—
Everyone halted.
The clash of metal stopped midair.
Even the birds went silent.
The faint, almost fragile sound that came from the forest was enough to freeze the five armed men where they stood.
The air itself turned heavy — cold — as if the trees were holding their breath.
—
Even the gorgeous man, dressed in black robes soaked in blood, turned toward the sound.
His sword glimmered faintly under the misty light, crimson droplets sliding down its edge and falling to the damp ground with a quiet drip… drip… drip.
Mu Xuán froze.
Her heart pounded violently in her chest.
For a brief second, she forgot how to breathe.
Then instinct took over.
She darted behind a cluster of thick trees, trying to silence the trembling in her limbs.
Her mind screamed at her to run, and before she could stop herself, she did — her steps light but hurried, her robes brushing against the wet leaves.
—
The wounded man, eyes gleaming with bloodlust, took it as a chance.
His lips twisted into a cruel grin.
He lunged.
His blade flashed toward the black-robed man's back, aiming straight for his neck — the killing strike.
—
But Prince Ling Xi moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
He twisted his body in a sudden arc, barely dodging the deadly slash.
The sword still grazed him, slicing across his shoulder and arm, blood splattering across his sleeve.
He gritted his teeth, his jaw flexing as he countered with a fierce slash.
The obsidian sword moved, and in one clean motion, he severed the attacker's throat.
The man dropped like a rag doll, eyes still wide in shock, mouth open in disbelief.
Prince Ling Xi didn't spare him a glance.
—
The remaining men snapped back to reality, their momentary fear replaced by burning fury.
They charged again, their boots crushing the leaves underfoot.
One of them hesitated, glancing toward the forest.
"Who was that sound from?" he muttered. "What if it's an enemy?"
They couldn't risk it.
—
The Queen's order still burned in their minds:
Prince Ling Xi must die.
Quietly.
No witnesses.
Not a single soul.
Ling Xi's eyes flicked toward the soldier about to follow the sound.
He didn't want to implicate the innocent.
His voice was low, deep, and cutting.
—
"What are you doing?" he asked, his sword glinting in the dull morning light. "Too weak to face me, so you'll go after the innocent?"
The man flinched — then snarled.
"Kill him!" he bellowed. "He must die today!"
He swung his blade toward Ling Xi.
"Or do you all wish for your heads to decorate the Queen's platter — and her beloved son's table?"
That name — the Queen, His Lordship's favorite — and the Queen's beloved son, the kingdom's venom — made their blood run colder.
They lunged forward with renewed madness, eyes blazing.
They couldn't fail.
They couldn't offend the Queen.
Failure meant death — not just for them, but for their families.
—
But this prince…
When did he become like this?
The unwanted prince — despised by the kingdom, mocked as useless —
—
He wasn't the weakling they'd been told about.
Once mocked as the unwanted son, shunned by his people — yet now he fought like a beast from hell.
Ruthless. Elegant. Terrifying.
Every movement was a strike of death.
Every strike was deliberate; every motion dripped with the precision of a man who had nothing left to lose.
Steel met steel, the air filled with the sharp clang of metal and the metallic scent of blood.
Sparks scattered across the ground like fireflies as swords collided again and again.
The earth trembled beneath the ferocity of the fight.
—
From her hiding spot, Mu Xuán crouched low, watching with wide eyes.
—
She had run, but when she realized they weren't chasing her, curiosity — foolishness or bravery, made her return.
—
Now, she peered through the mist, her heart hammering.
The man in black moved like liquid shadow — but she could see the fatigue in his steps, his robe torn at the shoulder, revealing his injured shoulder.
He was outnumbered.
Four remained, all fighting like men possessed.
Their eyes were wild.
Their movements — reckless, suicidal.
"They're like…,"she whispered to herself, clutching the edge of the rock before her when—
—
Another blade came from behind.
It grazed Ling Xi's injured arm, tearing through the fabric and reopening the wound.
He groaned, his teeth clenched, blood dripping down his hand.
Mu Xuán's breath hitched.
She clamped her hand over her mouth to silence the gasp threatening to escape.
One soldier punched Ling Xi in the shoulder — right where he was hurt.
