The failure of the "antidote" was a crack in the Verdant Sword Sect's foundation, and like all cracks under pressure, it began to spread. The initial, unified fury of the war effort splintered into a dozen different directions. Fingers were pointed, not just within the Alchemy Pavilion, but across the entire sect. The inner disciples blamed the outer sect for supplying contaminated materials. The outer sect whispered that the inner disciples were arrogant and careless. The military wing accused the support divisions of incompetence, and the support divisions retorted that the soldiers were ungrateful and impatient.
The air, which had once thrummed with a singular purpose, now buzzed with a discordant hum of accusation and mistrust. For Mo Ye, it was a symphony. The Tri-Flame Vortex drank deeply from this well of discord, the middle amethyst layer glowing with particular intensity as it refined the complex, bitter energies of blame and resentment.
He watched the schism widen with a strategist's cold eye. A house divided against itself could not stand, but it could be made to lash out in all directions, causing maximum damage before its inevitable collapse. His goal was not the sect's preservation, but the destruction of the Zhao and the Profound Heaven Sect. If the Verdant Sword could be used as a blunt instrument to achieve that, even at the cost of its own structural integrity, it was an acceptable trade.
The primary fault line now ran between Elder Guo's faction, which advocated for an immediate, overwhelming retaliation to reclaim the lost forward position, and a more cautious coalition led by Elder Wu, who argued for a strategic consolidation, rooting out the "internal corruption" before committing more forces.
Luo Feng, his newfound credibility as a strategist still intact but now tempered by the recent failure, found himself caught in the middle. He saw the logic in both sides, but his personal desire for vengeance aligned more closely with Elder Guo's aggressive stance.
It was this tension that Mo Ye decided to exploit. He needed to push the sect towards a decisive, and costly, action. He needed them to commit to a major battle, one that would bleed the Zhao significantly but also shatter the Verdant Sword's remaining illusions of an easy victory.
The key, he determined, was not to influence a person, but to manipulate a system. The sect's decision-making relied on information, and that information flowed through a specific channel: the Courier Hall, where battlefield reports and scout dispatches were received, logged, and then delivered to the war council.
His target was a specific courier, a young man named Shen, known for his efficiency but also for a pronounced stutter that emerged under pressure. Shen was painfully aware of this flaw and went to great lengths to avoid situations where he might have to speak unexpectedly in front of his superiors.
Mo Ye's plan was diabolical in its simplicity. He did not need to forge a document or intercept a message. He only needed to create the perception of a critical opportunity, one so time-sensitive that any delay in its delivery would be seen as catastrophic negligence.
He began by observing the Courier Hall's schedule, noting when Shen was assigned to receive the evening dispatch from the southern scouts. On the chosen day, he performed a series of minor, untraceable acts. He "accidentally" spilled a slow-drying, particularly sticky resin on the path leading from the Courier Hall to the war council chambers. He loosened the latch on the hall's main door so it would stick, requiring a sharp tug to open. He then started a whispered rumor among a group of menial disciples who were cleaning nearby, a rumor about Elder Wu's faction planning a surprise inspection of the Courier Hall's logbooks that very evening, looking for any pretext to discredit Elder Guo's supporters.
The stage was set.
When Shen received the scout's report—a routine update noting heightened Zhao activity near a secondary pass, but nothing urgent—he also absorbed the ambient anxiety of the rumor. Fear of the inspection, and of his stutter being exposed, made him frantic to deliver the message and return to his desk. He rushed out the sticky door, his boots picking up the resin. As he hurried down the path, the resin gathered gravel and dirt, slowing him down, fueling his panic.
By the time he reached the antechamber of the war council, he was flustered, breathless, and late. The guards, used to his punctuality, frowned. When he was finally admitted, he found Elder Guo and Elder Wu in a heated argument.
"T-the report from the s-s-south," Shen stammered, his worst fear realized as he held out the scroll.
Elder Guo, irritated by the delay and the argument, snatched it. "Well? Spit it out, boy! What does it say?"
Under the combined pressure of the elders' glaring eyes and his own terror, Shen's mind went blank. He couldn't form the words. He could only remember the heightened activity mentioned in the dispatch and the pervasive rumor of a major Zhao movement.
"L-large f-force... M-m-moving through the S-Serpent's T-T-Tail Pass!" he blurted out, the name of a different, more strategically vital pass than the one mentioned in the report. "I-immediate threat!"
It was a lie born of pure panic, but it was the spark that fell on the tinder of Elder Guo's pent-up aggression.
"You see!" Elder Guo roared, turning to Elder Wu, waving the unread scroll as proof. "They are overextending! They think us broken! This is our chance to cut their supply line and crush their vanguard! We must strike now! Any delay is treason!"
The miscommunication, born from a stutter and a manufactured environment of fear, decided the fate of the sect. Elder Guo's faction won the debate. Orders were cut for a full-scale assault on the Serpent's Tail Pass.
The battle was a meat grinder. The Zhao force was not the large, vulnerable column Shen had described, but a well-entrenched, prepared defensive line. The Verdant Sword disciples fought with desperate courage, but they were charging into a kill zone. The losses were staggering. While they eventually forced the Zhao to retreat, the cost in lives and spirit was ruinous.
When the truth of the miscommunication emerged, the blame fell upon the hapless Shen, who was publicly expelled from the sect for incompetence bordering on treachery. But the damage was done. The schism between the elders was now an unbridgeable chasm. The sect's military strength was crippled.
And Lin Tianyao, standing in the gardens as the lists of the dead were read, felt the Tri-Flame Vortex surge with a dark, triumphant power. He had not swung a sword, but he had broken an army. He had found a crack in the foundation—a young man's fear—and with the gentlest of pressures, he had brought the entire structure crashing down.
The Verdant Sword Sect was now truly his to wield, a shattered but still sharp blade. And its next target would be chosen by the ghost in its midst.