That night found him slipping outside of the tent again. From anyone else's perspective it'd be the first time he'd ever disobeyed orders to sleep, from his own perspective it was the third time in a row. Since he'd died either before this point or after it every single time, it wasn't like he'd suffer the effects of sleep deprivation by repeating these nightly excursions, either. An unexpected advantage, but one he'd take.

  Wu Hao couldn't have said why he'd gone out, and he didn't spend much thought on trying to figure out why he'd decided to. It wasn't like he'd get to explain to anyone. He'd experienced what'd happen if he got caught.

  The one thing he did know is that he was going to figure out the Honor Guard's patrol routines. For one, it'd allow him to actually reach the battlefield tomorrow, without even dying. For another, it would give him something of an inkling as to when he'd snuck out each night, since his own sense of time wasn't up to the task.

  He set off into the night between the tents, keeping his footsteps light and moving between spots the moon overhead couldn't reach. It was a new moon, so the light was weak, giving him plenty of cover.

  As he was coming to learn, the quiet that reigned the camp during the small hours was an illusion, at best. One loud noise and it'd be torn to shreds, and if that happened then he'd face the same issue as he had during the last night.

  Still - the fight against 589 had been eye-opening. It'd been over in two blows but he'd wounded 589 with surprising ease. He'd had no clue what to expect from the Long Hook and he was willing to bet that he wasn't using the technique the way it was intended to be, but it'd proven effective even so.

  Stopping near a path that'd lead him back to where the fire braziers had been stored, he shook his head.

  First business, he reminded himself. Then trying out his techniques.

  Finally, after making a near-complete tour of the camp and as he was starting to wonder if he'd spot anything at all, he saw something.

  A light swung through the paths between the tents and shone down the main path, cutting through the black silk of the night. It was a soft, small light that he saw first, which was then joined by a group of others appearing out of nowhere afterwards, sometimes then diminishing as the lantern holders disappeared behind the thin fabric of the tents.

  Counting the lanterns, there were five of them present. Wu Hao couldn't get a good look at their faces, due to his position.

  Trying his best to keep his breathing quiet, he slid back into the darkness next to one of the tents, crouching down to minimize the chances of being spotted and scrambling over tarps and wires meant to keep the tent's tip from collapsing. One of his legs brushed across the wire and he winced, then stopped and slowly eased his weight off the wire so that it wouldn't snap back and twang.

  In the distance, he saw vague shapes materialize between the tents, moving quietly and with purpose, holding their lights in front of them. None of their group stopped at any of the tents to peer in, but just surveyed the camp instead, their lanterns swinging as they moved methodically through the cramp to check for anything out of place.

  Like Wu Hao was.

  That probably ruled out them being intruders, though, and his other guess was confirmed when one of the lanterns swung back and forth as its holder turned, showing a proudly-worn white stripe that crossed the holder's chest.

  The Honor Guard, then. Of course they'd be tasked with patrolling the camp after every other deathsworn had gone to bed. That explained why he'd been caught by 589, too. Father trusted them above all others - in so far as Father trusted anyone at all, part of his mind insisted. He shook off that thought and focused instead on keeping his calm.

  After all, just one Honor Guard had managed to take him out last night. Five would be suicide.

  He exhaled and then, immediately, froze when a lantern's light pivoted towards him, sweeping in an arc towards his position. He ducked down as low as he could, pushing his head between his knees as he squatted in the damp, dark grass. He tried to make his qi click back into place but without a dagger it felt distant and strange, like trying to push his way through heavy winds blowing him back.

  His heart hammering in his chest, he waited for what could have been hours but were probably more like seconds until he saw, from the corner of his eye, the light swing back towards another direction.

  Even then he waited until he saw no more lights. Finally, slowly, Wu Hao poked his head out.

  He spotted something in front of him and almost shrieked from sheer fright, holding it in at the last moment until it was just a quiet moan of horror instead. Feet scrabbling for purchase, he scrambled back a single step, nearly tripping over that wire again, but then realized - it wasn't someone from the Honor Guard.

  It wasn't someone at all. It must have been a silhouette from one of the Honor Guard, half a tent over, illuminated by his own lamp.

  Wu Hao took a few shallow breaths, trying to calm down.

  Just a silhouette, he reminded himself. No reason to get caught.

  And since they hadn't spotted him... He rose quietly from his position once even the Honor Guard that had cast the shadow moved further down the road, their lanterns swinging every so often to scan the tents in front, to the left and the right of them.

  But only rarely backward. He could use that.

  Putting one foot in front of the other slowly, he followed the Honor Guard on their patrol as they made their way, slowly but surely, deeper into the heart of the camp. They'd probably stop near one of the Uncles, although Father seemed a likelier bet when he thought about it a couple of breaths more.

  Then again, wouldn't Father be deep in cultivation at this point? He vaguely remembered having been told that Father spent his waking moments either contemplating the world and their role in it, or cultivating so as to guarantee their place was safe. They'd been told that it was how Father had attained his immense strength and why he alone was qualified to lead them.

  Regardless of his thoughts, though, the honor guard ignored the Uncles' tents, and even they relaxed a little as they got closer to the center of the camp, where Father's tent lay. Their sporadic attempts to look back became even rarer.

