[Late Night, After the Battle]
Lujing Village
The silence that follows thunder is always the most deafening.
For a full minute, the only sounds in Lujing Village were the hiss of dying torches and the low moans of bandits dying in the bottom of the ditch or in the forest. There were no victory cheers. No roars of triumph.
The farmers behind the rampart stood frozen, their spears still gripped tight, the adrenaline leaving their knees shaking violently. They stared at the pile of bodies mounting in front of them, their faces pale in the moonlight. They had killed. They—farmers, tofu-makers, and woodcutters—had become executioners.
On the silo roof, Long Wei did not move.
He scanned the battlefield. Post-battle assessment.
Enemy eliminated. 35 threats, 35 neutralized. Casualties...
He scanned his troops.
"CASUALTY... REPORT!" his calm voice shattered the eerie silence.
Below, Chen Fu snapped out of his daze. He looked left and right. "Li Er... your arm!"
The young man, who had killed his first bandit, looked down at his arm, which was torn open by a glancing machete blow. He hadn't felt it until now.
"Two... two men with broken wrists," Chen Fu called out, his voice hoarse. "One... dislocated shoulder. But... but... no one is dead, Commander. Heavenly Gods... no one is dead."
Minimal losses. Long Wei nodded. He lowered his M4. The barrel was still slightly warm. He could smell the sharp tang of cordite, a smell he knew so well, now mixed with the pungent stench of blood and filth.
He began to climb down the silo's wooden ladder. His steps were still pained, but steadier now. The ache in his ribs was a dull, ignored throb.
The moment his combat boots touched the blood-muddy ground, it was like the parting of a sea.
The thirty men, the heroes who had just defended their homes, took a step back.
They didn't run to greet him. They didn't clap him on the back.
They bowed their heads and moved away, giving him a wide berth. Their eyes weren't on him, but on the black object he carried. On the "thunder stick" that had executed a man from a hundred paces.
They no longer looked at him as "Long-dage" or the "strange man."
They looked at him the way people in ancient times looked at a plague, or a comet, or an eclipse. Something supernatural, powerful, and terrifying.
Even Chen Fu, who now stood tall with the pride of a soldier, bowed his head. "Commander," he said, his voice full of respect. A respect born of fear.
Long Wei felt something he hadn't expected. A sense of... alienation.
He had led 'Phantom' Team for years. They respected him. They admired him. But they had never feared him like this. This was a fear he reserved for his enemies. To see it in the eyes of the men he had just saved... felt wrong.
He pushed the feeling aside. Emotions were irrelevant in a post-battle cleanup.
"The work... is not... finished," he said, his voice flat. "Chen Fu. Take... ten... men. Check... for... survivors."
"Survivors?" Chen Fu was confused. "You mean... bandits?"
"Yes. I... want... a prisoner."
"A prisoner?!" shouted Li Er, his arm being crudely bandaged. "They tried to kill us! They tried to take my wife! We should finish them all!"
"YES! FINISH THEM!" yelled several other farmers, their newfound, victory-fueled courage turning to brutality.
"QUIET."
One word. Spoken softly.
The entire village went silent again.
Long Wei walked to Li Er. He stood very close to the young man, who immediately tensed. Long Wei pointed to the pile of bodies in the ditch.
"That... was Ma Gou. He... was just... a pawn. There is... someone... above... him. There is... a bigger... 'Yellow Wolf.' I... need... information." He looked into Li Er's eyes. "A corpse... cannot... talk. Find... me... someone... who can."
Chen Fu nodded stiffly. "Understood. Find one alive. For interrogation." He had adapted to his new role quickly. He led his team into the gruesome ditch.
Long Wei then turned to Healer Chen, who was standing in the doorway of his hut, his face as pale as a bandage.
"Healer," Long Wei said.
"Son..." the old man whispered.
"You... will be... busy. Prepare... your medicines."
"For our men, of course..."
"And... for... the prisoner," Long Wei cut in.
Healer Chen flinched as if slapped. "You... ask me... to heal... those monsters? After what they tried to do to my daughter?"
