The torches outside the barracks flickered gently, casting light on the desolate battlefield.

  Seven figures in black moved silently, their forms melding with the darkness, following it like shadows.

  They had precisely mastered the patrol routes, as if they had long since memorized the layout of the entire camp.

  This was no spur-of-the-moment action; it was a carefully planned operation after thorough reconnaissance.

  Before this infiltration, they must have spent a considerable amount of time studying the enemy’s sentry positions and patrol patterns.

  They may have even been lying in wait for days to ensure that the operation would go off without a hitch.

  Not only did they use the darkness to conceal themselves, but they also relied on the subtle undulations of the terrain, the angles of light refraction, and even the blind spots in the soldiers' attention to make themselves visually "disappear."

  At times, they passed by the patrolling soldiers, merely a few steps away, moving without a sound.

  The soldiers' gazes swept in their direction, but it was as if they hadn't noticed their presence at all.

  Before entering the barracks, they had crossed a desolate wasteland piled high with corpses.

  The stench of decay permeated the air, blood had long soaked into the soil, but there were still some dying soldiers and slaves struggling to survive.

  Their reactions appeared calm and restrained, but Elo's transcendent perception caught the more complex fluctuations deep within their hearts.

  Some were indeed indifferent, viewing the wounded soldiers as little more than dead grass, focusing solely on their mission.

  There were also those who harbored a deep hatred for these dying enemies, their palms slightly clenched, as if restraining themselves from delivering the final blow.

  And then there were others, especially when facing the dying slaves, whose eyes flashed with a brief pity, but quickly suppressed it, reminding themselves of the priority of their task.

  In the end, they chose restraint and continued forward toward their objective.

  They moved like the silent night wind, weaving through the area, with no one noticing their presence.

  And interestingly—

  They, too, did not notice Elo behind them.

  As they gradually approached the trench, Elo sensed that the vigilance here was even tighter.

  The trench was the first line of defense on the front, and here, there were not only patrolling soldiers but also groups of slaves.

  Some were burying bodies, others were transporting ammunition, and some were even constructing new trenches.

  They needed to silently pass through this area, but it was no easy task.

  The light in the trench was faint, visibility was extremely low, which worked in their favor.

  But the narrow trench also limited their freedom of movement; any mistake could expose them.

  Their solution was simple—

  They wouldn’t stay in one place for too long but remained in constant motion, like shadows in the night.

  Their steps were perfectly timed to the pauses in the soldiers' conversations or the moments when other noise occurred.

  Like shadows, they advanced steadily through the darkness.

  When they encountered a patrol soldier they couldn’t bypass, the figures in black would deal with them without hesitation.

  Though they appeared to only carry a [ring-pommel saber], they hid deadly capabilities.

  One would slip behind the enemy like a ghost, the blade flashing in an instant, and before the chill even reached, death had already descended.

  The blade silently sank into the throat, instantly severing any chance for a cry for help, the movement so precise it seemed rehearsed countless times.

  The soldier’s eyes widened, unable to even feel fear before the blood from his throat was swallowed by the blade.

  Another figure swiftly spun their wrist, the dagger sliding along the enemy's spine.

  The tip of the blade barely sunk in an inch, but it pierced the heart with pinpoint accuracy, ending any chance of resistance.

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  The blood hadn’t even spurted before the palm quietly covered the wound, preventing a single drop from spilling.

  The corpse was carefully adjusted, ensuring that even if the night wind passed, no trace would be left behind.

  A third raised their hand slightly, and a cold gleam slipped from the sleeve.

  A dart, as thin as a cicada's wing, shot through the air, spinning in an almost imperceptible arc, and precisely pierced the enemy’s throat.

  The soldier didn’t even have time to make a sound, their eyes dulling in shock, their body collapsing limply.

  Some even killed with their bare hands.

  Taking advantage of a patrol soldier turning around, one suddenly closed the distance.

  With fingers as precise as an eagle’s claws, they gripped the enemy's throat, giving a slight squeeze—

  The muffled sound of the broken throat was swallowed by the night wind.

  The soldier’s eyes widened, their consciousness faltering for less than a second before they crumpled to the ground.

  But the most terrifying of all was the leader.

  He didn’t draw his sword, nor did he engage in hand-to-hand combat—only a cold, indifferent gaze.

  A soldier, who had attempted to shout, froze in place, his face turning as pale as paper in an instant.

  The soldier's lips trembled, as though he had seen some terrifying, unstoppable presence.

  He tried to step forward, to flee, but his legs felt as though they were trapped in quicksand, and even lifting half an inch became an impossible task.

  In the end, his body swayed slightly, his gaze lost, and he collapsed in absolute terror, his breath gone.

  After the killing, the figures in black quickly cleaned up the scene, making sure no body was exposed.

