The imperial road south from Qingyang cut like a scar across the dry hills.

Ten thousand soldiers marched in two tight columns, banners snapping in the wind, armor glinting under the hard morning sun. Dust rose in a long brown haze behind them.

At the head of the left column rode General Han Feng, sixty years old and built like a fortress wall. Iron-gray hair, scarred jaw, eyes that had seen every kind of death.

Behind him rode five thousand men-most of them Mount Tai sect disciples in plain black armor, their qi coiled tight and ready. They moved like one beast. Undefeated in living memory.

Half a mile to the right, on the narrower ridge road, General Ling Xue led her own five thousand. She sat straight in the saddle, raven hair braided tight beneath her helmet, dark armor hugging a body that turned heads even in war.

The Puyang Blade Clan crest gleamed on her shoulder. Her soldiers were sharper, richer, their blades oiled and deadly. They had grown up in the noble houses of the capital and carried that pride like a second sword.

Neither general looked at the other. They hadn't spoken since leaving the ruined city. They didn't need to. The rivalry between Mount Tai and the Blade Clan was older than both of them, and Liu Dai had made sure the fire stayed lit.

First one to reach Qingshui and burn it would claim the glory—and the governor's favor.

In Qingshui, Alex stood alone in the office.

His eyes were distant, the satellite feed pouring straight into his mind through Mother Ai's link-crystal-clear, real-time, merciless.

He watched the two columns fork onto separate roads.

"Got you," he murmured.

Thirty seconds later Zhuge Liang strode in without knocking. The advisor stopped in front of the desk.

With a thought Alex snapped high-resolution images of both commanders and sent them to Zhuge Liang's mind.

He studied the faces for three full seconds, then spoke in the flat, precise tone of a man who had already run the numbers.

"The older man is General Han Feng," he said. "Mount Tai Great Sect. The sect sits squarely inside Yan Province, so they've been feeding Liu Dai soldiers and cultivators for years. His troops aren't conscripts. They're sect disciples. Disciplined. Fanatical. Never lost a major engagement. And they almost certainly brought elders -Core Formation realm at minimum. The kind who can sense drones before the first needle hits."

Zhuge Liang swiped to the second image. Ling Xue's sharp, beautiful face filled the

screen.

"The woman is General Ling Xue. Puyang Blade Clan. Old money, older bloodlines. They practically own the provincial capital. She's their best field commander- ruthless, brilliant with a blade, and the soldiers behind her are all clan-trained. Same story: elite fighters, possible Core Formation support. These aren't Zhao Liang's amateurs. This force is professional. Dangerous."

Alex leaned back in his chair. He drummed one finger once on the polished oak, a soft click that sounded louder than it should have.

Ten thousand soldiers.

Destroying that many people isn't easy. There are simply too many of them.

He stared at the live feed again. The two columns had already pulled farther apart, taking separate roads at different speeds, each racing the other.

Alex's eyes narrowed. "Why the hell are they splitting up?"

Zhuge Liang answered without hesitation. “Because they're not on good terms."

"How can two people from the same province not be on good terms?" Alex asked, incredulous.

“Because Liu Dai wanted them to. He's been pitting the great sects against the noble clans for years-keeps both sides hungry, keeps them loyal. Han Feng and Ling Xue have hated each other. They'll cut each other's throats for the chance to deliver your head first. Right now they're in a dead sprint. Each one trying to beat the other to Qingshui."

A slow, cold smile touched Alex's mouth. It didn't reach his eyes.

Ten thousand together would have been a nightmare-too many eyes, too many cultivators, too much risk of something slipping through the net.

But five thousand?

Five thousand was manageable.

The plan sharpening in his mind like a blade. Then he spoke without turning.

"Gaia. All routes to Qingshui. Now."

The Al's voice was calm, immediate, inside his head. "Transmitting."

A tactical overlay flooded his vision. Two glowing red lines crawled south across the satellite map-one on the wide imperial road, the other along the narrower ridge path. Tiny icons marked the two armies, five

thousand each, moving fast, C

to Gara

highlighted the terrain in crisp detail:

elevation, water sources, choke

points.

