The return to Oakhaven was not a victory march. It was a funeral procession for invincibility.
Rylan walked at the head of the column, refusing the stretcher the scouts had hastily assembled. His left arm hung uselessly at his side, the sleeve of his robe stiff with drying blood. The dagger handle still protruded from his shoulder, a grotesque reminder of his mortality.
Behind him, Elara was carried by two scouts. She was conscious but silent, her eyes fixed on the back of Rylan's head. Her hands were wrapped in thick bandages, rendering her—the village's eyes and ears—completely blind to the world.
When they breached the tree line and entered the village, the activity stopped.
Villagers holding hammers and baskets froze. They looked at their invincible Master, the man who had crushed the Baron and the Jade Vanguard, now stumbling and pale. A ripple of fear, colder than any winter wind, swept through Oakhaven.
"Back to work!" Rylan roared.
The shout tore something in his chest. He coughed, spitting a glob of blood onto the dust.
"Do not stare!" he snarled, his Imperial Aura flaring erratically, making several nearby farmers flinch. "The enemy does not sleep because I bleed! Work!"
They scrambled to obey, terrified not by the enemy, but by him.
Rylan marched straight to the clinic—a converted farmhouse near the well. He kicked the door open.
Lena was inside, grinding herbs. She looked up, smiling, expecting a triumphant return. Her smile vanished instantly. The pestle dropped from her hand.
"Master!" She rushed forward, her hands glowing with her Minor Healing Affinity.
"Her fingers," Rylan said, then stopped as Lena reached for his shoulder. "Can Lyra keep pressure here while you look?"
"But you—" Lena stared at the dagger. "That is deep, Rylan. It could be in the lung."
Lena pointed him toward a stool. "Sit. Lyra, the dressing. I'll check both before I start anything." Her hands were steady enough that he obeyed.
Rylan sat heavily on a stool in the corner. Lyra entered, carrying a basin of hot water and a bottle of high-proof spirits. She didn't look at his face. She looked only at the wound.
"This is going to be unpleasant," Lyra said, soaking a cloth. "The blade is serrated. It won't slide out clean."
"Do it," Rylan gritted out.
Lyra cleaned around the wound while Lena supported the damaged tissue with a small current. Neither pretended that cultivation made the blade safe to remove. Rylan fixed his eyes on the wall and let them work.
The blade came free at last. Rylan's knees jerked against the stool. Lyra pressed a prepared dressing to the wound while Lena checked the bleeding; the room took a long time to stop swaying.
Rylan pressed his hand against the wound, his vision swimming. He watched Lena working. He watched the soft glow of her Qi knitting Elara's fingers back together.
He had wanted to return looking as though the rescue had cost him nothing. Lena's hands were shaking with effort, and he could hear how quickly Elara was breathing. He looked down at the dressing and kept still.
The door opened again. Mei stood there.
She held a roll of blueprints, her face smudged with soot. She took in the scene—the blood, the dagger on the floor, the broken Elara.
Mei went pale. She had seen Rylan as a godlike figure who destroyed mountains. Now, she saw a man who could be stabbed by a common mercenary.
"Master..." Mei whispered.
"The array," Rylan rasped, his eyes locking onto hers. "Is it finished?"
Mei swallowed hard. "I... I redesigned it. Using the single barrel of oil. But without the Spirit Ore from the mine, I can't build the ballistae. We are vulnerable to air attacks."
"Then we stay on the ground," Rylan said. "Elara is out. You are my eyes now, Mei. Can the Sound-Capture Orbs be daisy-chained?"
Mei blinked, her mind racing to catch up. "Yes. I can link them to a central receiver."
"Do it," Rylan ordered. "Perimeter of two miles. If a rabbit sneezes, I want to know."
He stood up. The room spun. Lyra grabbed his good arm to steady him.
"Sit down," Lyra hissed. "You've lost too much blood."
Rylan almost pulled away, then saw how much of the dressing was already red. He sat again. "Mei, put the receiver where Elara can monitor it without climbing. Start with listening. Voice can wait until it works."
Mei nodded frantically and fled the room.
Rylan looked at Lena. "Status?"
Lena wiped sweat from her forehead. She looked exhausted; healing bone took a massive toll on her Qi. "The bones are aligned. But the nerves... she needs rest, Rylan. Weeks of it. If she strains them, she will lose dexterity permanently."
Rylan looked at Elara. She was awake, looking at her bandaged hands with a hollow expression.
"You heard her," Rylan said to Elara. "You are grounded. No scouting. No fighting. You sit in this room and you heal."
Elara looked up, her eyes wet. "I am... a burden."
"Then let us carry you for a while," Rylan said. He had no graceful way to say it. "The tower can wait."
He turned and walked out of the clinic, leaving the three women in silence.
Night fell over Oakhaven, heavy and suffocating.
Rylan sat in his command room, the Azure Dragon's Breath manual open on his lap. The oil lamp flickered, casting long, dancing shadows against the walls.
He tried to cultivate. He tried to draw the Wood Qi from the manual into his meridians to speed up his healing.
But every time he pulled the energy in, his Dantian bucked and spasmed. The "crack" in his foundation—the instability from his rapid ascent—was reacting to his physical trauma.
He coughed, tasting copper again.
He slammed the manual shut.
Useless.
He couldn't cultivate his way out of this. He was bottlenecked. His body was broken, his spirit was unstable, and his enemies were multiplying.
He looked at the map on the table. The "Spirit Ore Mine" was circled in red. He had killed the mercenary, but he hadn't secured the mine. He had left it unmanned because he couldn't spare the troops.
It was a stalemate.
The door opened softly.
Rylan's hand went to his sword hilt instantly.
It was Lena.
She wasn't wearing her healer's apron. She wore a simple nightgown, her hair loose. She looked terrified, but she stepped into the room anyway.
"Lyra is with Elara," Lena said softly. "She is sleeping."
"What do you want?" Rylan asked, his voice weary.
Lena walked over to him. She didn't stop at the table. She came right up to his chair. She reached out and touched his bandaged shoulder.
Her hand was warm. A soft, pulse of healing energy flowed from her palm, dulling the sharp edge of the pain.
"You are in pain," Lena said. "And you cannot cultivate."
"I am fine," Rylan lied.
"You are dying, Rylan," Lena said, her voice surprisingly firm. "Slowly. From the inside. Your fire is burning too hot for the furnace."
Lena sat across the table. "I can filter part of the unstable current. Not all of it at once."
The interface outlined the same possibility, with a warning about strain and contamination. Rylan turned the manual so she could compare its circulation diagram with the one he described. She marked the point where he must stop.
"Lyra watches my pulse," she said. "If I can't answer, she breaks contact. And you do not hold me there."
He disliked needing a limit he could not assess himself. He disliked the blood on his sleeve more.
"Agreed."
She kept looking at him until he said it again without the impatience. Then she went to fetch Lyra.