人...
已经不在了.
红辰猛地睁大双眼.
世界仿佛在那一刻失去了声音.
"...不."
他喉咙里挤出一个破碎的音节.
"不..."
下一瞬,压抑到极限的悲痛彻底崩塌.
红辰仰天嘶吼.
声音撕裂山风,撕裂黄昏,也撕裂了圣城的宁静.
那一声痛喊,仿佛让整座圣城同时低下了头.
大祭司法尔站在远处.
他想上前.
却在那一刻,心中陡然升起一股无法言喻的不安.
红辰的哭喊,忽然止住.
他低着头,抱着琴风,一动不动.
像是被什么拖入了更深的地方.
黑暗,无声地吞没了他的意识.
下一瞬,
火焰自他体内失控涌出.
赤红的怒火,在眼前褪去.
取而代之
蓝色的炎流.
冷冽,无声,却足以焚尽一切.
蓝炎在崖边翻涌,空气随之扭曲,草木在触碰的瞬间化为灰烬,却没有爆裂声.
仿佛那不是燃烧,
而是替他,也替这个世界,
默默举行的一场送葬.
法尔站在原地,
看着赤炎在眼前褪色,转冷,最终化作蓝焰.
脸色,一寸寸失去血色.
蓝色的火焰在崖边无声翻涌.
没有咆哮.
没有爆裂.
只是冷冷地燃烧着,像是在替红辰承受无法出口的哀伤.
法尔的瞳孔骤然收缩.
那一瞬间,他终于明白了心中的不安从何而来.
这不是觉醒.
这是失控的源火.
若继续蔓延,圣城,整片大地,都会被卷入其中.
法尔没有呼喊.
没有犹豫.
他猛地冲入蓝炎边缘,祭司袍角在高温中迅速焦黑.
灼痛侵入皮肤,却被他生生压下.
法尔抬手,掌心符纹亮起.
一道古老而沉重的印记,在空气中成形.
镇魂击.
沉闷的一声闷响.
蓝炎猛地一滞.
红辰的身体被击中,整个人向后倒去.
他的意识,被强行从那片黑暗深渊中拉出.
火焰骤然熄灭.
风重新回到崖边.
夜色,缓缓落下.
法尔站在原地,胸口剧烈起伏.
他看着昏迷倒在地上的红辰,手仍在微微颤抖.
"如果你此刻继续燃烧..."
"你会连她最后的安息,都一起毁掉."
"主上!"
十待中一人的低喝,如同利刃,斩断了红辰沉入过往的思绪.
白云城的号角声,血腥味,琴风断裂的呼吸...
在那一声呼喊中,骤然退散.
红辰微微一震.
眼底那一瞬翻涌的情绪,被他生生压回最深处.
他缓缓抬头.
远方的白云城,仍在地平线上静静伫立,像一块未愈的伤疤.
红辰没有再看第二眼.
"白云城..."
他低声开口,声音低得几乎被风带走.
"我会回来的."
那不是誓言.
而是迟早会发生的事实.
青色长袍在夜风中猎猎作响.
火光映进他的眼眸,却再也点不燃任何情绪.
"走吧."
十待动作整齐而沉默.
而在他们前去的方向正是
狼山,兽人要塞,正静静等待着.
这一夜,没有雷声.
却注定狼山的兽人,再也等不到天亮.