The Gathering Storm
Before returning to the war chamber, Layla had taken a solitary journey beyond the sect's walls. She needed time—not just to gather supplies, but to retrace the memories of her past life, to ensure her understanding of the terrain was not clouded by flawed recollection.
Her steps were measured, deliberate. She pressed her fingers against the cold stone of the valley's edge, feeling the jagged texture beneath her fingertips. This place had once been a battlefield, one she had walked before, though not in this lifetime. The echoes of old conflicts rang in her mind, guiding her sight as she assessed every inch of land.
She moved toward a narrow crevice between two towering cliffs, running her hand over the rough surface. A bottleneck. If the enemy came through here, it would be their grave.
In the distance, an ancient riverbed stretched beneath the mountain pass, now dried and cracked. She knelt, scooping the coarse dirt between her fingers. This terrain is unstable. If we set cultivators that has enough firepower here, a controlled collapse could sever their formations.
Her mind crafted plans as she walked—some she would share with her sect, others she would keep to herself. What they don't know, they can't betray. Even those she trusted most could become liabilities if their minds were too burdened with the full weight of her strategy.
Then, as she reached a small outcrop shrouded in wild thorns, she noticed it.
Nestled between the roots of a gnarled tree lay a single stalk of Bloodveil Orchid—a rare herb potent enough to paralyze a warrior in moments. She crouched, running her fingers along its crimson petals, memories flooding back. A weapon hidden in nature. If the boy fails to obtain the requested poisons, this will suffice. If not for Shen Mu, then for another contingency.
She plucked it carefully, storing it within her satchel before making her way back.
Before she could take another step, something in her stirred—a sensation she had never consciously tapped into. A slow, deliberate inhale, and suddenly, she could feel it. Qi. It was faint, but present, like a slow-moving current running beneath her skin. She had heard of cultivation, seen it practiced, but she had never attempted it herself. This body, new yet familiar, was reacting to the flow of energy around her.
Layla closed her eyes, allowing the sensation to deepen, trying to understand what it meant. She focused on channeling the energy, attempting to guide it through her fingertips. There was no instruction, only instinct. She extended her palm toward a tree, releasing a faint pulse of energy.
Nothing.
She frowned, recalibrating, then turned her focus to a nearby boulder. This time, she pushed harder, willing the energy outward. A dull thud echoed as the stone barely shifted.
Layla sighed. Pathetic.
Then she turned away.
Master Daokan stood at a distance, his form partially concealed by the shadows of the towering trees. He had been observing Layla's actions in silence, his aged eyes narrowing as he watched her movements. To her, he was nothing more than a flicker in the corner of her vision, a silhouette swallowed by the night. She had no time to pay him any mind—there was a war to win, and distractions had no place in her thoughts. The elder cultivator had been walking the outskirts of the sect grounds when he sensed an unfamiliar ripple in the flow of qi. Drawn to the anomaly, he followed it to the clearing where Layla had trained.
At first, he had dismissed her efforts—her qi reserves were pitifully low, almost negligible. Any ordinary cultivator would have struggled to influence even a leaf with such a minuscule pool of energy. And yet, what she had truly done defied explanation. How could someone with barely any qi cause such devastation? The logical conclusion was that her technique was not one of overwhelming power, but of something far more insidious—precision. Destruction that took root within, unseen until it was too late when he saw the tree she had barely touched moments ago was now blackened from the inside, its veins crumbling into rot. Even the air around it felt… wrong.
His breath hitched. This was no ordinary qi manipulation. This was something far more sinister.
"Internal destruction… but not like anything I've seen before," he muttered. His fingers trembled slightly as he knelt beside the tree, pressing his palm against its surface. The moment he made contact, a faint pulse of residual energy lashed at his senses, sharp and invasive. He withdrew his hand quickly, unsettled.
"This is not normal," he whispered.
Master Daokan had seen countless forms of qi cultivation in his lifetime, had fought warriors who bent energy to their will in extraordinary ways. But this… this was different. This was not the destruction of force, but corrosion from within. A silent, creeping death. The worst kind of power—one that gave no warning before it was too late.
