"Is this all the Palace teaches its curs?" she spat.
She stepped into his space, driving her elbow toward his temple while simultaneously swinging the hilt of her sword at his gut.
Li Feng caught her arm, the impact of her strike vibrating through his bracers. He surged forward, his shoulder slamming into her chest to break her momentum.
As she stumbled, he spun, the heavy fabric of his gold-threaded cloak whipping around him like a shield. He brought his broadsword down in a vertical overhead strike—a "Dividing the Mountain" move that would have split a stone.
She didn't block it head-on. She knew the Prince had the advantage in raw strength. Instead, she stepped to the side, her blade sliding along his steel in a shower of white-hot sparks that looked like a welding arc.
She used his own momentum to pull him forward, her free hand reaching out to grab the collar of his royal silks.
For a heartbeat, they were inches apart. The sound of the surrounding battle—the screams of the Black Banners and the clash of the female warriors—faded into a dull hum.Li Feng could see the fine mist of rain on her eyelashes.
He smelled the vanilla and the sharp tang of gunpowder on her skin. His "Identification" surged, forcing a cold, lethal grin onto his lips. He grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging into her skin, and twisted.
"You speak too much for a dead woman," Li Feng growled.
He dropped his shoulder and performed a textbook imperial throw, flipping her over his back. She tucked her chin and rolled, hitting the mud and springing back up instantly, her saber held in a reverse grip behind her back.
She didn't give him a second to breathe. She pulled a small, bamboo tube from her belt and flicked it. A cloud of silver needles hissed through the air.
Li Feng's sword moved in a circular "Full Moon" defense, the needles clinking off his blade like hailstones on a tin roof.
Through the flying needles, she charged again, her feet barely touching the ground. She was a master of the "Swallow Style"—light, erratic, and impossible to pin down.
She leaped, her boots connecting with his chest in a double-kick that sent the Prince skidding back toward the edge of the ravine.
Li Feng stabbed his sword into the earth to stop his slide, the mud spraying up over his golden boots. He looked up, his breathing heavy, a single scratch on his cheek starting to bead with blood.
In the corner of the forest, Su Cheng watched from the shadows of his carriage, his heart hammering.
He saw the way the sparks illuminated the trees, turning the dark woods into a cinematic hellscape. He saw the woman's fluid martial arts and the Prince's disciplined, heavy-handed strikes.
As the carriage began to drift away into the dark to follow the General, Su Cheng took one last look.
The Prince and the Woman were locked in another clash, their blades glowing white in the darkness, the sound of clashing steel ringing out like a death knell for the night.
The duel wasn't ending. It was just getting started.
---
The carriage lurched violently as Lin Kai, moving like a phantom through the canopy, flicked a finger. A small, black-steel blade hissed through the air, burying itself in the driver's neck.
The man didn't even scream; he slumped over, and the horses, sensing the lack of a hand on the reins, bolted for a few yards before grinding the wheels to a screeching, mud-spraying halt at the edge of the riverbank.
Inside, the silence that followed was more terrifying than the roar of the horses.
Han Jue's breath hitched, his fingers digging into the silk upholstery until his knuckles turned white.
The sudden, bone-jarring stop sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through his chest. He could hear the horses outside—not just their panicked breathing, but a low, guttural roar of terror that vibrated through the carriage floor.
Helooked at the blood soaking through the leather curtain from the driver's seat. The Vulture—the only man who knew how to balance these books—was dead.
He was alone in a wooden box with a God of Death who wanted to kill him and a Shadow who wanted to erase them all.
Zhou Yan's eyes snapped open. They weren't the gentle, tired eyes of the boy who loved digital pets. They were bloodshot, glowing with a terrifying, ancient fever.
The "Identification" of the Great General had completely consumed his mind, fueled by the delirium of his wounds.
In his mind, he wasn't in a carriage with a friend. He was in a trap.
With a roar of pure, animalistic strength, Zhou Yan lunged. He grabbed the doctor by the throat, pinning him against the wooden slats.
He didn't use a scalpel; he grabbed the doctor's own surgical blade, pressing the cold steel against the man's jugular.
"Yan! Big Cat! Stop!" Han Jue screamed, reaching out to grab his arm. "It's me! It's Jue! We're getting you out of here, bro, just chill!"
Zhou Yan turned his head slowly. His gaze was icy, distant, and lethal. He didn't see Han Jue. He saw the Shadow Merchant, the man rumored to sell the lives of soldiers for a pouch of jade.
"Does the Merchant truly take me for a fool?"
The voice didn't belong to the boy from the back of the classroom.
It was deeper, resonating with a terrifying, ancient authority that seemed to shrink the already cramped space. Zhou Yan leaned forward, his heavy silk robes rustling like a coiled snake in the shadows.
"You speak of 'teams' and 'cafés'—vile incantations used to mask the glitter of betrayal in your eyes," Zhou Yan continued.
He didn't look at Han Jue with friendship; he looked at him like a high official examining a bug. "Under the laws of Great Jing, a Merchant who hides a wounded General is nothing but a vulture, circling a carcass until it ripens for the Palace's coin."
Han Jue scrambled backward, his shoulders hitting the hard wooden paneling of the carriage wall.
"Yan, stop! You're scaring me, man!" His voice cracked, sounding painfully modern and fragile against the weight of the other's words.
"I'm not a vulture! I'm the guy who let you copy my physics homework last Tuesday! Don't you remember the library? The vanilla lattes? Think, Yan!"
For a heartbeat, Zhou Yan's eyes flickered—a momentary glitch in the "Identification" system, a ghost of a memory trying to break through the armor.
But then the fever flared, and his expression hardened into a snarl of pure, historical disdain.
"Physics? I know not your strange sorcery," he spat, his hand moving with lethal grace to the hilt of the jade-encrusted dagger at his belt.
The space was so small that the blade's steel hummed as it cleared the sheath.
"I only know that the heavens bear witness to your greed. You have shackled the 'God of Death' in this wooden cage, hoping to barter my soul to the Crown Prince."
Han Jue stared into those eyes—eyes that held no recognition of their shared life. He realized then that the "General" wasn't just a role; it was a prison. And right now, his best friend was the warden.
Outside, the mist parted like a shredded veil. Lin Kai landed on the roof of the carriage with the weight of a falling leaf, his boots making no more sound than the rain itself.
He didn't care about the Prince's duel echoing in the distance or the sparks flying at the palace gates. He had a singular, cold mission from the Shadow Pavilion: Ensure the General is neutralized and the Merchant is exposed.
He dropped from the roof, landing squarely in front of the carriage door in a low, controlled crouch. Before rising, Lin Kai reached up with a steady hand to adjust his hood, pulling it lower over his brow.
He tightened the black cloth mask that covered his mouth and nose, the fabric damp against his skin, leaving only his cold, calculating eyes visible to the world.
He stood there for a heartbeat, his black gear slick with rain, his hand resting with lethal patience on the hilt of a fresh blade.
"Merchant," Lin Kai called out. His voice was a muffled, mechanical drone through the thick cloth of his mask, stripped of any human warmth.
"Open the door. Tell me who paid you to keep the God of Death breathing. Was it the Marquis? Or are you playing a deeper game?"
Inside, the sound of the Assassin's voice—distorted and clinical—hit Han Jue like a physical blow, cutting through the terror of Zhou Yan's historical rage. The "Shadow" was no longer a threat in the trees; he was a barrier between them and the only road left.