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  That didn't mean Wu Hao could relax at all. Every time that the lanterns swung back, every time that the grass swayed noticeably in the night breeze, or that one of the Honor Guard stopped just a little bit longer, Wu Hao's heart would nearly stop.

  When they had finally come to a stop, Wu Hao let out a short breath and wiped the sweat stinging his eyes from his forehead. He felt hot, despite the cold that was burrowing into his rags. They were standing in front of Father's tent, waiting while one of their number detached from the rest, opened the tent flap, and walked inside.

  A short, murmured conversation happened inside the tent, Wu Hao imagined, and then another boy walked out, holding the same lantern as earlier. Wu Hao leaned forward behind the tent that was hiding him and thought this through.

  So. One of the Honor Guard patrol always stayed with Father, and the rest did the same round, again and again, switching off one by one? That seemed to make sense. Father probably needed at least one boy there in case he had messages or the like, didn't he?

  While he stood there and wondered if maybe he should trail the patrol for another round, Father's tent flap opened again. The light inside caught the other boy's face, showing glinting dark green eyes as the other boy bowed to Father and then let the tent flap fall closed.

  It was 589. It had to be. No one else in the Honor Guard could have eyes like those. Wu Hao had seen those eyes - well, eye - stare into his, just hours ago, so he felt absolutely certain.

  589 walked off, not even attempting to follow the outgoing patrol. He held no lantern in his hands, so he probably wasn't patrolling.

  This, Wu Hao thought, was probably the moment where 589 had set out on the route that had lead him to discovering Wu Hao.

  But where was he heading?

  Driven by something he couldn't name, Wu Hao followed after 589 in the same way that he'd followed the patrol earlier. Without the lantern, it should have been easier, but Wu Hao had only become more and more aware of each step he took, each noise he made.

  His brow furrowed. The other boy wasn't heading back to sleep, but somewhere else entirely. Was that good? Wu Hao didn't know, but it felt like trying to find out more would push his luck even further than he'd already pushed it tonight.

  That meant he needed to strike now, if he was to strike at all.

  Wu Hao kept himself quiet, marshalled just enough qi to use the new Heavy Fist Art that he'd received for his last death, released his breath, and then sprinted forward and struck before 589 could do more than stiffen up.

  His right fist flew out in a simple qi-empowered punch that slammed into the lower back of 589's head. A sharp pain ran through his fingers when he made contact, but that was nothing compared to 589's reaction.

  Whereas he'd stiffened up when he'd felt Wu Hao's presence at his back, now he loosened entirely. His head, which had begun to turn towards Wu Hao, snapped forward as Wu Hao's punch rocked him. Dark green eyes which might have narrowed into a glare instead opened in an expression of surprise and pain.

  Even 589 knew what pain felt like, then? Some small vengeful part of Wu Hao figured that was good.

  Another, more practical part of him noted that his fist felt broken and heavy. He opened his hand wide and felt that some of his fingers had to be broken or at the very least badly bruised, but he could work through the pain.

  But so could 589. The other boy was working himself to his feet again from where he'd nearly fallen against a tent but his hands moved only shakily and his legs refused to straighten. With a hiss of steel on steel, 589's suddenly clumsy fingers tried to draw his dagger from its sheath.

  Based on pure instinct Wu Hao jumped forward, tackling 589 in the stomach even as the other boy lurched forward with hate in his eyes, and together they landed in the grass, scrabbling for advantage and clawing at each other. Something skittered away in the darkness, and Wu Hao realized abruptly that it had to be 589's dagger.

  With one hand, Wu Hao protected his face, unable to do anything but accept the scratches that the other boy scored on him, the punches to his chest, the open-hand slaps, and with the other he rummaged around, hoping that he'd find what he was looking for before 589 killed him again.

  Even as his clumsy fingers raked through the grass and the mud, though, 589 had managed to struggle upwards, balling his hand into a fist and thudding it like a hammer into Wu Hao's back. He fell, sprawling as a fuzz blasted through his arms, but then his fingers brushed up against something cold and solid.

  There!

  Wu Hao's fingers closed around the dagger's handle and he pulled it towards him, even as 589's fingers raked across his scalp and left lines of pain trailing down Wu Hao's forehead.

  "Rending Dagger Art," Wu Hao whispered, breaking the silence of their struggle. He marshalled his qi into the right formation and found it almost absurdly easy with a proper weapon in his hand. The qi ran through it almost eagerly, unlike the previous attempts where he'd had to fight for every bit of control.

  He felt 589 push him down with one hand and try to get back up to a standing position, and then 589 opened his mouth wide as if he was going to scream.

  "Void Rip!" Wu Hao finished just in time, swinging up blindly, a thick line forming of pure qi, and tearing through 589's throat. It stopped midway through, leaving only a red ruin in the middle of his neck.

  Wu Hao stared up at 589 as the other boy gagged, choked, and finally died, collapsing backwards.

  Those dark green eyes had never once deviated from his. Wu Hao had feared what he might read in them, but he couldn't make out anything. Wisps of qi floated upward, as if carrying 589's soul with it, away from this mortal coil. Wu Hao watched them for a moment, transfixed, as he fought not to collapse.

  Panting from the exertion, Wu Hao rolled onto his back and just breathed for a moment, his fingers never leaving the dagger's handle.

  He'd done it, he thought distantly. Now he had to get away with it.