He turned his gaze toward where Layla had disappeared, his expression grim. If she did not understand what she had just done, if she did not learn to control it…
The consequences could be terrifying.
Master Daokan exhaled slowly, his breath shaky. Without taking his eyes off the corrupted tree, he subtly gestured with two fingers. Hidden within the darkness, two figures shifted—the disciples he had brought with him, silent and unseen until now.
"Find out everything you can about her," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "But do not alert her. Not yet."
The two figures vanished as quickly as they had appeared, slipping into the night like ghosts. Daokan remained for a moment longer, his expression grim.
Whatever this was, whatever Layla-Meilin had become—he needed to understand it before it was too late. "The sect must be warned… but how do you warn them of something you don't even understand?"
The Engineer's Dilemma
Hundreds of miles away, Emery Voss hunched over his workbench, frustration simmering beneath the surface. The latest firearm prototype lay disassembled before him, a reminder of his stalled progress.
Flintlock? No, too inconsistent. Matchlock? No, too slow. Percussion caps? Too advanced for the materials available.
He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "This is absurd. If only I had the resources, I could revolutionize warfare."
Then he stopped himself. No. Warfare is not my goal. The engine is. His focus had drifted too far into the realm of destruction. His true purpose was not battle—it was progress. Quiet, inevitable progress.
A voice interrupted his thoughts. "Losing your mind again, Emery?"
He looked up to see Callum Renshaw, his assistant, leaning against the doorway with a knowing smirk. Callum, a man of logic and quick wit, had an uncanny ability to keep Emery grounded.
"Not losing my mind," Emery muttered. "Just recalibrating."
Callum strode over, glancing at the sketches. "You're stuck on ignition mechanisms again?"
"Among other things," Emery admitted. He tapped a separate blueprint—a rough sketch of the chalkboard device he was designing for efficient note-taking. "This will work. The firearm? Not yet."
Callum raised an eyebrow. "Then why not shift your focus? You're not building an army, Emery. You're building the future."
Emery exhaled, nodding. "You're right."
Yet, even as he redirected his thoughts, another problem weighed heavily on his mind. His chalkboard invention was nearly complete—but something else had surfaced.
A separate message had arrived from his informants, bearing news not of science but of war. The conflict between the Silver Lotus Sect and the Crimson Serpent Sect was reaching a critical point, but his network was not as extensive as Zafira's. What he did know, however, was troubling. The Serpents were moving in ways that defied conventional strategy. Someone—perhaps Shen Mu himself—was adapting.
A carrier pigeon had returned, a note tied securely to its leg. Emery retrieved it, recognizing the seal of one of his informants. He unfolded the parchment with careful fingers, scanning its contents. His breath hitched.
Someone—somewhere—had supposedly discovered the laws of continuity.
That shouldn't be possible. He had only begun theorizing about such concepts himself. No one else should have even considered it, let alone found proof.
His fingers tightened around the parchment. "Who…? And how?" His mind raced through possibilities. A hidden scholar? An unknown sect? Or... something else entirely?
Callum crossed his arms. "You're still stuck on that report, huh?"
Emery handed him the paper. "Someone cracked the laws of continuity before I could even solidify the theory. It's impossible."
Callum skimmed the text, lips pursed. "Maybe not impossible. Just improbable. You want me to track this down?"
Emery nodded. "Yes. Get me every record, every rumor. And while you're at it, check with Zafira—see when 'that' is arriving. We'll need it sooner than expected."
Callum grinned. "Got it. But if I find something ridiculous, you owe me a drink."
Emery smirked. "If you find something at all, I might owe you more than that."
As Callum left, Emery turned back to his work, his thoughts consumed by possibilities. If someone had truly discovered the laws of continuity, then everything—science, technology, even the foundations of this world—was about to change.
And Emery intended to be at the center of it.
The Midnight Battle Begins
The moment had arrived.
Layla stood at the highest balcony of the main hall, the cold night air brushing against her face. Below her, the warriors of the Silver Lotus Sect stood in formation, their eyes locked on the darkness beyond the valley. The sound of distant marching reverberated through the air, a steady drum of impending conflict.
