Night crept over the frontier like a wolf stalking sheep as a thin fog drifted between the jagged pine trees of the borderlands, swallowing moonlight and muting sound. Yet even through the haze, one could see shapes moving and shadows shifting, metal boots grinding the frost-crusted soil.
Li Wuji rode at the head of the column, cloak trailing like a black banner through the night. His gaze swept the valley below. Fires dotted the darkness, totaling eight camps scattered along the ravine. The largest of them lit by bonfires and laughter crude enough to curdle milk.
Bandits, mercenaries and Runaways who had carved out their tiny empires while the Northern Territories tore itself apart.
They had taken villages, pillaged caravan and kidnapped children.
And worst of all, they had violated his land.