"I... am asking you... to keep... my asset... alive," Long Wei corrected. "Wounds... too severe... let them... die. But... if... one can talk... keep... him... alive."
It was an order. Not a request.
Healer Chen looked at the man he had saved from death's door. He saw the ruthlessness required to survive in this world, a ruthlessness he had never possessed. With a heavy heart, the healer nodded and returned to his hut, his shoulders slumped.
Long Wei was finally alone in the square. The men were busy. The women were beginning to emerge from the huts, crying with relief upon seeing their husbands and sons alive, before vomiting at the sight of the ditch.
He walked to the pile of his gear—helmet, vest—still lying near his Command Post. He finally sat, his body demanding rest. He placed the M4 across his lap. He closed his eyes for just a second.
Light footsteps. He opened them.
Chen Yue stood before him, three steps away. She was carrying a leather waterskin.
"Long-dage," she whispered. The name sounded hesitant on her lips.
Long Wei looked at her. This was a different test. He could face 35 bandits. He didn't know how to face one frightened girl.
He reached out to take the water.
Chen Yue flinched.
It was a small, almost imperceptible movement. But to Long Wei, it felt like a slap.
The girl flinched back.
She had seen him kill. She had heard the "thunder." The man who taught her the word "bowl" and the man who made a head explode from a hundred paces... were now the same person in her mind. And she was terrified.
She forced herself to step forward, handing him the waterskin. Her hand was trembling violently.
Long Wei took it. Their fingers brushed for a moment. Hers were ice cold.
"You..." Long Wei began, his voice softer than he intended. His stiff, halting Han-era speech made emotion difficult. "You... are afraid... of me?"
Chen Yue didn't answer. She just stared at the "thunder stick" in his lap. She swallowed.
"You... killed... them," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "They... just... exploded. Like... magic."
Long Wei didn't know what to say. How could he explain the physics of internal ballistics? How could he explain modern gunpowder?
"It is... not... magic," he said quietly. "It... is just... a tool. Like... a bow. But... faster."
"Bows... do not... scream... like thunder," Chen Yue replied. "Bows... do not... make men... fall apart."
She looked up at his face. The same handsome face she had nursed. But now, lit by the torches, it looked hard. Alien. Deadly.
"Who... are you... really?" she asked.
This was the question Long Wei had dreaded. Not because he couldn't answer it. But because he knew the answer would only push her further away.
His genius brain, which had just planned a perfect defense, was now stalling. He, the feared Lieutenant Colonel, who people said could charm enemy generals into surrendering, was now nervous. He was nervous in front of a village girl he had just saved. He had won the battle, but he could feel himself losing... something important.
He couldn't find a glib word. He couldn't find a comforting one.
He could only state the facts.
"They... were going to... hurt you," he said, his voice hoarse. "I... would not... let that... happen. I... stopped... them."
"You... didn't... stop... them," Chen Yue whispered, a tear finally falling. "You... erased... them. You are... terrifying, Long Wei."
She turned and ran back to her father's hut, sobbing.
Long Wei sat alone in the dark, the waterskin in his hand. He had faced betrayal, death, and interdimensional teleportation. But the fear in Chen Yue's eyes... that was a new kind of wound.
"Commander!"
Chen Fu's voice broke his reverie. He sounded excited.
"We found one! In the woods. A 'Dragon's Tooth' in his leg. He's alive. He says... he's... the lieutenant. The wiry one who hit me!"
Long Wei stood. His personal pain was locked away again. The mission was back on.
"Good," he said, his voice cold again. "Take... him... to the silo. Tie him up. Keep... him... alive. Do not... let him... sleep."
He walked toward the ditch, looking at his new men—his army. They were gathering the spoils of war. Real steel swords. Several suits of leather armor. Bows. And, most importantly, five surviving horses.
Lujing Village had won.
But Long Wei stared into the darkness beyond the torchlight. Ma Gou was just a guard dog. Now, he had killed the dog.
Sooner or later, the master would come looking for it.