When they left Moon City,
the sky had yet to brighten.
The ruined silver silhouette faded into the morning mist,
like ink dropped upon rice paper,
slowly bleeding outward,
erased by time.
Hong Chen and the Ten followed the old road toward Mossland.
Beyond the tree line,
dust suddenly rose in rolling clouds.
A unit of orc soldiers approached from the north.
Not large in number—
but their armor was uniform,
their formation disciplined.
This was no wandering band.
They were under orders.
Hong Chen paused.
He did not draw his blade.
Nor did anger flicker in his eyes.
He simply said,
"Dispose of them.
Leave the commander alive."
The Ten scattered at once.
No wasted motion.
No sound.
By the time night thinned into gray dawn,
blood had already seeped silently into the roadside earth.
When the last orc fell,
only the commander remained,
pinned to the ground.
He breathed heavily,
blood clinging to his tusks,
hatred unhidden in his eyes.
The Ten dragged him before Hong Chen
and forced him to kneel.
Hong Chen did not bend down.
His gaze rested on the orc
as if upon something of no consequence.
"Where," he asked calmly,
"were you going?"
It did not sound like interrogation.
It sounded like confirmation.
The commander clenched his teeth.
Silence.
Hong Chen did not repeat himself.
A flash of steel—
The commander's arm fell cleanly at the wrist.
Blood splashed across the stone road.
He shuddered violently,
a muffled grunt forced through locked jaws.
Only then did Hong Chen lower his eyes.
His voice was softer now—
and heavier.
"I will ask once more.
Where were you going?"
Sweat streamed down the orc's brow.
Still—
no answer.
Hong Chen nodded.
"Release him."
Even the Ten hesitated for half a breath.
The restraints were removed.
The commander stumbled upright,
propping himself with his remaining hand,
and fled toward the forest,
until his figure dissolved completely into the mist.
Wind swept once more across the clearing.
At last, one of the Ten asked quietly,
"My lord… why let him go?"
Hong Chen did not answer immediately.
He watched the direction of the escape,
his expression calm—
almost empty.
"Let him return," he said.
"Tell the Beast King that on this road,
besides the Holy City…
there is me."
It was not a threat.
Nor a declaration of war.
It was a statement
that the world was meant to hear.
The wind stirred the treetops.
In that moment,
the Ten finally understood—
Hong Chen was no longer a shadow
pursued by the Holy City.
He had stepped onto the board himself.
And he could now move the pieces.
Half a month later.
Hong Chen and the Ten arrived
at the gates of Mossland.
There was no lockdown.
No fleeing crowds.
Not even excessive caution.
A woman selling flatbread glanced up, startled for a heartbeat—
then smiled and nodded in greeting.
Children ran past the alley mouth,
waving small hands.
"Hello!"
The Ten slowed unconsciously.
The scent of blood and iron still clung to them.
Here,
in this quiet city,
it felt almost out of place.
Hong Chen did not linger.
The palace gates stood ahead.
Guards lined both sides, spears grounded.
They neither barred the way
nor questioned him.
They simply bowed.
At the threshold,
Hong Chen turned slightly.
"Wait here."
The tone was calm.
Not an order—
a mutual understanding long settled.
The Ten answered as one.
No one asked why.
The gates opened slowly.
Wooden hinges groaned low and long,
as if reminding the visitor—
beyond this door
lay a past sealed by time.
The light inside the hall was gentle.
Vines cast shifting shadows across stone pillars.
Someone was already waiting.
Old Lord Rhea,
white-haired, leaning upon a staff,
stood at the center of the hall.
No surprise.
No guard raised.
He simply looked at Hong Chen—
as though at an answer
long overdue.
"You have finally come,"
Rhea said.
His voice was not loud.
But it was clear.
Hong Chen stopped.
In this moment,
he was not the "Calamity" others named him.
Not a blood-bound anomaly.
Not a shadow chased by the Holy City.
Just a man
who had walked back to the source
to seek his origin.
He lifted his gaze.
"I want the truth."
No sharpness of accusation.
No heat of anger.
Only sincerity
that could not be turned aside.
Rhea nodded gently.
"I know."
He turned and walked toward the inner hall,
robes brushing over moss-covered stone.
"This time…
I will not let you leave
with questions."
The doors closed slowly behind them.
