“I wouldn’t dare suspect you,” Lin Gan said, his voice even and unhurried, but laced with a mocking undertone that grated on everyone’s nerves. “It’s just that the medical division has grown so large these days—too many eyes, too many hands. Yesterday the commander led a raid deep into the Blackwood Forest, captured all those rootless ones, and rescued those children. It’s hard to guarantee nothing slipped through.”

  The words were reasonable enough on the surface, impossible to outright refute. The two elderly physicians behind him exchanged uneasy glances, falling silent.

  Elder Bai had long grown used to his barbs. But the accusation that Wanwan was an Evil Cultivator—that she refused to accept.

  “Lin Gan,” she said calmly, as if speaking to a minor irritation, “you called Wanwan an Evil Cultivator just now. Do you have any proof?”

  Lin Gan met her gaze without flinching. “Deacon Lan, Commander Yi, Deacon Guo, and that wind boy Timo Yang—we all saw it with our own eyes. The emergency meeting ended last night, and everything seemed normal. But in the dead of night, Deacon Lan suddenly came to me, saying the commander wanted me to join them in interrogating the rootless prisoners.”

  He paused, staring pointedly at Feiying Lan.

  Feiying Lan was running on fumes—one sleepless night after another, plus a brutal fight against fish-demon bandits in the mountain gorge. He’d only just returned from the Sanctuary days earlier, racing back to report on the emissaries spotted over the wilderness. No sooner had he delivered his briefing than the commander dragged him into the Blackwood raid.

  At Lin Gan’s words, Feiying Lan forced his heavy eyelids open and shook out his long hair. His already narrow eyes narrowed further into slits.

  “Elder Gan is right,” he said slowly, voice dragging with exhaustion. “Though… I still don’t know why the commander wanted to interrogate the prisoners. My guess is it had something to do with the Thunder Eagle unit. When I left last night, he’d taken the calming draught—his headache had eased. He told me he’d continue after some rest…”

  His words trailed off. He fumbled beneath his arcane-etched leather armor, pulled a small vial of stimulant from an inner pocket, and inhaled deeply.

  The sharp, pungent scent jolted him awake—and made the nearest physician sneeze three times in rapid succession.

  “But he hadn’t yet absorbed the spirit herbs,” Feiying Lan continued, clearer now. “Those were exceptional specimens. He even offered me some to restore my energy. Tempting, I’ll admit. But I’d already claimed my own reward. Greed isn’t wise—so I thanked him and left.”

  Lin Gan’s expression darkened. When it came to merit, even Elder Bai couldn’t compare to him. If rewards were being handed out, no one deserved them more. He glanced at Fan Yi—lost in his delusions, cradling corroded armor—and felt no sympathy whatsoever.

  “So neither of you actually saw the commander absorb the herbs?” Elder Bai pressed, noting how indifferent both men seemed to Fan Yi’s breakdown.

  At her age, she had no interest in the commander’s seat. One more year, she’d told herself, then she’d retire and take Yue Yang traveling across the nations.

  With Rui Guo petrified into stone, only three others might covet the position. In Elder Bai’s eyes, Shanhai Wu had always been the most promising.

  She checked the time. Shanhai Wu had left the meeting last night after receiving an urgent border report, taking the field legion to suppress bandits. Eight hours had passed. With his strength, he should have resolved it in two or three.

  None of this could be coincidence. Elder Bai stayed out of politics, but she wasn’t naive. Anyone trying to pin blame on the medical division would find her still very much in the way.

  “No one saw it,” Feiying Lan confirmed. “The commander summoned me first, then Lin Gan. By the time we arrived, he was already… off. He said we were interrogating prisoners, but the moment we reached the holding cells, we found Deacon Guo and Timo Yang facing down the Evil Cultivator.”

  Lin Gan listened, searching for cracks in the account but finding none. He fell into thoughtful silence.

  Elder Bai shook her head, half-amused at these old schemers shoving blame onto one another the instant trouble arose.

  “So neither of you can say with certainty that Wanwan was the evil cultivator,” she summarized.

  Lin Gan almost reached for the personal herb pouch he’d taken from the evil cultivator—every physician’s pouch bore their name, worn at all times—but thought better of it. Evidence this damning couldn’t be played too early. Better to hold it back. He scratched his head, feigning uncertainty.

  “If Deacon Lan and I can’t prove it, we’ll wait until the commander recovers. After all, Timo Yang is just a boy—scared out of his wits last night, barely coherent. Whatever he says, you’d hardly believe it, Elder Bai.”

  The words were a challenge. Elder Bai lowered her gaze, studying the old fox. If she didn’t prove the medical division’s innocence today, he’d brand them all traitors.

  Her eyes drifted to Yue Yang, still kneeling beside the stone fragments, tears streaming down her face as she pieced together what remained of Rui Guo. It hurt to see the girl like this, but Yue Yang had spent the entire night assisting Wanwan.

