Chapter 16: The Wrath of the Wolf
The forest stank of blood and smoke. Crows circled overhead, their caws a haunting dirge for the fallen. Yet in the Wei camp, silence pressed heavier than the cries of the scavengers. Shen Tai sat beneath a towering black banner stitched with the silver wolf of his house. His armor bore dents, scratches, and streaks of dried blood—not all of it his own.
The Wei general's face was pale with controlled fury. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the hilt of his blade, the steel whispering against the scabbard as though yearning for more blood. Around him, his officers stood stiffly, none daring to meet his eyes.
"They struck like rats from shadows," Shen Tai said at last, his voice cold as ice. "And you—" his gaze swept across the assembled captains "—let them."
A captain opened his mouth to speak, but Shen Tai's blade flashed, and the man's head rolled across the dirt before he could utter a word. Gasps broke the silence, but no one moved. Shen Tai cleaned the sword with slow precision, the act more terrifying than the violence itself.
"They think they humiliated the empire." His tone dripped venom. "They believe their trees and shadows make them strong. But the wolf hunts even in darkness."
By dawn, the Wei began their retaliation. Entire sections of the forest were set ablaze, flames devouring the underbrush and driving smoke into the sky. Birds scattered in terror, and beasts fled before the inferno. The Qing watched from a ridge as their sanctuary burned, the flames crawling across the horizon like a living monster.
Han Long cursed, fists clenched at his sides. "The bastards torch the land itself!"
Ragna spat on the ground, her axe glinting in the firelight. "Cowards with fire, no better than dogs gnawing bones."
Mei Lan's voice was quieter, filled with dread. "They will scorch everything to deny us cover. Soon, the forest will be ash."
Khan stood at the forefront, his eyes narrowing as the fire spread. Smoke stung his throat, but his voice cut through it like steel. "They burn because they fear. The wolf gnashes its teeth when its pride is wounded."
"But what of the people?" Mei Lan pressed, turning to him. "There are villages hidden deeper in those woods. Families. Children. If Shen Tai burns without restraint, he will not only kill soldiers—he will slaughter innocents."
Khan's jaw tightened. He had known the risk. Every victory carried its shadow. "Then we will not let him hunt unopposed."
The Qing and Ashfang struck not at the Wei soldiers in the burning forest, but at their supply lines. Under Khan's orders, bands of warriors slipped through ravines and hidden trails, striking convoys carrying food and water. Wagons were overturned, oxen freed, stores set aflame. Without provisions, the massive Wei army began to starve beneath its own banners.
At night, Khan led raids on their outer camps. Silent arrows fell upon sleeping guards, throats were cut before cries could escape, and shadows vanished into darkness before the Wei could muster a defense. Shen Tai doubled his patrols, but the more he spread his men, the weaker his hold became.
Yet for every success, the cost grew heavier.
On the seventh night of the campaign, Mei Lan returned from a raid with blood on her robes—not her own, but that of a boy no older than twelve, caught in the chaos when his village was consumed by fire. She sank to her knees before Khan, eyes red with fury and grief.
"How many more?" she whispered. "How many more children must we sacrifice to prove we are strong?"
Khan knelt before her, the weight of command pressing on his shoulders like chains. His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed the storm within. "Every drop of blood they spill will one day drown them. But I will not let their fire define us. We fight not for vengeance, Mei Lan, but for a dawn they cannot see."
Her tears fell, but she did not turn away. "Then show me that dawn, Khan. Or I will begin to doubt it exists."
In the Wei camp, hunger gnawed at the soldiers. Whispers of the "phantoms of the forest" spread like plague, tales of shadows that killed unseen, of trees that came alive, of arrows that struck like spirits. Morale wavered, discipline cracked, and desertions grew.
But Shen Tai was not a man to break.
One night, he gathered his men before the great black banner, his voice rising above the fear. "Do you tremble at shadows? Do you fear ghosts? No—there are no phantoms, only cowards who think to wound the wolf! But I am Shen Tai! I will drag their chieftain into chains, and I will tear down their villages stone by stone until no one remembers their names."
The soldiers roared in response, their fear drowned in forced fury. Yet beneath their shouts, unease lingered.
When Khan received word of Shen Tai's speech from spies, he stood long in silence. His warriors waited, restless. At last, he spoke.
"If Shen Tai seeks me, he will find me."
Han Long frowned. "You mean to face him directly?"
"Yes," Khan said. "Not in open battle, but in spirit. The wolf bares his fangs because he fears the fire within us. If I do not stand as our people's spear, his shadow will smother us all."
Mei Lan's voice was sharp. "This is what he wants—to draw you out. To break you."
Khan's gaze was steady. "Then let him try."
The flames of the Wei had devoured the forest. But in their ashes, a greater storm was gathering—one that no fire could quell.