The armour was fastened. Blades were sharpened.
Steeds snorted and stamped, gruff with anticipation as gongs thundered through the camp, steering their hearts toward a single craving—blood, and war.
Ren Jiang's illicit army stood assembled, ready to spill itself for the Blue Lotus.
Hunger glinted behind barred fangs. The soldiers wore their bloodlust with pride, just as their original souls once had.
Hao Enlai was no longer in this world to command these hounds. Still, Ren Jiang had finally stepped out from behind the curtains. Lord Enma would return in a matter of days. There was no more time for caution. He could no longer linger on the sidelines.
He had to seize the Blue Lotus today.
So, what if his hand was revealed for the world to see? He would be king soon. And what consequences does a king fear?
Ren Jiang huffed softly at his own thoughts.
This time, his entire army stood behind him—though for once, they were not waiting for the Mara demoness's signal. Ren Jiang and thousands of demons were camped near the Last Fortress. Its neo-gothic spires loomed beneath the red moon like a colossal corpse, its black silhouette stabbing at his eyes from afar.
They waited for one person to emerge from those crimson valleys.
Soon, the thunder of hooves broke the stillness.
The mount that emerged was no ordinary horse—it bore the thick musculature and horns of a black bull, massive and unnatural. Even among royalty, such a hybrid was rare. Astride, it sat Yutao.
He lashed the beast forward, driving it at a breakneck pace. Moments later, Ren Jiang's camp came into view.
At the sight of Yutao, a wide grin split the prince's face. "General!"
His guide had arrived at last. The one who would help him lead Zhang Xiyu straight into ruin.
More than thirty thousand soldiers followed the two of them as they rode through the crimson mountain range. This time there were no horrific monsters or Zhang Xiyu to block their trail. Their journey towards the Shanyang Camp was swift and smooth.
The camp was deserted, just as Yutao had reported. Rows upon rows of empty white tents flapped in the dry wind, canvas snapping like restless tongues. Hao Enlai and Su Bao had done an impressive job of clearing out the enemy, while Yutao had neatly tied off the loose ends. All that remained was to raid Zhang Xiyu's castle and knock him off his high horse.
But it seems that his smooth ride ends here.
Yutao signals Ren Jiang to fall behind while the soldiers raise their shields to make a barricade. As expected, a barrage of arrows shower upon these intruders of the night. With this the battle has officially started. Demons and monsters file out of the black fortress and soon, both sides engage in battle.
Ren Jiang stops sitting like a vase and commands his men into formation before leading a group of them inside the castle with Yutao who promptly orders the soldiers to break through the towering iron gates.
However, upon entering, Ren Jiang had the illusion that time has stopped. The chaos ringing outside the gates is completely detached from this place.
How empty. That was the first thought that crept into Ren Jiang's mind. He had never visited a ghost town before, but he imagined this must be what a grand haunted house felt like.
Well, that makes sense.
After all, the master of this castle is a ghost.
Still… why is it this empty?
Ren Jiang glanced at Yutao, scepticism etched across his face. Yutao met his gaze with an easy smile. "They're short on soldiers, Your Highness."
Ren Jiang, accustomed to things unfolding exactly as he wished, accepted the explanation without question. More than that, Ren Jiang felt a swell of pride at having recruited capable men who had reduced Zhang Xiyu to this state. All the while not noticing iron gates behind him slowly grinding shut. That he could no longer hear the clashing of swords behind him.
In the thickening darkness, Ren Jiang did not realize that his army had subtly spread out around him. He did not notice that the massive doors of the building ahead are open. And he certainly did not notice the tall figure standing in the entrance, watching him with quiet amusement.
The man wore his signature black-and-red robes. His long black hair hung loose, fluttering in the desert wind like a living shadow.
As Ren Jiang urged his horse forward, the figure stepped out to meet him. Then he saw it.
The red moonlight slices across the man's face, illuminating one half while the other drowned in shadow. Crimson pupils glinted sharply, paired with a smile far too charming.
"Zhang Xiyu…" Ren Jiang exclaims, startled despite himself. How long has he been there?
His brows furrow with ire. Why the fuck can I never sense him?
More importantly, he did not look particularly fazed by the thousands of demons intruding upon his space. If not for the sword in his hand, he might have passed for a host calmly awaiting his guests' arrival.
What is with this attitude?
Ren Jiang shakes off Zhang Xiyu's unsettling composure and reminds himself of the facts. Timing, soldiers, even an insider—Ren Jiang has everything. Zhang Xiyu stands alone. The advantage is clearly his.
Reassured, Ren Jiang sneers at Zhang Xiyu's arrogance.
"Zhang Xiyu. Hand over the Blue Lotus."
Zhang Xiyu lets out a low chuckle. "Isn't that an old maiden's tale? I suppose it must have moved you as a child. But aren't you a little too old to be chasing fictional conquests?"
Ren Jiang treats the words like a fly buzzing near his ear. "Enough theatrics. Your dear friend here has told me everything." His gaze flicks toward Yutao, who still wears an infuriatingly confident expression. "I will ask you one last time. Give me the Blue Lotus…"
Ren Jiang's hand tightens around the hilt of his sword.
"…or your life."
Faced with the threat, Zhang Xiyu merely shrugs. "Well, I don't have it."
"If I did," he adds mildly, "wouldn't you be bowing to a crown sitting on my head?" He taps his bare scalp for emphasis.
Logic, however, no longer reaches Ren Jiang. His father would return in mere days, and the deadline gnaws at him like rot beneath the skin.
Impatience swells—then snaps.
Steel sings as his sword leaves its sheath, the blade pointing straight at Zhang Xiyu. "A lone warrior, standing there like a sacrificial goat. You can blame only your own overconfidence for your death. Again."
