Lue remained motionless.
He could no longer feel the cold wind, the blood soaking through his robes, or the countless eyes fixed upon him.
The only thing he could still feel was Qian.
Qian's body, growing colder and colder in his arms.
The warmth that had always grounded him was fading away, slipping through his trembling fingers little by little.
And with it, the madness inside him began to die.
Or perhaps it had simply fallen silent.
The battlefield stood in complete stillness.
No one moved.
No one dared to breathe too loudly.
The soldiers who had only moments ago charged with weapons raised now stood frozen in place, their blades hanging uselessly at their sides.
The boy who had just erased thousands as if they had never existed now lay beside a corpse, holding it like it was the most precious thing in the world.
And suddenly, he looked less like a monster.
And more like a child who had lost everything.
The Yòu were nowhere to be seen.
Not a single one had appeared.
And yet the battle had ended.
The dead covered the earth like fallen leaves after a storm.
Blood flowed through the cracks in the ground.
Smoke rose into the darkening sky.
No one could say who had won.
No one could say who had lost.
Only one thing was certain.
Everything had changed.
Then-
A deep vibration spread through the earth.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The sound of countless footsteps marching in perfect unison.
Heads turned.
Eyes widened.
And from beyond the haze of blood and smoke, a vast army emerged.
Their numbers stretched farther than the eye could see.
Silent.
Disciplined.
Terrifying.
Each soldier wore white robes stained with crimson, as though they had stepped directly out of a nightmare.
A soldier dropped his sword.
"The Yòu..."
His voice cracked.
Whispers rippled across the battlefield like wind over dead grass.
"The Yòu are here."
"We're finished."
"It's over."
Lue slowly lifted his head.
His black eyes, hollow and endless, swept across the trembling crowd.
At once, every voice died.
Even fear itself seemed to fall silent.
Lue rose to his feet.
Qian's blood still covered his hands.
The little blue doll hung loosely from his fingers.
He stared at the approaching army.
Something about them felt painfully familiar.
And then the memories came.
Children sleeping on cold stone floors.
Silent meals.
Punishments.
Lessons.
A lonely room where names were stripped away and replaced with obedience.
The children who had grown up beside him.
The only companions of his forgotten childhood.
The books which are taken away from him.
By Master.
The Yòu.
Lue's eyes widened.
At the front of the army stood a single figure.
Tall.
Straight-backed.
His white robes flowed in the wind like funeral cloth.
And in his hand rested a sword drenched in fresh blood.
Lue's lips trembled.
"Master...?"
The word left him like a prayer and a curse.
Jing Li stepped forward.
His crimson eyes softened ever so slightly.
"You've grown up well, kid."
His voice was calm.
Proud.
As if he were greeting a son who had finally returned home.
At his command, the army surged forward.
Thousands of Yòu warriors rushed past Lue without so much as glancing at him.
They poured into the battlefield like a flood, descending upon the terrified soldiers of the Lana Empire.
Their movements were precise and merciless.
Within seconds, the screams began anew.
But Lue did not move.
Neither did Jing Li.
Master and disciple stood alone amidst the carnage.
Lue's gaze drifted downward.
To Jing Li's sword.
Fresh blood dripped steadily from its blade.
Crimson drops striking the earth one by one.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
A vision flashed before his eyes.
Qian, kneeling.
Jing Li's blade cutting through him.
Blood blooming across Qian's chest.
Lue's breathing stopped.
His fingers tightened around the doll.
"Master..."
The word trembled.
"...you fought Qian."
A sharp pain tore through his skull.
His memories twisted.
Fragments of truth slammed into him with brutal force.
Lue lifted his head.
His expression was blank.
Terrifyingly blank.
"What did you do?"
Jing Li tilted his head, as though genuinely confused.
"What are you talking about?"
Lue's voice dropped to a whisper so cold that even the wind seemed to recoil.
"What did you do to Qian?"
For the first time, Jing Li's composure cracked.
His eyes narrowed.
Impossible.
No one had witnessed that battle except himself and his chosen men.
Qian had been left on the edge of death.
He could not have spoken.
Then how-
A new presence entered the battlefield.
Slow.
Steady.
Each step echoed through the blood-soaked silence.
Both Lue and Jing Li turned.
A figure emerged from the smoke.
His robes were torn.
His body was covered in blood and ash.
Yet he walked as though the earth itself bowed beneath his feet.
The surviving soldiers parted instinctively.
No one dared block his path.
Lue's eyes widened.
"Jun...?"
Jun stopped a few steps away.
His gaze never left Jing Li.
There was no fear in his eyes.
Only a lifetime of hatred.
And something far deeper.
Something personal.
Something unresolved.
The wind howled between them.
Father and son stood on opposite sides of a battlefield stained by generations of blood.
Jun's lips curved into a cold, humorless smile.
"It's been a long time..."
He paused, each word sharper than a blade.
"...hasn't it, Father?"