The mountain pass smelled of dust and iron; autumn's chill cut through the dawn. Two columns of the Mo Clan's convoy snaked between cliffs—wagons creaking under heavy treasure chests, grain, and iron ingots. Spears were drawn along the sides, guards laughing and joking, unaware of the predator above them.
From a hidden ledge, Ye Tian observed without moving. The early light barely touched his cloak. Nightshade Hall had prepared this ambush with meticulous precision. He counted forty spearmen, six horsemen flanking the wagons, and a screen of light infantry ahead.
"Patriarch," a voice whispered from the shadows—an operative perched silently nearby. "Forty spear men, six horsemen near the wagons, and an outer screen of light infantry."
Ye Tian's lips curved. "Perfect. Three teams. Team One cuts ropes, Team Two sabotages the wheels, Team Three strikes when the soldiers cluster. I will board the lead wagon at the turn."
At his signal, Nightshade Hall operatives slipped down from the cliffs like ink spilling over parchment. Lan Yuhua led her unit to the narrow pass ahead, spear in hand, eyes sharp as a hawk. Ye Xiuying followed with a smaller team, ready to cut off reinforcements silently.
The first rope snapped. Wagons jolted, spears were raised, soldiers shouted. At the second signal, axles cracked. Panic rippled.
"Now." Ye Tian moved.
He didn't need to shout. His psychokinesis made daggers hover around him like deadly bees. They slashed through air and muscle, severing tendons, slicing throats, ending lives before soldiers could even react. A finger-qi bullet punched through the chest of a horseman attempting to turn, dropping both rider and horse in an instant.
Lan Yuhua charged, spear a blur. She cut through a captain mid-lunge, crimson spraying the dust. "Patriarch!" she shouted, eyes wide but steady. "They're falling apart!"
Ye Tian's gaze swept the pass. He saw the Mo spearmaster, a veteran of the clan, step forward with practiced ease. Long spear spinning like a willow, the man lunged with deadly precision. Ye Tian met him in a five-beat duel, dagger against spear, each movement calculated, every strike near invisibly fast. The spearmaster finally overextended; a dagger spun from Ye Tian's control, cutting deep. The man fell silently, eyes wide with disbelief and respect.
Ye Xiuying's team moved with poison-needle precision, cutting off reinforcements before they could reach the wagons. Nightshade Hall disciples slipped through shadows, taking out archers and guards quietly, leaving no trace.
Treasure and spear technique scrolls were seized. Ye Tian traced a finger over the lacquer-bound spear manual, feeling the rhythm and philosophy behind each form. "We will use their own strength against them," he whispered.
Lan Yuhua glanced at him, chest heaving. "Patriarch… we did it. The Mo Clan won't know what hit them."
Ye Tian nodded, eyes sharp. "We took their wealth, their secrets, their pride. The rest will come in time. Leave no unnecessary death, but lessons must be learned."
A messenger slipped in before dawn, folding a single line of ink: "Ye Clan council requests your presence tomorrow. Patriarch wants answers."
Ye Tian folded the note, lips twitching. "So, the elders have noticed."
Lan Yuhua's hand brushed his sleeve. "They suspect your connection with Nightshade Hall?"
Ye Tian's dark eyes narrowed. "Some suspect. Others will speak too soon."
The convoy destroyed, the Mo Clan in panic, and Nightshade Hall melting into the mountains like smoke. The first strike had been made, and the continent had begun to tilt toward a shadow nobody yet understood.