Under the veil of the night sky, Zhang Liang, draped in a cloak as dark as the midnight hour, raised his hand, fingers forming an intricate pattern against the celestial canvas. His signal rippled through the ranks of the resistance fighters like a shadowy whisper.
Silently and with the grace of unseen specters, the fighters surged forward. They had trained relentlessly for this moment, their movements fluid and soundless as they navigated the labyrinthine alleys leading to the city's heart.
The stars above twinkled like distant promises, casting a gentle luminescence upon the cobbled streets of Jadeleaf City. It was a surreal sight, the city itself appearing to hold its breath, as though it knew that a reckoning was imminent.
The only sounds were the soft rustle of clothing and the muted thud of boots on the ground. The city's sentries, lulled into complacency by the late hour, were unprepared for the sudden onslaught that materialized from the darkness.
