Xu Moyao advanced without hesitation, each sword movement tracing deadly, precise arcs. His face remained impassive, but his eyes burned with a near-feral determination. There was no room left for fear, or hesitation. Every second gained was one more chance for Jiang to survive, for Wuxin to recover, for Xiaoquian to keep believing that medicine could defy war.

The Silent Sky Blades formed a wall around their commander. Their light armor made no sound, they glided across the battlefield like living shadows, striking silently, disappearing, reappearing. Their loyalty to Xu Moyao was beyond question; each of them had sworn allegiance not to an empire, but to a cause: to protect those others would abandon.

Inside the circle, Lu Xiaoquian still chanted her incantations, her hand on the commander's gaping wound. The paste she had applied began to change color, slowly shifting from green to deep brown, a sign the herbs were working. Jiang Lingxian's breathing had returned, weak and ragged, but regular. A faint hope, but hope nonetheless.

"He's strong," Lu Xiaoquian whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "He doesn't want to die. Not yet."

Lan Boxiao, still kneeling, tears cutting tracks down her dirty cheeks, stared at the commander's face, fingers clenched on her blade's hilt. "He can't die," she murmured. "He taught me everything. He's... he's my only family."

Lu Xiaoquian looked at her briefly. A bond never spoken aloud, but one that screamed in every gesture, every silent prayer.

An explosion rang out to the south. A rain of debris crashed nearby, throwing up earth and shards of stone. Xu Moayao turned his head, analyzing the new front in seconds.

"They're trying to surround us," he said to one of the lieutenants. "They want to cut the healing lines. Don't let them."

The lieutenant nodded and left without a word, taking five soldiers with him.

A scream rose in the distance, a name, shouted by an unknown voice, though not to all.

Xu froze for a second. He recognized that rough timbre, carried by the wind like a threat. It was one of the Iron Lords, the enemy elite, the elite of the Southern Nation.

His presence here was a mystery—had he come to aid the enemy? Or was there a deeper game at play?"

Silence fell for a moment over the battlefield, smothered under ash and blood. Then the pounding of hooves echoed, slow at first, then stronger, until a lone rider emerged from the smoke, draped in a black cloak with red hems. His steed, massive and tense, snorted and stamped, its flanks lathered with foam. He advanced without escort, but his straight posture and assured gaze said everything: this man needed no protection. He was the danger.

Xu Moyao saw him before the others. He tightened his grip on his sword hilt, his breath slowing instinctively. The soldiers around him almost stopped moving, as if the stranger's presence had frozen the world.

The rider stopped a few steps from the defensive lines. His gaze swept across the faces, impassive. Then he spoke, in a deep, resonant voice that carried without shouting.

"Where is Li Wuxin?"

The moment Li Wuxin’s name passed the soldier’s lips, Xu Moyao froze for a second, his face tightening for the briefest moment. His eyes glazed over, and then he straightened, forcing himself to regain his composure. A fleeting, soft panic flashed in his gaze, but he concealed it as quickly as it had appeared.

No one answered.

He dismounted calmly, glanced at the muddy trench, then wiped his gloves slowly, almost nonchalantly.

"I'm not here to kill," he said. "Not yet. I have orders. We want Li Wuxin alive. Whole." He paused, his eyes fixed on Xu Moyao. "You think you're protecting a master of medicine. But what he is... is worth far more. What his hands can do, what his mind retains... are secrets your commanders would pay dearly for."

He took a step forward, boots sinking into the mud, completely unafraid.

"What we want is him."

A murmur spread through the ranks. The rider raised a hand to silence it.

"Li Wuxin has cured diseases none of ours could name. He stopped bleeding, reversed poisons. Some say he even brought a dying man back after three days unconscious. Rumors, maybe. But too many to be just tales."

He stopped, arms crossed. His gaze hardened.

"We need him. Not for weapons. For survival. And believe me: if I have to tear this camp apart stone by stone to find him, I will. But I'd rather avoid that today."

He gave Xu Moyao one last look, a thin smile on his lips.

"Give him to us. The Southern lands can offer him much more."

Xu Moyao turned to Lu Moyao, "I'll hold them off. Send someone to tell Li Wuxin he mustn't come out, no matter what. If he falls into their hands... I'd never forgive myself."

He didn't need to finish.

"I will," she said. "But not alone."

Lan Boxiao stood. "I'm coming with her."

Xu nodded. "Then go. I'll cover you."

And already, he turned back, ready to run toward the new assault line, sword raised.

But he stopped cold.

Xu Moyao, muscles ready to spring, felt the moment freeze. The rider had taken one more step—not to draw his weapon, but to approach him directly. Slowly, he reached inside his dark coat, drew out a scroll sealed with a red thread, and extended it to Xu, without a word.