A young disciple rushed toward her, bowing deeply. "Lady Meilin, the poison has been successfully mixed and delivered."
Layla nodded. "Good, Bao. Now prepare the sedative contingency. If this battle extends beyond five minutes, we may need to escalate."
Bao hesitated. "Five minutes, my lady? That seems—"
"If it takes longer than that, it means their numbers are far greater than expected." Layla's gaze hardened. "In that case, we move to Plan C. The boulders."
She had only managed to spend a few hours ensuring their placement along the cliffs, hastily coordinating with the few cultivators she had to move the boulders into position. It was a sloppy job, rushed and imperfect, but it would have to suffice. If the enemy was too large to outmaneuver, they would be crushed beneath the weight of the mountain—or so she planned.
Bao nodded swiftly and vanished into the shadows, carrying out his new orders.
Layla descended from the balcony, making her way toward the war chamber where the remaining elders awaited. The moment she entered, murmurs filled the room—doubt and unease lingered in their expressions. "We need a fallback if Plan C fails," one of the elders stated. "What if they break through before the boulders drop?"
Layla exhaled. "Then we fall back to the northern ridge and use the terrain to create a bottleneck. I already stationed cultivators there for reinforcement."
Her father, Lin Wuye, watched her carefully before speaking. "That is only half of the truth, isn't it? You have a true plan beyond these contingencies. What is it?"
Layla met his gaze, weighing her words carefully. "If they push us too far, we lure them into the abandoned ruins east of the valley. The structures there are unstable. If we bring them down at the right moment, it will cut their forces in half."
A silence stretched in the room before an elder finally muttered, "Risky."
"Necessary," Layla countered. "We cannot afford to lose this battle. We must control the flow of the fight, no matter the cost."
Layla inhaled deeply, her inner clock counting each second as she watched the battlefield below. Five minutes. No more.
The Serpent's Perspective
Shen Mu stood at the front of his formation, the scent of damp earth thick in the midnight air. The oppressive silence was unsettling, broken only by the faint rustle of armor and the muted shuffle of his soldiers' boots.
He had anticipated resistance, but something about this battle felt wrong. There were no torches lit along the enemy's walls, no frantic shouting of orders—only the cold, whispering wind.
Shen Mu smirked. Are they hiding in fear?
His forces advanced cautiously. He had devised multiple plans for breaching the Silver Lotus Sect's defenses, yet none had accounted for this eerie absence of immediate resistance. A feint? A retreat? Or are they setting a trap?
Then, as they reached the valley's entrance, he saw it—a lone figure standing at the center of the open terrain.
One cultivator.
He blinked, uncertain. Is this a bluff? An envoy? A fool? His instinct screamed at him, but before he could act, the lone figure raised an arm.
A deafening rush of wind exploded across the battlefield.
Gale Severance.
The gust struck with the force of a collapsing storm, tearing through the first wave of his soldiers, sending them sprawling backward. Shen Mu's eyes widened as he steadied himself, struggling to maintain balance.
Then came the shadows.
Figures darted between the trees and ridges, striking with impossible speed before vanishing once more into the night. The battle had begun—not as an open clash, but as a massacre of precision.
Guerrilla warfare.
Shen Mu gritted his teeth. So this was their game.
In just thirty seconds, his perfect formation was already starting to unravel.
The enemy was drawing closer.
Shen Mu sneered as he observed the eerie silence ahead. Cowards. Was this how the once-respected Silver Lotus Sect intended to fight? Hiding in the shadows, refusing to face him with honor? He gritted his teeth, the thought igniting a simmering fury within him. War was meant to be a clash of wills, of strength against strength. Not this. Not tricks and deception.
And yet, as he scoffed at their cowardice, an unsettling thought slithered into his mind, one that mirrored the mind of his unseen opponent. He's probably thinking this is dishonorable.
Layla, watching from above, smirked. But honor never won a battle!
A cold wind swept past her, and at that moment, a nearby bird let out a startled cry before taking off frantically into the night. Even nature itself seemed to shudder at her expression.