And Mossland—
that quiet, unassuming city—
in that moment,
stepped quietly
onto a fork in destiny.
离开月城时,天色未明.破败的银白城影在晨雾里渐渐淡去,像滴在宣纸上的墨,被时光慢慢洇开,抹去.
红辰与十待沿着旧道往青苔国走,林线外忽然腾起滚滚尘土一支兽兵队伍自北而来,人数不算多,装备却齐整得绝非游兵散勇,分明是在执行调令的正规军.
红辰脚步一顿,既未拔刀,也没有显露出半分怒意,只是淡淡开口:"处理掉.将领留活口."
十待同时散开,动作利落得没有半点声息.这场交锋连"战斗"都算不上,夜色尚未褪尽,血已悄然渗进了路边泥土.
最后一名兽兵倒下时,只剩那名被压制在地的兽将还在挣扎.他粗重地喘着气,獠牙上凝着血珠,眼中满是不加掩饰的敌意.
十待将他拖到红辰面前,按跪在地.红辰立在原地,没有俯身,目光像在看一件无关紧要的物事:"你们,要去哪里?"
语气平直,不是审问,更像在确认一件早有定数的事实.
兽将咬紧牙关,一言不发.
红辰没有再问,刀光骤然一闪嚓! 兽将的手臂齐腕而断,血溅在青石板路上.他闷哼一声,身体剧烈颤抖,却硬生生把惨叫咽回了喉咙.
直到这时,红辰才微微低头看向他,声音比之前更低,却带着不容置喙的压力:"再问一次.你们,要去哪里?"
兽将额头冷汗直流,喘息粗重,却依旧死死闭着嘴.
红辰却点了点头:"放了他."
命令落下时,连十待都忍不住微微一怔.束缚刚解开,兽将就跌跌撞撞爬起身,用仅剩的一只手撑着地面,拼了命往林外逃,直到身影彻底没入晨雾深处.
风声重新漫过这片空地,十待中终于有人低声发问:"主上...为何放他走?"
红辰没有立刻回答,只是望着兽将逃离的方向,目光冷静得近乎空白:"让他回去.告诉兽王这条路上,除了圣城...还有我."
这不是威胁,也不是宣战,是一句必须被世界听见,记住的宣告.
风掠过林梢,叶声轻响.十待低头应声,他们在这一刻终于明白红辰不再是被圣城追逐的影子,而是主动站到棋盘中央,能握起棋子的人.
半月后,红辰与十待抵达青苔国城门.
红辰踏入城中,街道没有戒严,没人奔逃,甚至连多余的警惕都没有卖饼的妇人抬头瞧见他,愣了一瞬,随即笑着点头致意;巷口跑过的孩童,还不忘挥着小手喊:"你们好呀!"
十待下意识放慢脚步,他们身上还沾着血与铁的冷硬气息,在这座安闲的城里,竟显得有些格格不入.
红辰没有停留,宫门已近在眼前.护卫立在两侧,长矛垂地,既未交叉拦阻,也没有盘问,只是恭敬地低头行礼.红辰走到门前,忽然回头:"你们在这里等."
语气平静,不是命令,更像一种早已达成的默契.十待同时应声,没有一人多问.
宫门缓缓开启,木轴转动的声响低沉而悠长,仿佛在提醒来人:这道门后,通向的是被时光封存的过往.
殿内光线柔和,廊下藤影在石柱上晃动摇曳.有人已等在那里白发苍苍的老城主瑞亚,拄着手杖站在殿中央,没有惊讶,也无防备,只是看着红辰,目光深远得像在凝视一个迟到多年的答案.
"你终于来了."瑞亚开口,声音不高,却异常清晰.
红辰停下脚步.这一刻,他不是被称作"灾厄"的异类,不是背负血脉纠葛的混血,也不是被圣城追逐的影子只是一个走到源头,想要寻根的人.
他抬眼直视瑞亚:"我想知道真相."
没有质问的锋芒,也没有怒火的灼烫,只有不容回避的恳切.
瑞亚轻轻点头:"我知道."他转身朝内殿走去,衣摆扫过地面的青苔,"这一次…我不会再让你带着问题离开."
殿门在他们身后缓缓合上.青苔国,这座看似平静无波的城池,在这一刻正式站上了命运的分岔口.