Zhang Tian froze, instinctively gncing toward the source.

  Just beyond the cover of the fallen trees, a man y sprawled in the dirt, robes torn, one leg twisted at an unnatural angle. Blood seeped from wounds along his chest and side.

  His face was half-hidden by mud, but the pain in his voice was unmistakable.

  Zhang Tian felt his heart twist.

  We can't just leave him.

  He shifted to move—but Fang Chen’s hand cmped down hard on his shoulder, forcing him back into the shadows.

  Zhang Tian turned sharply, whispering, "He's injured! We can pull him back—"

  "Quiet!" Fang Chen hissed, low and urgent. His grey eyes were hard as flint. "Something's wrong."

  "But—"

  Fang Chen shook his head, his grip iron-tight."Look again. Really look."

  The injured man writhed, whimpering piteously.

  Then—his head jerked up.

  His gaze locked unnervingly close to where Zhang Tian and Fang Chen crouched.

  "You! Please... you there—!" the man rasped, his voice breaking into desperate sobs. "Please don't leave me!"

  Zhang Tian's heart thundered painfully against his ribs.

  He sees us.

  He moved, reflexively stepping forward.

  Fang Chen yanked him back again with surprising force, his mouth a thin, grim line.

  Zhang Tian opened his mouth to protest—but then another sound rustled from the opposite direction.

  Voices.

  New ones.

  From a narrow game trail, a young girl and an old man emerged cautiously into view.

  The girl couldn’t have been more than fifteen, her robes too fine for the battlefield, her face still unweathered by war. She clutched a small staff, her posture nervous but determined.

  The old man beside her—her grandfather, judging by the way he kept one hand protectively near her shoulder—moved with the careful deliberation of someone who knew too well what dangers lurked unseen.

  Zhang Tian felt a wave of relief.

  Cultivators. Maybe they could save him.

  The young girl gasped when she spotted the injured man, immediately moving toward him.

  "Grandfather, we have to help!" she said, tugging his sleeve.

  The old man hesitated, visibly torn. His mouth worked silently for a moment before he sighed, nodding reluctantly."Stay behind me," he murmured. "No matter what."

  Together, they moved toward the fallen figure.

  Another rustle—a faint sound behind them—caused both the old man and the girl to gnce back reflexively.

  That brief moment of distraction was enough.

  The "injured" man surged upward with terrifying speed, a bde fshing from beneath his torn robes.

  The knife buried itself hilt-deep into the girl's back.

  She gasped, stumbling forward, clutching at nothing.

  "NO!" the old man roared, spinning, but it was already too te.

  His granddaughter crumpled into the dirt, blood soaking her robes.

  The old man barely had time to grab her before the true trap sprung.

  Two arrows whistled from the trees.

  One aimed for his head—deflected at the st instant by a surge of his qi.

  The second struck home, slicing into his side, a shallow but bleeding wound.

  Three attackers now—one visible, two hidden.

  The old man fought like a cornered beast, weaving his essence into desperate defenses, water and earth mixing in crude but powerful bursts.

  But he had to protect the girl too.

  He couldn’t flee.He couldn’t fully fight.

  Worse—his footing faltered.

  A cough wracked his body, wet and heavy.

  When he looked down, bck blood spattered the ground.

  He staggered.

  "Poison," he rasped, understanding too te.

  The bde had been coated—crippling him.

  The attackers pressed harder.

  Curses and jeers filled the air as they tried to finish him off.

  But the old man had one final card.

  Roaring with fury and heartbreak, he tore an explosion talisman from his sleeve—a crimson slip crackling with unstable energy—and smmed it against the earth.

  A massive bst of force and light ripped through the clearing.

  The attackers barely managed to curse and scatter into the trees, diving for cover.

  And high above—

  The fming birds shrieked, sensing the disruption, beginning to turn.

  Zhang Tian and Fang Chen didn’t wait.

  Without exchanging a word, they fled—hard and fast into the trees, breath burning in their lungs, not daring to look back.

  Zhang Tian stumbled after Fang Chen, heart a hammering drumbeat of terror and guilt.

  He didn’t dare ask what happened to the girl.He didn’t dare wonder if the old man survived.

  The only thing he knew—the only thing burned into his mind—was the truth he had seen with his own eyes:

  Mercy was a death sentence in this world.

  The path down toward the banners wasn't long.But Zhang Tian felt every step like a stone dragging behind his heart.

  No one rushed.No one shouted.There were no calls of joy or welcome.

  Just the quiet shuffle of worn boots, the low murmur of survivors gathering, the occasional cough or sharp breath sucked through gritted teeth.

  They had made it.

  But they weren’t whole.

  And they weren’t the same.

  Zhang Tian moved stiffly, barely able to lift his feet properly.He caught sight of Fang Chen ahead of him, walking with a slow, wary gait, hand resting lightly near his weapon even now.

  The others trickled in from different directions—alone, in pairs, small clusters.

  Of the eighteen immortal seedlings who had set out months ago… only ten remained now.

