The night ran deep, and the cold wind sliced across the ridgeline like a blade. The Shadow Blade Squad advanced through the West Ridge Trail, navigating three valleys and slipping past two sentry posts. Before dawn, they reached a cliffside forest tucked behind enemy lines.
The woods were heavy with silence. Every footfall on the snow-matted earth sounded like a ghostly whisper. Beneath an ancient locust tree, Li Song raised a gloved hand. Left hand gripping his eagle bow, right hovering over his sheathed blade, he signaled a halt.
"Enemy camp lies ahead," Bai whispered, her breath misting in the frozen air. "Forty riders guard the supply wagons. Two lookout towers on elevated ground."
Li Song's eyes swept the terrain like lightning. "Mu Rong and I will flank north to strike the grain shed. Bai and Rocky—take the high ground. Xie Hong, draw their attention from the front. Five breaths, then attack."
The squad dispersed like wind-blown ash.
Dawn began to pale the sky. The enemy cavalry clustered lazily around campfires, cloaks loose, weapons at ease. Death, silent and unseen, approached.
From the slope, Mu Rong launched forward like a swallow in flight. Her grappling hook latched onto a timber post. In a heartbeat, she vaulted onto the watchtower, blade flashing—two sentries fell without a cry. She dragged their corpses into shadow, then flashed a hand signal.
Li Song broke from the trees like a thunderclap. His Dog Blade shrieked through the air—throats split, wrists snapped, chest plates pierced. Five breaths, five corpses. He moved like a predator unbound, tearing straight into the camp.
The alarm bell never rang—it lay broken in the snow.
From a pine perch, Bai loosed arrows with lunar precision. Her eagle-feather shafts silenced commanders, signalmen, and sergeants. The enemy's coordination unraveled instantly.
Rocky, crouched on a lower bough, aimed with a hunter's instinct. His shots crippled reins, slashed hooves, and sent warhorses into frenzy. Riderless cavalry sowed chaos in the camp's ranks.
With a furious roar, Xie Hong burst into the fray like a beast from legend. Iron fists shattered blades and sent horses toppling. Facing six at once, he spun his staff like a storm, breaking bones, splintering shields, sowing panic.
An enemy captain surged forward, shield raised, longsword gleaming. Li Song met him head-on—the Dog Blade clashed with steel. Sparks flared. One strike cleaved through shoulder and bone. The scream never finished—Xie Hong's punch crushed his skull.
Shield formations emerged—disciplined, drilled, precise. Western techniques. Mu Rong grappled in from the right, disrupting formation lines. Bai's arrows threaded between shields, slipping through helm visors and neck guards. On the left, Li Song struck with perfect timing. Coordination. Execution. Ruthlessness.
Rocky, hidden on a hillside, fired at fuel barrels. Arrows sparked against oil-stained crates—flames burst skyward.
"Fall back!" Li Song called.
They moved as one. Mu Rong hurled firebombs—supply carts lit up like beacons. Bai launched flaming shafts to mask retreat. Rocky took down pursuers from horseback. Xie Hong's staff smashed axle and spoke, blocking the narrow road.
Like shadows in the mist, the five vanished into the forest, leaving scorched earth, broken wagons, and distant cries of the dying.
By midday, they returned to camp. Bloodied, bruised—but intact.
In the command tent, General Kelide studied the parchment report, his armor still cold with morning frost.
"Three supply wagons destroyed. Thirty-seven killed. Nearly fifty wounded. Zero dead on our side. This... is a textbook ambush."
Li Song bowed. "The enemy will be wary now. A second raid may not work."
Kelide nodded. "Rest. In three days, you will have new orders. Tonight, our main force moves north to engage Raymond directly."
Bai unstrapped her gear, voice low. "One messenger wore a gold-edged crest. Nobility, perhaps."
Li Song's gaze narrowed. "Sketch it. It may matter later."
The squad dispersed to recover—but none spoke much.
Mu Rong sat polishing her blade in silence. Rocky tuned his bowstring with eyes like glass. Xie Hong hummed softly while wiping blood from his staff. Bai stared into the flames, her thoughts unreadable.
Li Song traced the edge of his Dog Blade, lost in the memory of the foreign captain's strikes—clean, precise, merciless.
He muttered to no one, "The first clash is done. But the real storm... hasn't even begun."
Outside, the fire crackled against the snow-packed silence. Distant thunder rolled across the sky. Something vast was stirring.