The wind swept down from the northern ridge, bringing with it the scent of snow and blood. In the quiet before dawn, the campfires flickered like dying stars across the dark plain. Within a weathered command tent lit by a single oil lamp, five figures stood in silence around a worn-out map.
Li Song's fingers pressed into the parchment, tracing a narrow pass marked in faded ink.
"This route," he said quietly, "is the grain transit corridor between the Beiru outpost and the southern reinforcements. If we strike here, we cut off their rear."
Bai, leaning against a post with her arms crossed, twirled a broken sigil between her fingers — a noble emblem torn from the corpse of a messenger slain two nights prior. "This belongs to the Dark Banner Guard, Raymond's personal signal corps. They don't travel unless there's command-grade movement."
"That confirms it." Mu Rong's voice was low but sharp. She tapped her hip, where a coiled hook-rope hung ready. "Raymond's central force is closer than they want us to know."
"They want us to stay reactive," rumbled Xie Hong, resting his great iron staff across his shoulders. "Let the border burn while they quietly encircle."
"They miscalculated," said Rocky crouching in the shadows near the fire, unrolling a scrap of intercepted orders. "We move faster in darkness than they do in daylight."
Li Song looked up at them, his expression hardened by dust and cold. "No reinforcements. No banners. Just the five of us."
"We're not just scouts now," Bai replied, eyes sharp. "This is assassination."
"Assassination," Li Song echoed, drawing his blade — the Eastern — and letting its edge catch the firelight. "And disruption."
Three nights later, the Shadowfront Squad set out beneath a moonless sky. Each member carried only essentials: light armor, three days' rations, two weapons, and a fire-sealed capsule of oil.
They moved like wolves between ridges — crossing frozen brooks, ducking beneath dead pine boughs, and silencing every loose stone with practiced steps. The snow made no sound beneath their leather-wrapped boots.
Xiao Shi marked trees with soot and chipped bark, ensuring a hidden retreat path. Bai tracked the stars and wind current, correcting their direction by instinct. Xie Hong moved in the rear, his iron staff wrapped in linen to muffle its occasional ring. Mu Rong vanished for hours at a time, reappearing without breath or sound.
Li Song stayed in the lead, eyes always on the ground and the horizon. He spoke only when necessary, and never above a whisper.
On the third night, the team crested a ridge overlooking the Beiru grain outpost — a cluster of wooden buildings guarded by mounted sentries. Dim lanterns flickered near the main stable, and a long signal pole bore the tattered crest of the Raymond Guard.
"Five guards at the outer ring," Bai observed. "Two towers. No rotating patrols."
"Too confident," Li Song muttered. "They believe no one would dare strike Raymond's rear."
"We're not someone," said Mu Rong, already sliding a flask of black oil down her sash.
Li Song nodded. "We wait until second watch. Then we strike."
Orders Before the Storm
Mu Rong: Infiltrate first to plant incendiaries in the supply shed. Eliminate outer sentries quietly.
Bai: Secure high ground and eliminate signal corps officers and tower archers.
Xie Hong: Lead the breach through the stable gate, disable mounted guards with force.
Rocky: Ambush the rear flank, trap any messengers, and sabotage signal flags.
Li Song: Target the command tent directly. Priority: retrieve or destroy Raymond's orders.
A white hawk circled once above the ridge — a signal. The group disappeared into the rocks and brush, five shadows moving toward the unaware elite.
As the firelight behind them faded and their figures vanished into the night, the wind began to howl again — a dry, eastern gale.
The enemy was not a wandering patrol this time. It was Raymond's Personal Guard, battle-hardened veterans loyal to blood and banner. Silent killers trained for desert strikes.
The next clash would not be a skirmish.It would be a reckoning.