Shi Yaozu did not need orders. Not like the Red Demons did. He already knew where to stand to be the most effective.
And that position was just behind her right shoulder. Just out of her reach so that she had enough room to move, but close enough to catch the pieces and the men who tried to slip through the cracks.
Unfortunately for him, Zhao Xinying didn't leave many cracks.
The battlefield pulsed around them, soaked in blood and smoke. Her fire carved open the front lines like a blade through silk, while the mist coiled in a wide net behind, sweeping up whatever scraps remained.
And Yaozu was there. Always there. His swords drawn, his breathing steady. One foot following the other.
He didn't look at her often; he didn't need to. Her presence was a constant now, like the sun or the pull of the earth. Every heartbeat, every breath, every twist of her fingers shaped the world around them. She moved with purpose. She killed with precision.