FindNovel.net

"Predicted overnight camps," Gaia continued. "General Han Feng enjoys two strong choices, both offering elevated positions and unobstructed fields of view. General Ling Xue is limited by the narrow ridge road. She has only one site that meets her standards defensible on three flanks, backed by the White River for reliable water and a defensive moat. She will take it. It is her only realistic choice."

"Perfect." Alex's mouth curved. "Call the Wudang specialists—the ones trained in trapping formations and large-scale illusions. Tell them to move out immediately. They are to prepare a full containment ayat Ling Xue's campsite. Make it big enough for five thousand men and

then some. We activate it the moment they settle in."

"Yes, Master," Gaia answered.

"And for Han Feng's Mount Tai force-let them keep marching toward Qingshui. But pull five thousand Wudang disciples, minimum. Give them everything we have on Mount Tai techniques. I want them drilled day and night on counters. Tomorrow they fight those sect bastards head-on."

"Training regimen already compiling," Gaia said. "They will be ready."

Alex exhaled once, slow and controlled. Ten thousand elite soldiers. Two proud commanders who hated each other's guts. Split apart by their own rivalry. It was almost too clean.

He allowed himself one small, satisfied smile. "Good. Let's eat them in two bites."

Night fell hard over the ridge road.

General Ling Xue reined in at the crest and studied the wide meadow below. The White River glittered in the moonlight, curving protectively along the eastern edge. Low hills rose on the other three sides—perfect fields of fire, no blind spots, easy retreat if needed. She had marched this route before. She knew the ground. "This is the spot," she said, voice carrying crisp and clear. "Set camp. Double the pickets. No fires until the perimeter is secure."

Her soldiers moved with practiced efficiency. Tents rose in neat rows. Horses were watered and picketed. Cooking fires crackled to life, sending the smell of rice and spiced meat drifting on the cool air.

Men laughed quietly as they worked—relieved to be off the road, confident they would reach Qingshui by the following afternoon and claim the victory Han Feng could only dream of.

Ling Xue dismounted, removed her helmet, and let the night breeze cool her face.

She had already sent a scout ahead to confirm the next day's route. Everything was in order. Five thousand of her best. Mount Tai could eat dust.

She walked the central lane between the tents, nodding to her officers, letting them see her calm.

Then the mist came.

It started as a thin haze rolling off the river, nothing alarming. Soldiers kept talking, passing bowls of food, checking weapons. Visibility dropped a little, but they could still see each other ten paces away.

"Fog's thick tonight," one sergeant muttered, stirring his pot.

Another laughed. “Better than rain. Pass the wine."

Ling Xue paused near a fire, arms crossed, listening to the low murmur of her army.

The mist thickened. Ten paces became five. Then three. Voices grew quieter as men strained to see the faces in front of them.

She frowned. "Stay alert. Lanterns up."

But the mist kept coming, heavy and unnatural, swallowing sound as well as sight. Within minutes the entire camp was blind.

A man could not see the soldier standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him. The river's gentle rush faded into silence. Even the crackle of the fires seemed muffled.

Ling Xue's hand drifted to her sword hilt. Something was wrong.

Then the screaming started.

It ripped out of the fog-raw, terrified, cut off almost as soon as it began. Steel rang somewhere to her left. Another shout. A wet, choking sound. Boots scrambled on grass. More screams, closer now, overlapping, panicked.

"Form up!" Ling Xue roared, drawing her blade in a silver flash. "To me! Sound off!"

But her voice seemed to die in the white wall around her. She lunged toward the nearest scream, sword raised, heart hammering. Her shoulder brushed another soldier-she couldn't tell if it was friend or-

A blade whistled past her ear. Someone crashed into her from behind. The camp dissolved into chaos, men shouting names that went unanswered, weapons swinging at shadows they could not see.

Ling Xue spun, blade ready, eyes wide in the blinding mist.

Whatever had come for them had come silent, and invisible.