The wind rolled across the plains, carrying the faint scent of smoke and scorched earth.

  From the shattered fortress wall, horns continued to sound in deep, rolling waves as the imperial vanguard pushed through the breach. The clash of steel had not yet begun in full, but the night already felt heavy with the promise of bloodshed.

  Far from the burning battlements, a small detachment moved swiftly like shadows through the tall grass, their light armor barely whispering against the night. Each step was precise, measured, the faint hum of cultivation threading through the air around them like a living pulse.

  At the front were two men, both in the Foundation Realm.

  The first moved with an easy confidence, his posture relaxed despite the distance they had already covered. A faint ripple of spiritual pressure surrounded him—strong enough that the others instinctively kept half a step behind.

  Mid-Stage Foundation Establishment.

  The second cultivator followed slightly to his left. His aura was weaker, but still far beyond the ten men trailing behind them.

  The remaining were all Qi Gathering Realm cultivators, though a few had likely already stepped into the later stages of the realm.

  The lead cultivator’s senses flared up, and he motioned for the group to halt as his gaze swept the darkness. He folded his arms behind his back, studying the area for several seconds.

  “Scouts weren’t exaggerating,” he said finally. “There really are people lingering near that tower.”

  One of the Qi Gathering Realm cultivators stepped forward slightly and bowed. “Senior, the report counted roughly twenty earlier when we observed the area from a distance.”

  The leader gave a faint grunt. “Adventurers, merchants, travelers. Whatever they are, they chose a poor night to camp along the eastern road.”

  The Early-Stage Foundation Realm cultivator finally spoke. “There were also riders leaving earlier.”

  “Seventeen,” one of the Qi Gathering Realm soldiers confirmed. “They apparently left around ten minutes before the siege engines began their bombardment. Likely scouts returning to another garrison, and by sheer coincidence they managed to flee just before the assault. However, now that they’ve witnessed the attack…”

  The leader’s gaze shifted toward the distant road cutting through the plains. Mounted riders meant soldiers or trained messengers.

  Unlike the scattered group at the tower, riders could travel quickly. If they reached another fortress or a nearby town before dawn, word of the siege could spread faster than command desired—defenses would shift earlier, and the vanguard’s carefully timed advance would be compromised.

  That alone decided the matter.

  “The riders take priority.”

  The other Foundation cultivator inclined his head. “As you say, Senior.”

  “Six of you,” he said without turning, voice low and even, carrying authority that brooked no argument. “We will pursue the riders to the northeast and stop them from leaving this battlefield. You are with me.”

  Six figures fell into line silently, their qi flashing faintly in the dark, energy coiling beneath the surface.

  He then turned to the Early-Stage Foundation Realm cultivator next to him, and continued calmly, “The riders are clearly soldiers. If they escape, they may warn the nearest garrison. The commander wants no witnesses leaving the battlefield tonight.”

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  He paused briefly before adding: “Those people at the tower aren’t going anywhere fast. They’re probably still staring at the fortress like idiots.”

  One of the younger Qi Gathering Realm cultivators chuckled quietly before quickly suppressing it.

  The Early-Stage Foundation Realm cultivator nodded. “I understand.”

  The senior’s gaze swept across the six remaining soldiers. “You four will accompany him.” None of them hesitated.

  “Yes, Senior.”

  “Good.”

  The Mid-Stage cultivator turned toward the road again. “The riders left less than twenty minutes ago. If they maintain a faster-than-normal pace, they’re still within half a league of the fortress.” He stepped forward, spiritual pressure rising slightly as his cultivation began to circulate. “Let’s move.”

  The next moment, he vanished into the darkness of the plains, moving so quickly that the Qi Gathering Realm cultivators couldn’t follow the first step.

  The grass rippled violently in his wake as silence lingered briefly after his departure.

  Then, the newly appointed leader exhaled slowly and turned toward the watchtower.

  “Well, then.” He rolled his shoulders lazily. “Looks like we’re cleaning up the leftovers.”

  The four Qi Gathering soldiers stood ready behind him. The cultivator glanced at them briefly.

  “You heard Senior.” His voice carried a faint edge of amusement: “A handful of travelers hiding by a watchtower. This shouldn’t take long.”

  He began moving rapidly toward the structure. Behind him, the four followed.

  None of them felt the slightest concern.

  To them, the outcome was already decided.

  After all, what threat could a group of frightened travelers possibly pose to cultivators of the Empire?

  At the same time, Akane’s voice intruded into his mind. Master, bad news.

  Rylan froze, body tightening instinctively. He could see it—figures, moving through the grass, five shadows now separating quite obviously from the rest of the night.

  Master, Akane’s tone was urgent, tail bristling. One Foundation Realm and four Qi Gathering. You can’t fight them. You all don’t stand a chance, not even together. Most of the humans here won’t survive a single strike.

  Rylan’s stomach clenched. The surrounding adventurers began to notice the inconspicuous approach, armed with little more than fear and short blades, their attempts at defense both hopeful and pathetic.

  A horse snorted, panicking near the edges of the camp.

  Rylan glanced at them, grim. The master adventurers had not joined this mission due to the low wage; all others were mostly like him—humans without cultivation, barely any magic, too little strength to matter. Only a handful could even hope to attempt distraction, and even then, survival was not guaranteed.

  The five cultivators approached, calm, steady, and deadly. The cultivator in the lead let his senses brush past the humans. Weak, scattered, expendable. No challenge. His aura alone pressed on the air, a subtle force that pushed down on hearts, made muscles tense instinctively.

  The adventurers flinched as the first shadow stepped onto the clearing. Grass bent slightly beneath his presence.

  Rylan pressed himself against a fallen cart, dagger clutched in trembling hands. Akane’s tail flicked against his neck. You survive by hiding. That is all. You do not fight. You do not engage.

  One of the adventurers—a lanky man with a short sword—tried to shout, to rally courage that wasn’t there.

  Rylan did not know what the man said, for his pulse thudded thunderously in his ears. Every instinct screamed to run, yet the camp offered no protection, the watchtower was too distant to run to without being noticed, and the adventurers near him were effectively useless, their hearts racing faster than their hands could swing.

  Another cultivator moved with deliberate slowness, scanning the perimeter. One of the adventurers froze, wide-eyed. A flick of energy from the cultivator’s hand brushed the air around him. The adventurer staggered as though hit by a gust of wind heavier than nature could provide.

  “Do not panic,” Rylan whispered to himself under. “Do not—just survive.”

  Another footstep, precise and inexorable. The lead cultivator’s eyes glimmered, scanning for anomalies in the weak life signatures. Of course, he also noticed Rylan, small and insignificant, cowering behind the cart, trying to melt into shadow. Nothing worthy of his full attention yet, but enough to mark.

  The adventurers began to scramble, weapons raised halfheartedly, fear guiding every motion.

  Rylan felt sweat bead on his forehead, throat tight. Survival was now his only goal, as anything else would be death.

  The five cultivators closed in, like predators circling prey that had no hope of fighting back.

  The humans, barely organized, might have been able to delay a strike, perhaps gang together to deflect a blow, but no human skill could pierce the aura of a Foundation Realm cultivator. Not even a minor distraction would matter.

  Rylan pressed himself lower against the cart, dagger trembling. Akane murmured softly in his mind, voice calm but tense: Patience, Master. Survive until they are distracted. That is all you can do.

  The five cultivators moved closer. Rylan’s hands were slick with sweat. His legs ached from crouching.