Steel met steel in a furious blur as the bandits descended upon the travelers. Lan Zhuoran pivoted, channeling the fluid motions of the Five-Winds Form. His forearm deflected a slash aimed at his ribs, and he countered with a sharp palm strike that sent the bandit staggering. Each movement felt more intuitive than ever, as though the subtle qi of this ancient place resonated with him.
Gao Tianrong loosed an arrow that found its mark in a second attacker's thigh. The man crumpled with a shout, forcing the other bandits to hesitate. Meanwhile, Yin Feiyan backed away, protective arm clasped around the relic. She couldn't risk direct combat with her wounded arm, but she refused to let them corner her either. One bandit—seeing her vulnerability—lunged with a short spear.
Lan Zhuoran spotted the danger. He whirled, ignoring the cut forming along his shoulder as another blade grazed him, and swept a low kick into the spear-wielding bandit's ankles. The man crashed to the ground, spear clattering away. Lan Zhuoran hissed, pressing a hand to the shallow wound on his shoulder, but adrenaline kept him focused.
Gao Tianrong notched another arrow, aimed at the tall, scarred bandit who seemed to be the leader. The bandit ducked behind a spire, cursing. Three of the outlaws remained mobile, including the leader, though two were injured. With no sign of retreat in their eyes, the fight continued in precarious circles around the looming stone pillars.
The leader growled, baring yellowed teeth. "You'll regret this. We outnumber you, and we're more desperate!"
He rushed Gao Tianrong, who sidestepped, swirling his cloak to obscure the bandit's line of sight. The bandit slashed wildly, tearing the archer's sleeve. Gao Tianrong hissed in pain, but managed to raise his bow for a point-blank shot. His arrow flew, grazing the bandit's arm. Blood spattered across the stone.
Nearby, Yin Feiyan's breathing turned ragged as she clutched the relic to her chest, eyes scanning for a gap. One of the injured bandits—a wiry man with a bleeding thigh—hobbled toward her, greed shining in his gaze. "Hand over that bundle," he snarled. "I don't care if you're wounded. It's mine now!"
Yin Feiyan bit her lip. She shifted into a stance that protected her bandaged arm, readying her dagger in her uninjured hand. Though her martial skill was compromised, her glare radiated unwavering resolve. "Stay back," she warned.
Lan Zhuoran vaulted over a fallen spear, intercepting the wiry bandit. The man, already wounded, couldn't keep up with the swift arcs of the Five-Winds Form. Two quick strikes forced him to retreat. Another arrow from Gao Tianrong forced the bandit to dive behind rubble. Lan Zhuoran wiped sweat from his brow, chest heaving. This place might hold old echoes of cultivation, he thought, but we can't rely on faint energy alone to win.
The tall leader, seeing his men falter, bellowed in fury. He lunged for the mule, likely hoping to seize whatever goods were strapped there. Lan Zhuoran sprinted to intercept, slamming his shoulder against the bandit's flank. The collision reverberated through his bones, but it stopped the raider from cutting the mule loose.
Snarling, the bandit turned on Lan Zhuoran with a vicious overhead swing. Lan Zhuoran barely dodged in time, feeling the rush of displaced air. He countered with a sweeping kick, but the bandit blocked it, driving a knee into Lan Zhuoran's gut. Pain exploded through his torso. He's strong, Lan Zhuoran realized, blinking to clear the haze.
Before the bandit could capitalize, an arrow streaked past. Gao Tianrong's shot grazed the man's ear, leaving him disoriented. Lan Zhuoran seized the opening, mustering his remaining strength for a focused palm strike to the bandit's sternum. A burst of qi surged from his core—raw, unrefined, yet potent. The bandit's eyes widened as he staggered back, dropping his sword.
Yin Feiyan took advantage of the moment. She pivoted around the bandit's blind side, dagger raised. Instead of striking lethally, she pressed the blade to his neck. "Call them off," she hissed. "Or your blood stains these stones."
For a tense second, the circle fell silent aside from the labored breathing of both sides. The two other bandits, each bleeding and panting, eyed their leader's precarious position. Gao Tianrong leveled his bow, arrow aimed for the next that tried anything. Lan Zhuoran braced for the final blow if negotiations failed.
The leader's gaze darted from Yin Feiyan's dagger to Lan Zhuoran's bruised posture. One of the bandits coughed, clutching his wounded leg. Realizing the advantage had flipped, the leader spat on the ground. "Fine. We yield. Take your cursed goods and leave." He jerked his head at his men. "Fall back."
Cautiously, Yin Feiyan released the man, stepping back with dagger still raised. Gao Tianrong moved behind them, ensuring they didn't circle around. Lan Zhuoran forced a steady breath. Blood trickled from the shallow cut on his shoulder, and his ribs ached, but they had survived. At least for now.
The bandits limped away, shooting hateful glares. Once they vanished among the pillars, the travelers dared relax. Gao Tianrong lowered his bow, leaning against a stone with a grimace. "That was too close."
Lan Zhuoran's legs trembled. "I'm fine," he insisted, though pain flared in every bruise. Yin Feiyan gently touched his shoulder, her concern evident. He tried to shrug off her worry, but a wave of dizziness nearly toppled him.
"Easy," she murmured, guiding him to sit. "You took a hit to the gut, too."
He nodded, pressing a hand to his ribs. Despite the battered feeling, relief washed over him. They still had the relic, and no one had sustained a mortal injury. Gao Tianrong, retying a bandage on his arm, echoed the sentiment: "We got lucky. They were ill-prepared and didn't expect real resistance."
Yin Feiyan's lips pressed into a thin line. "We can't stay here. Others might come. Let's gather ourselves and move on."
Lan Zhuoran agreed, but he needed a moment to catch his breath. He could still feel faint, residual energy coursing through his limbs—a sign that the Five-Winds Form and the ambient qi had synergized unexpectedly. He filed the sensation away to ponder later. For now, survival mattered more than secrets of ancient cultivators.
They patched up minor wounds as best they could, tension lingering despite the bandits' retreat. This hidden place, once possibly a site of revered cultivation, had become a stage for desperate violence. The travelers led the mule away from the spires, footsteps echoing in the old circle as if the land itself whispered farewells. They departed quickly, anxious to leave the cursed echo of conflict behind.
As they exited the ring of stone pillars, Lan Zhuoran cast a final glance at the towering monoliths. Legends and relics lie everywhere in Longxia, he thought. But so does danger. We're truly dancing between them now. The trio pressed onward, burdened by fatigue and fresh bruises, yet buoyed by the knowledge they still possessed Skyfire Protocol—and the fragile hope it could change the empire's fate.