He stumbled back, the pain slicing through him like fire.
Another kicked him hard in the stomach.
He doubled over, coughing, his hair falling over his face.
The leader smirked, his voice dripping with cruel triumph.
"This is it," he sneered. "Your royal blood ends here."
He raised his sword, ready to strike.
—
From her hiding spot, Mu Xuán's heart lurched.
Her fingers trembled.
Ling Xi looked up, sweat and blood dripping from his chin, eyes blazing with defiance even as he knelt.
The leader paused — sensing something.
His gaze snapped toward the forest.
"Hold him," he ordered sharply. "I'll see who's there."
The others surrounded Ling Xi, two at the back and one at his front, swords pointed at him.
—
The leader turned and marched toward the forest.
Each step sent a crunch through the dead leaves.
The mist grew thicker the deeper he went.
The temperature dropped.
It was silent — too silent.
A strange, cold breath of air brushed the back of his neck.
He gripped his sword tighter.
"Who's there!" he shouted. "Come out, you coward! Why hide like a woman?"
Mu Xuán blinked from her spot behind a thick veil of vines.
Her lips parted in disbelief and amusement.
—
"Hide like a woman?" she muttered. "But… I am a woman."
A mischievous smile curled her lips.
"You want to see me?"
Fine then.
Let's play.
—
She extended her palm, blue mist curling around her fingers.
A faint glimmer of frost formed in the air.
Then, in a soft, eerie tone, she whispered — "Yeeesssss…"
—
The sound seemed to come from everywhere at once.
The man froze.
His head snapped around violently, eyes darting through the fog.
"Who's there?!" he yelled, swinging his sword.
Nothing.
Silence.
He swallowed hard.
The air was biting cold now, his breath visible in short, panicked puffs.
Then — tap.
Something cold touched his shoulder.
He turned — and saw a pale, floating hand.
It hung in the air, icy, ghostly, fingers curling slowly toward him.
The man's face drained of all color.
"AAAHHH—!"
His scream tore through the still forest as he stumbled backward, crashing through branches.
—
"MONSTER!"
He nearly tripped over his own feet as he bolted out of the trees.
—
As the memories flood back, dread coils around his spine.
How could they have forgotten where they were when fighting and chasing that Prince?
This was the White Mist Forest—
His mind flashed with every old tale he'd ever heard around the campfires.
—
He remembered those nights.
The fire crackling.
The smell of roasted meat and damp steel.
Laughter echoing under the pale moonlight as men boasted of their victories — beasts slain, monsters driven back, blood spilled in glory.
And then… someone would mention it.
The White Mist Forest—
—
They said no one who entered ever returned the same.
Some had claimed to see a woman's head floating alone in the mist — its long hair dripping, its mouth smiling before it chased them.
Others swore they'd heard laughter — children's laughter — when no one was there.
And one soldier, years ago, had spoken of a man who walked into the fog… only for his body to be found days later, frozen solid, eyes open wide with terror.
—
The man's pulse raced.
—
And once, a man said he saw his reflection step out of the mist — only to drag him in.
—
He had laughed back then — loud, fearless.
He remembered saying,
"A ghost forest? Please. We've fought things with claws the size of swords."
The others laughed with him.
They drank, they mocked the tales, they swore they'd march through this forest one day just to prove it wasn't cursed.
—
Now—
—
His mouth went dry.
That night's courage felt like a dream, distant and foolish.
—
The man's pulse thundered.
His vision blurred.
He tripped.
His sword flew from his grip and landed point-up in front of him.
He tried to stop, but his body slammed forward — straight onto the blade.
The sound was sickening — sharp, final
Blood spread beneath him like spilled ink.
—
The forest fell silent again.
The three men left standing froze.
Even Ling Xi, panting, wounded, stared in disbelief.
Did that man… just kill himself?
"What… the hell…" one of them whispered, voice shaking.
—
Mu Xuán blinked behind the trees, her lips parting.
Did she just… scare someone to death?
She tilted her head slightly, thinking.
"Was that… really that scary?" she muttered, almost to herself.
Then she smiled faintly.
"Hmm. Maybe. It's been such a long time since anyone came here."
—