  “Yue Yang,” Elder Bai said gently, “you were on night duty with Wanwan yesterday, weren’t you? Where is she now?”

  Yue Yang had just fitted the upper torso together. At the question, shock flashed across her tear-streaked face. Memory flooded back—the drop of blood she’d tested earlier.

  Her hands flew in frantic signs, but not everyone followed. Trembling, she dug into her woven herb satchel, pulled out her journal and pen, and scribbled furiously.

  The words came out crooked, shaking:

  The blood I tested—it was Wanwan’s! Wanwan may have been murdered! After the second patrol last night, she changed—hands ice-cold!

  She tore out the page and passed it around.

  Feiying Lan read it and exhaled sharply. “That explains it. When I saw her last night, there was blood on her chest—like something had pierced straight through. If Wanwan is dead, how could she become the evil cultivator?”

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  “Wanwan is Watchers blood through and through,” one of the elderly physicians said firmly. “Her parents were field captains—pure lineage, fearless in battle. She could never be an Evil Cultivator.”

  “Without hard evidence,” Lin Gan cut in, “all this speculation is a waste of time. Timo Yang is the only eyewitness to the entire event. Everyone’s looking for him now.”

  Yue Yang tensed at the mention of her brother again. The Gan family were all sharp as knives; nothing escaped them.

  She started to sign that Rui Guo had taken Timo away—but every head in the room suddenly turned toward the hidden tunnel entrance.

  “I’ve found the boy,” a rasping voice announced from the shadows. “Hiding in the bunker.”

  A hunched, gaunt figure emerged just far enough to be seen—the same ghostly operative who had spirited Timo Yang away earlier.

  No one in the legion, not even the bald enforcers of the Iron Law Division, had ever seen Ghost Shadow’s true face. He remained half-concealed, scanning every person in the hall with cold calculation.

  Lin Gan let out a weary sigh. “Even Ghost Shadow’s been dragged in. Looks like we’re all headed for the judgment platform.”

  He’d hoped to use Timo Yang as bait to flush out the traitor. Instead, Iron Law had muscled in.

  But the chaos had served one purpose: Lin Gan had narrowed the circle.

  The betrayal wasn’t the work of a lone actor. It was organized, premeditated—and he intended to root it out his way.

  Raze the Blackwood

  “No matter how you look at it,” Lin Gan said, stepping closer to the scattered herbs, “that ice-elemental illusion last night pinned down three emissary masters. If I hadn’t unleashed my arcane sonic boom, the consequences would have been unthinkable.”

  He pointed at the tainted stalk, his voice steady but edged with accusation. “Whoever slipped this corrupted herb into the mix knew exactly what they were doing—they timed it to use the illusion as cover to eliminate the Mother of Earth.”

  His gaze swept the room, lingering briefly on the shattered Fan Yi before he shook his head with faint resignation.

  Ghost Shadow’s appearance changed everything. Rui Guo’s death—petrified into stone—now threatened the very survival of the ancient legion. Add Elder Bai’s discovery of black spirit blood, and the signs aligned too perfectly with the old prophecy of the Dark Child’s arrival.

  The prophetic elders could no longer sit idle. Fan Yi’s wife might have been banished from the Iron Law Division by her own father, but blood was blood. Things were growing interesting.

  A bitter laugh escaped Lin Gan as memories surfaced—ten years ago, when Fan Yi had been named commander. It felt like a cosmic joke now.

  When you chose Fan Yi for the role, did none of you foresee this day? In the end, it falls to my Gan family to hold everything together.

  And it was true. With the commander incapacitated, Lin Gan effectively commanded the entire legion. Apart from the field forces, every soul answered to him.

  “The death of the Mother of Earth threatens the Watchers’ existence,” he declared, his tone grave and unyielding. “As chief of logistics, I am formally activating Level One war readiness. Effective immediately, no one enters the inner camp without authorization.”

  The room snapped to attention. No one had ever seen Elder Gan this serious. The words “Level One” carried the weight of impending catastrophe—full mobilization, no quarter given.

  At least these people were still loyal, Lin Gan thought as he scanned their faces. His eyes finally settled on the shadowed figure of Ghost Shadow.

  “Ghost Shadow,” he said coldly, “relay this to the elders: if I discover a traitor within Iron Law, I will raze the judgment platform myself.”

  With that, he turned and walked away, his form gradually fading into the air like mist.

  The others stood frozen. Level One meant war mode—no distractions, no mercy.

  Elder Bai had lived through countless conflicts. She knew better than most that every war, large or small, stemmed from greed. This one would be no different.

  Lin Gan’s decisiveness confirmed her suspicions: he finally believed the Dark Child prophecy. But declaring full alert now handed him absolute power over life and death.