  Some dragged the bodies into dark corners, hiding them under collapsed debris;

  Others swiftly scattered fine dust to cover the bloodstains;

  Everything happened in just a few breaths, as precise as an impeccable assassination.

  They hesitated not, made no mistakes—silent in their killings, moving like shadows.

  They were both the ghosts of the night and the apostles of death.

  However, the unexpected still happened.

  A slave inadvertently witnessed the scene.

  His already frail body suddenly stiffened, his pupils contracted in an instant, as if he realized that he had seen something he shouldn't have.

  Fear, like a blazing flame, instantly swept through his entire being.

  But just as the chilling fear crawled up his spine, his gaze landed on their black garments.

  His face changed suddenly, his terror replaced by surprise—these seven were his fellow countrymen!

  His heart raced, his lips trembled slightly, filled with longing, filled with hope, wanting to shout the long-suppressed cry for help.

  But not a single syllable escaped his mouth.

  Because the leader simply cast him a glance.

  That gaze was like ice, piercing to the bone, like a blade cutting through the soul.

  It felt as if an invisible force gripped his throat, and the cry he meant to utter was abruptly choked back.

  His lips parted slightly, but no sound could escape.

  The next moment, his consciousness sank into a void of silence, his body collapsing helplessly—he fainted.

  Among the black-clad figures, a woman slightly furrowed her brow, a hint of hesitation appearing in her gaze.

  At the moment of her hesitation, the man in the lead sent a message to everyone through [Internal Energy] .

  The cold, unquestionable voice rang in each person’s mind—

  —The bigger picture takes priority.

  A single, emotionless sentence—yet it carried more weight than any command.

  The woman lowered her gaze slightly, remained silent for a moment, and ultimately said nothing more, continuing to walk forward.

  In the distance, Elo watched quietly, his expression calm, offering no reaction.

  He saw nothing wrong with what the man in the lead had done.

  —The bigger picture takes priority.

  Focus on the whole, sacrifice the parts;

  Silence the individual for the sake of a cleaner, more orderly game board.

  As long as the greater situation improves, the “small things” will naturally follow.

  —In theory, that’s how it works. Logically airtight.

  That being said… even if it made perfect sense…

  For some reason, it felt like a dull thorn lodged in his chest—

  not quite deep, not truly painful, yet impossible to ignore.

  Some feelings couldn’t be voiced; some unease couldn’t be explained.

  But he knew, it wasn't opposition, just an indescribable sense of unease.

  —It was something that belonged only to humans, something that refused to fall completely silent.

  —The bigger picture takes priority.

  He thought to himself, not sure if the words were meant to steady his own heart, or to honor the silence of a bygone age.

  Elo lifted his head and looked again at the seven figures.

  His gaze no longer held the same fervor and curiosity as before.

  —This group of people drifted further and further from the romantic ideal in his heart.

  Of course, he knew that the highest realm of a "Xia" was—the true greatness of a Xia lies in serving the nation and its people.

  But that didn’t mean that was the kind of hero he wanted to be.

  What Elo longed for was the kind of wanderer who followed his heart, free and unrestrained.

  Not driven by destiny, not enslaved by the world, but walking the land for the sake of his own beliefs.

  But these seven before him...

  At this moment, in Elo's eyes, they no longer seemed like "Xia" but rather "powerful soldiers."

  The light in Elo's eyes quietly dimmed a little.

  After bypassing numerous obstacles, the group quickly advanced into the heart of the military camp.

  Their steps steady, with killing intent concealed in the shadows.

  Elo raised his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the scattered tents and sentry posts in the camp;

  The defense system here had changed significantly—

  The level of vigilance was even more intense than on the outskirts.

  The patrol teams on the perimeter consisted of only five to seven people, but here, the team sizes had doubled—

  —Each squad was made up of at least twelve people.

  Their movements were orderly, combining rotating patrols with fixed posts to ensure that no area was left defenseless.

  What was even more alarming was that some patrol teams would even retrace their steps to verify the route they had just passed, preventing anyone from infiltrating after their departure.

  The torches they held flickered gently, casting the faces of the soldiers in cold, cautious light. Their eyes roamed the darkness, not missing any suspicious corner.

  This was not simple defense; it was a tightly woven hunting net, and any prey that entered would find it hard to escape.

  At some key defensive points, Elo's perception detected some "special personnel" dressed in military uniforms.

  Even from a distance of several dozen meters, Elo could clearly sense how they differed from the others around them.

  —The most obvious difference was in how others treated them.

  The respect shown by regular soldiers and officers toward them far exceeded the respect they showed to their commanders.

  This reverence was not based on military rank obedience but rather a deep, innate worship.

  When soldiers were near them, they instinctively lowered their voices, as if afraid to disturb these special figures.

  Occasionally, someone would cast a glance, their eyes reflecting a sense of unmasked reverence.

  Elo’s gaze sharpened slightly—this group was not made up of ordinary soldiers.