Xu didn't move immediately. He stared at the man, searching for the trap, a hidden motive. But the rider didn't flinch, didn't threaten. He waited. So, cautiously, Xu reached out and took the letter. The paper was warm, as if it had been held against the skin. A faint scent of fading incense wafted from it.

Without another word, the rider stepped back, mounted his horse in a fluid motion, then galloped back into the northern mist, swallowed by smoke.

Xu stood still, the letter still in his hand. Even the soldiers around him seemed to hold their breath.

It wasn't a declaration of war. It was a message.

After a moment of hesitation, Xu Moyao handed the letter to Lu Xiaoquian. His fingers trembled, betraying the calm exterior he tried so hard to maintain. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest, his thoughts a blur of worry. He didn’t wait for Lu Xiaoquian’s acknowledgment before turning sharply and rushing toward his quarters. His footsteps were loud in the stillness of the hall, but they couldn’t drown out the gnawing feeling in his stomach.

Inside his room, the soft glow of candlelight flickered against the stone walls. Li Wuxin was still lying in the bed, his body half-covered by the blanket. The sheets were a pale contrast to the exhaustion written all over his face. Xu Moyao's breath caught in his throat as his eyes fell on him. Li Wuxin's usual sharp features were softened, but it was the swollen, red remnants of tears on his face that cut through Xu Moyao like a blade.

Li Wuxin had been crying. The realization struck Xu Moyao like a physical blow, and for a moment, he couldn’t move. His heart felt heavy. He was the one who had caused this, the one for who Li Wuxin was crying.

His instincts told him to reach out, to comfort him, but something held him back. Xu Moyao clenched his hands at his sides, his knuckles turning white. He took a tentative step forward, his gaze never leaving Li Wuxin.

The silence stretched, suffocating. Xu Moyao could hear his own heartbeat, loud and fast in his ears. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter than usual, soft with concern. "Li Wuxin… Does it hurt?"

Li Wuxin shifted slightly on the bed, his body languid, as if the mere act of moving required all of his energy. There was no anger in his expression. His voice was hoarse, thick with the remnants of unspoken grief. "You lied to me."

Xu Moyao froze, the words slicing through the air between them. His chest tightened, and for a split second, he forgot how to breathe. The fear in his eyes was quick, fleeting, but it was there, betraying the calm exterior he had tried so hard to maintain.

"I never wanted to hurt you," Xu Moyao’s voice cracked as he spoke. He searched for a way to explain, to make Li Wuxin understand. "I thought it was the only way."

Li Wuxin didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he closed his eyes again, as if trying to block out the world, as if trying to retreat into the quiet of his own thoughts. But the words still hung in the air, dense and suffocating.

Xu Moyao’s heart sank, the weight of his actions pressing on him with an almost unbearable heaviness. He could feel the sting of guilt rise in his chest, sharp and unrelenting.

For a moment, there was no answer. Li Wuxin’s face was unreadable, his eyes closed again as if retreating into himself. Xu Moyao stepped closer, his breath shallow, but still, there was an invisible wall between them, one he had built with his own hands, brick by brick.

The silence stretched, but then Li Wuxin shifted, his body moving slowly, as if every movement was a struggle. His eyes finally opened, and this time, there was no anger, only a quiet acceptance, a weary understanding. "The battle isn’t over, is it?" His voice was steady, calm, but beneath it was a quiet resolve. "You have to go back, don’t you?"

Xu Moyao’s chest tightened again, and he almost couldn’t answer. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. He wanted to say no, wanted to say that he would stay, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to the people who were depending on him.

Li Wuxin’s eyes met his, clear and searching. "Don’t lie to me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know what’s at stake. You don’t have a choice."

Xu Moyao shook his head. "I don’t want to leave you like this."

Li Wuxin’s gaze softened, but his voice was firm. "You think I’m asking you to stay? No." He paused, his voice taking on an almost painful clarity. "Thank you… for choosing to fight alongside us”

Xu Moyao’s heart ached at the quiet strength in Li Wuxin’s words. He had always known that Li Wuxin understood the weight of the war.

"I’ll be back," Xu Moyao whispered, his voice filled with a quiet promise.

Li Wuxin’s gaze lingered on him, searching his eyes for something he needed to see, something that would reassure him. But when Xu Moyao didn’t look away, when his gaze remained steady, Li Wuxin nodded slightly, as if accepting what couldn’t be avoided.

"Don’t make promises you can’t keep," Li Wuxin said softly, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. But it was not a joyful smile—it was bittersweet, knowing what Xu Moyao would have to face.

"I’ll keep this one," Xu Moyao said, his voice firm despite the knot in his chest.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Xu Moyao could feel the weight of the room. He stood there for another beat, lingering beside the bed, as if memorizing the way Li Wuxin looked at that moment—vulnerable, but still with that quiet strength that Xu Moyao had always admired.

Finally, Xu Moyao turned and walked to the door. His heart was heavy, and the battle outside was calling him back.