  Just then, Fan Yi—who had fallen eerily quiet—began coughing violently. His bloodshot eyes lit up at the sight of Elder Bai nearby.

  “Elder Bai! You’re here at last!” he cried, voice cracking with desperate joy. “Quick—come…”

  Elder Bai had just pocketed the tainted herb. She rose, only for Fan Yi to materialize in front of her, grabbing her arm and dragging her toward the corroded battle armor.

  The instant his hand touched her, a jolt of evil energy shot through her like lightning. She flung him off instinctively.

  Fan Yi staggered back, eyes wild. Trembling fingers pointed at the armor as he glared at her.

  “My son is hurt! Save him—now!”

  The stench of Blackwood Forest clung to him—rotting leaves, damp earth, and something fouler. Elder Bai’s displeasure deepened. He had returned from the raid without properly purging the toxins, and now he wore the commander’s title like a disgrace.

  “Feng Yi is dead,” she said flatly, eyeing the mildew-eaten armor.

  “You’re lying!” Fan Yi roared. “He’s right here! I’m the commander—you obey me. Treat him!”

  Has he lost his mind completely? That was her first thought. Even with her unparalleled skill, a disrupted heart meridian and shattered psyche weren’t fixed overnight. One wrong move, and the backlash could taint her own energy. Without preparation, intervening risked far more than failure—it risked blame.

  “Deacon Lan,” she said calmly, “coordinate with the medical division. Have the commander taken to the infirmary for full diagnostics.”

  Before Feiying Lan could respond, killing intent flooded the room. Fan Yi’s body erupted in crimson glow, fists igniting with flame as he lunged straight for Elder Bai’s heart.

  In broad daylight, under watchful eyes, attacking a fellow Deacon was a capital offense. Feiying Lan moved to intercept—but froze at the aura radiating from Elder Bai.

  She merely smirked. The moment Fan Yi entered her field, his breath seized. Elemental energy vanished. His body went limp, flames guttering out.

  “Madness is no excuse for murdering allies,” she said icily. “Ghost Shadow—are you just going to watch? Get him out of here.”

  The masked figure in black leather emerged from Fan Yi’s own shadow, snapping suppression cuffs onto his wrists in a blur. He dragged the commander through a hidden door.

  “Father—no!” Kai Yi cried, lunging forward.

  Ghost Shadow backhanded the boy without hesitation, sending him flying.

  Feiying Lan leaped, catching Kai Yi mid-air and landing steadily.

  “Iron Law business,” he said grimly. “No interference allowed. The commander assaulted Elder Bai—this is serious. Last night, the Mother of Earth met her end the same way…”

  He trailed off, glancing warily at Elder Bai. What level of power did she truly wield? A mid-tier elemental historian like Fan Yi, reduced to helplessness in an instant.

  Any illusion of protecting the commander evaporated. If the elders tested Fan Yi and found evil energy within him, Feiying Lan himself could be branded a collaborator.

  Kai Yi quieted, the red glow in his palms fading as quickly as it had appeared.

  He had been happily studying in the Five Allied Nations mere days ago. Now his father was mad, his brother dead, his mother vanished into Iron Law’s depths.

  Elder Bai felt no sympathy. The boy’s impulsiveness marked him as brave but reckless—nothing like the potential she saw in Yue Yang and Timo Yang, had their parents lived.

  “Captain Li,” she said, “fetch Fei.”

  The elderly physician, eyes red from helping Yue Yang assemble Rui Guo’s remains, nodded and headed for the door.

  Before She reached it, the massive iron doors shuddered under a tremendous force. With a thunderous boom, they flew inward, light flooding the hall.

  A towering figure stood silhouetted against the stormy sky outside—Shanhai Wu, eyes blazing.

  Rain lashed the courtyard beyond, where crowds of warriors had ringed the command center, packed shoulder to shoulder.

  Shanhai Wu had barely returned from the border when his wife—overseeing trade district security—told him his sister Rui Guo had fallen.

  Despite old wounds between them, he had always admired her unyielding spirit.

  “Hand over Captain Guo’s body!” he roared.

  “Alive we demand to see her—dead we demand her remains!” the warriors chanted outside, voices rising like a battle oath.

  Yet even in their fury, discipline held; none breached the threshold unbidden.

  Shanhai Wu strode in, noting Fan Yi’s absence with satisfaction. No commander meant no orders—he answered to no one now.

  “With the commander detained,” he declared, “field operations fall to me. Brothers of the outer legion—hear my command! We march on the Blackwood Forest. We crush every last trace of those Evil Cultivators!”

  The warriors erupted, blood boiling, voices thundering in unison: “Raze the Blackwood! Annihilate the evil cultivators!”

  The cry shook the very walls, raw vengeance igniting like wildfire.

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