Zhang Xiyu sighs, long and weary, like a forlorn lover. "You are right about one thing. I was alone. So…"
His dark gaze shifts to Yutao.
"Thank you for bringing back my men."
In the blink of an eye, the battle begins—but not with Ren Jiang.
A gust of wind hits him first. Then he sees Yutao kneeling atop his horse, sword locked against Zhang Xiyu's blade, which is a breath away from piercing his heart. Yutao abandons the unstable footing and leaps toward open ground—but before he can land, a sharp dagger embeds itself precisely where his foot would have been.
Yutao twists midair, narrowly avoiding the petty attack, and hears a sigh behind him.
"I was too fast."
A massive wave of demonic energy surges toward him. As Yutao blocks Zhang Xiyu's sword once more, irritation prickles beneath his skin.
Ren Jiang, meanwhile, feels quite satisfied.
Watching these former friends clash reminds him of the last Kaigan Pit rumble. Even on opposing sides, their fighting styles are unmistakably alike—nothing like the rigid swordplay drilled into them at the royal academies.
Traditional technique is clean, refined, precise. The body serves merely as an extension of the blade—thrusting like a sewing needle, defending with practiced restraint.
But Ren Jiang and Zhang Xiyu fight nothing like that.
They barely defend at all. Their movements blend multiple martial disciplines: footwork that barely kisses the ground before erupting into kicks aimed at each other's faces. It looks wild—reckless, even—but not chaotic.
Like chess players thinking several moves ahead, they read one another, trading calculated momentum to deliver heavier blows.
Ren Jiang's faint smile slowly tightens into a frown.
But why aren't they using their qi?
The speed of their blades crashing together reaches lightning pace, each strike carrying the same murderous intent as the last. Sparks scream through the air—yet even this doesn't stop Yutao from opening the telepathic channel gifted by the Blue Lotus.
Is this the fucking time to mess around?
Yutao's reprimand is sharp, but the force behind his blows doesn't lessen. Unfortunately, his opponent knows every one of his movements by heart, smoothly parrying the entire sequence as he replies with infuriating leisure.
The little traitor is being treated exactly as he deserves. I'm just playing my role.
Zhang Xiyu suddenly coats his blade in spiritual energy and thrusts straight toward Yutao's widened pupil. A few strands from his eyelashes fall as Yutao leaps back, clicking his tongue at this insufferable bastard.
Zhang Xiyu catches the warning glare thrown his way and adds cheerfully. For your role, why don't you just roll over and die?
A vein twitches on Yutao's forehead as Zhang Xiyu continues to pester him.
Just one hit. I'll make it painless. One stab to the chest should do—
Yutao immediately regrets trying to reason with this impulsive lunatic. Worse, he decides to sink to the same level.
Now the two of them were fighting, and unbeknownst to their spectators, they have also started arguing. This did not sway their attention from the VIP that was currently trying to give orders to his army to raid the fortress for the Blue Lotus.
Trying to.
"Why aren't you moving? Get the hell in there!" Ren Jiang roars.
The soldiers don't budge.
It is as if shamelessness has infected them wholesale, leaving them blatantly ignoring their master's commands. Ren Jiang stares, utterly baffled, rage clawing up his spine.
"Fuck! What is wrong with you bastards? Answer me!"
His spiritual pressure explodes outward, crashing down on the soldiers like a tidal wave. Under normal circumstances, they would already be kneeling, screaming for mercy.
Tonight, they endure it as if it were nothing more than a passing breeze.
"Prince Ren."
Ren Jiang whips around, scowling at Zhang Xiyu. The two combatants are still trading blows, but the intensity has dulled. It looked almost as if he had stumbled upon a sparring lesson between students and not a death match.
Even so, Zhang Xiyu keeps talking. "Of course they won't move," he says lightly. "This is my army."
Ren Jiang's face mirrors his incredulity. "Yutao must have landed a huge hit to your head." He scoffs and turns back to the unmoving demons.
Pointing toward a group Zhang Xiyu doesn't even bother looking at, Ren Jiang snaps, "These men have worked for me since before you were born. If your hallucinations are this bad, you should just kill yourself."
"Ren Jiang."
Zhang Xiyu backflips away, landing without a sound before immediately lunging back toward Yutao.
"Look carefully."
As if tugged by invisible strings, Ren Jiang obeys.
What the fuck am I supposed to be seeing?
At first glance, nothing is wrong. These are the same soldiers he's hired countless times over the centuries. He knows them.
But—
"What's that…?"
Ren Jiang steps closer. "You—"
Under the cover of night, thousands of demons begin to shed their skin.
Like candy wrappers slowly unravelling, their flesh cracks and melts away. The soldiers' bodies sag, collapse, and drip—wax dolls left too close to a flame. Bloody heaps of discarded skin land at Ren Jiang's feet with wet, obscene plops.
His eyes widen in disbelief.
A chemical attack? Acid? Some kind of dissolution technique?
But the figures don't fall. They emerge.
New demons crawl free from the husks.
Skinwalkers.
The realization hits him numb and cold. Everything makes sense now.
Freed from their disguises, the demons casually wipe off clinging scraps of skin and dismount their horses. In perfect unison, they click their boots together and snap into formation.
Their salute isn't for Ren Jiang.
It's for the two ghosts standing behind him.
Zhang Xiyu and Yutao sheath their swords, ending their little game.
"Didn't I already express my gratitude?" Zhang Xiyu says pleasantly, his gaze sweeping over the army before settling on Yutao at his side.
Then he turns back to Ren Jiang, voice sincere—almost kind.
"As a gift," he says with a playful smile, "you may keep the title of 'lone warrior' for yourself."