  Maybe fewer.

  He wasn't sure if he counted right.

  Faces he half-remembered were simply... missing.Swallowed by the woods. Or the fmes. Or the birds.

  Zhang Tian clenched his fists tightly at his sides.

  He shouldn't be alive.He knew that.

  It had been luck.Not skill.Not bravery.

  Luck.

  And maybe that was the most terrifying part.

  Near the banners, Xiao Fang stood silent.

  Her clothes were torn, her hair matted to her face by blood and rain, but she stood tall, the battered remains of her tiger mount crouching low beside her.

  Her eyes swept over the survivors—not counting, just seeing.

  Her gaze paused briefly on Fang Chen, then flickered to Zhang Tian.

  She gave a small nod.

  Nothing more.

  No speeches.

  No rebuke.

  No congratutions.

  Just a nod.

  A silent acknowledgment:You made it. You're here. Keep going.

  Ming Li was there too, sitting heavily on a broken cart axle, head bowed, arms wrapped around her knees.She didn’t even look up when Zhang Tian passed by.

  Lang Chufeng leaned against a fallen pilr, one arm in a crude sling, eyes closed, breathing shallowly but evenly.

  Even the seniors looked worn down to the bone—some leaning on spears like crutches, others tending to wounds with trembling hands.

  No one spoke much.

  A few checked supplies.A few tended the injured.Most just sat—silent, staring at nothing.

  As if waiting for another attack that might come at any second.

  Zhang Tian found a spot against a low stone wall and simply slid down it, sitting heavily, pulling his knees up to his chest.

  Fang Chen sat a few feet away, methodically checking his bde for cracks.

  The world spun slowly around them, broken, bloodied, exhausted.

  Zhang Tian closed his eyes.

  The birds.The screams.The old man.The poisoned bde.The cries in the dark.

  All of it churned behind his eyelids like a nightmare he couldn't wake from.

  The battered group huddled near the torn banners, every breath ragged, every movement slow.

  For a long time, the only sounds were the restless wind and the faint groans of the injured.

  Then Xiao Fang stepped forward.

  No theatrics. No gathering cry.

  She simply lifted her hand, drawing every exhausted eye to her.

  "We hold here," she said, her voice steady but low. "Reinforcements are near. You survive another day, and you will see the gates of the Water Serenity Sect."

  A few heads lifted at that—Zhang Tian among them.

  He didn't feel hope exactly.Hope was something bright. Sharp.This was more like the slow, painful easing of a tourniquet after too long.

  Before she could say more, movement stirred at the treeline ahead.

  Weapons were drawn instinctively, tension snapping taut—

  Until the fgs appeared.

  Bright blue and silver banners snapping in the wind, carried by fresh cultivators in gleaming robes—newer, sharper, unmarred by blood and travel.

  The reinforcements had arrived.

  Nearly two dozen cultivators, riding clean mounts and accompanied by armored beasts, emerged in careful formation. Their leader—a tall man in Water Serenity Sect armor, trimmed in senior rank—raised his hand in greeting.

  No words needed.

  They were real.

  They were here.

  The newcomers moved quickly, setting up perimeter guards, distributing medicine, and speaking in hushed, clipped tones.

  It was almost surreal—how easily they took over the defenses, how clean and untouched they seemed compared to the filthy survivors.

  But no one resented it.

  The weary survivors welcomed it like drowning men seeing a lifeboat.

  Zhang Tian slumped further against the stone, feeling his body sag with something like relief.

  It wasn’t over.

  But they could rest now.

  For a little while.

  Xiao Fang conferred briefly with the lead reinforcements, then turned back to them.

  Her eyes swept over the group—counting this time, Zhang Tian realized.Truly seeing how few they were now.

  She said only:

  "Rest while you can. In one day, we leave for the sect."

  No ceremony.No promises.Just the simple truth.

  That was enough.

  By the next morning, they moved in a slow but guarded procession, led by the fresh cultivators.

  The path led eastward, toward a rocky pass known as Fallen Star Ridge—named for the way meteor showers sometimes scarred its cliffs in winter.

  The journey was cautious but uneventful.

  No beasts attacked.No enemies appeared.

  The Golden Beast Sect, Xiao Fang ter muttered to the seniors, had been forced to retreat completely.

  After their disastrous ambush, and the loss of too many elites, they had no choice.

  Worse for them—the Fming Desote Demonic Birds still roamed the region between them.

  Even the Golden Beast Sect wasn’t foolish enough to throw more men into that sughterhouse.

  For once—luck had tilted in the Water Serenity Sect's favor.

  Zhang Tian said little during the march.

  He followed orders.Ate when told.Slept when allowed.

  But inside, something hollow thudded against his ribs with every step.

  He was alive.

  But the price of survival clung to him like a second skin.

  And he knew—it would never fully wash away.

  Ahead, through the dust and sunlight, the first glimpse of the Water Serenity Sect's distant mountain gates gleamed against the sky.

  Home.

  Or something close enough to it.