—
The faint glimmer of frost danced in the air, curling like white smoke.
Ling Xi froze.
This mist... this cold…
His chest tightened, muscles coiling without thought.
It was the same. The same as before—
He remembered.
He was on his way to—
— — —
A young man rode along a narrow dirt path, the hooves of his black horse striking the ground in steady rhythm.
The forest pressed close on both sides, thick and quiet, with the faint cry of distant crows echoing through the still air.
The wind carried a strange chill that morning.
The sun was pale, its light thin and cold against the dew-stained leaves.
—
He rode with his cloak drawn close, eyes sharp but calm, his dark hair tied loosely with a silver clasp.
The road twisted ahead through the valley, leading somewhere far beyond the trees.
He wasn't sure why he'd chosen this path today. Maybe because it was quiet.
Maybe because here, at least, the noise of the palace couldn't reach him.
Then—
—
A sudden whistle split the air.
The horse neighed and reared, the sound of metal scraping against metal breaking the stillness.
From the shadows, men burst out—one after another, blades gleaming.
The brush shook violently as more figures leapt out, surrounding him in a half circle.
He counted them in a single glance.
Forty.
Forty armed men, moving in silence except for the sound of their boots crushing leaves.
A bitter smile tugged at his lips.
That stupid woman.
Didn't she get tired of this?
How many times would she try to kill him before realizing she couldn't?
The one leading them stepped forward, his voice low.
"You should've stayed in the palace, Your Highness."
His grip tightened around his sword.
"And let her think she's won?" He scoffed. "Not in this lifetime."
—
The clash came fast.
Steel against steel.
Arrows whistling through the air.
His horse bolted as he deflected the first strike, the road erupting into chaos.
He slashed, spun, dodged—a blur of black against the green of the forest.
The smell of blood and damp earth mixed in the air.
He cut down one, then another.
Thirty eight left.
But they didn't stop coming.
—
They forced him deeper into the woods, step by step, until the trees grew denser and the mist began to roll in.
The horses were left behind somewhere on the road.
The battle turned wild—swords clashing between trunks, boots sliding on wet ground.
"Flank him!" a voice barked from the rear—the leader, no doubt. "Drive him deeper into the woods!"
They obeyed, moving as one shadowed beast—sabers weaving in lethal nets of high feints masking low sweeps, thrusts aimed for ribs and throat with the precision of men who'd dreamed this kill in fevered nights.
One saber grazed his forearm, parting silk and skin in a hot line that bloomed fire, blood welling dark and quick.
He hissed through clenched teeth, the sound raw as torn flesh, amber eyes flashing molten fury.
He countered with a backhand arc that took the man's sword-hand at the wrist—severed clean, the limb hitting the frost with a wet SLAP!!
The fingers twitching like dying spiders in the cold, saber clattering after it.
Three down.
—
Deeper they pushed him, relentless.
Ling Xi moved with lethal precision, cutting through their formation, parrying blow after blow.
Branches whipped past his face.
The air grew thick with the smell of pine and iron.
—
He moved through them like a shadow, every motion controlled, every strike clean.
Yet they were relentless—arrows raining from above while swords swung at every angle.
He ducked under a slash, twisted, and drove his sword through another chest.
Blood sprayed across the fallen leaves.
—
The fight dragged deeper into the woods—branches snapping, soil scattering beneath their boots.
The air filled with the sound of battle—grunts, clashing metal, the heavy scent of blood.
But even as he fought, something felt wrong.
The mist grew thicker, curling between the trees.
The air turned cold, unnaturally cold.
Breath visible.
Fingers numb.
Yet the men didn't notice—they only pressed harder.
He gritted his teeth, ducking under a blade and striking back.
But the deeper they went, the stranger it became.
The forest grew silent, birds gone, the world fading to shades of grey and white.
—
They reached a small clearing where the pale light cut through the trees, the mist thinning just enough to see the ground.
—
Before he could —
A man lunged from the left.
Ling Xi's blade cut across his chest, a red spray marking the attack.
The man stumbled back, gasping.
A dagger grazed his shoulder.
Pain flared, hot and sharp, but he ignored it.
He had worse wounds before.
This was nothing.
"Damn that queen." He gritted his teeth. "Does she enjoy sending men to die? "
—
Another man swung from above, wild and heavy.
Ling Xi rolled forward, blade flashing.
Two men fell at once, their screams swallowed by the trees.
Branches snapped underfoot.
Mist clung to the ground, chilling his ankles.
He ducked, parried, struck.
Numbers dropped.
Thirty… twenty… ten.
He didn't even notice how quickly it had gone.
Only the rhythm of battle mattered.
—
Another saber nicked his side, burning through his cloak.
He hissed, wiping the blood with the back of his hand.
Still, he didn't slow.
"That stupid woman…"
Anger bubbled, sharp and bitter.
—
He spun, sending one man into the roots of a fallen tree.
Another lunged—too slow, too rigid—and crumpled under a single strike.
—
Five left.
They lunged at once.
His arm throbbed from a graze, but he blocked, countered, and slashed.
One man went down.
Another barely dodged a spinning strike.
He flung his sword at another, ready to finish him—
—
"Be careful!"
The voice cut through the chaos like ice.
Sharp, impossible to ignore.
Ling Xi froze mid-strike.
His amber eyes snapped toward the forest edge. Mist curled faintly among the trees.
His body tensed, muscles coiling.
What…
—
Before he could think, a sudden movement behind him caught his attention.
A soldier—one of the men who had been lying half—dead —lunged at him, blade aimed straight for his back.
—
He twisted his body in a sudden arc, muscles coiling like springs.
The edge of the sword grazed his shoulder and arm, tearing through his cloak and reopening the wound.
Pain shot through him, hot and sharp, but he ignored it.
Groaning, teeth clenched, he countered instantly, driving his obsidian blade through the attacker's chest.
The man dropped like a rag doll, eyes wide in shock, blood pooling around him.
—
Ling Xi didn't spare him a glance.
The other four men snapped back to reality, fury burning in their eyes.
They lunged again, boots crushing leaves underfoot, weapons raised.
One hesitated, glancing toward the forest.
"Where… where did that sound come from?" the man muttered. "What if it's an enemy?"
—
Ling Xi's eyes flicked toward him.
He knew what the soldier was thinking—dragging an innocent into this.
He would not allow it.
"What are you doing?" His voice was low, sharp, and cutting. "Too weak to face me, so you'll attack the innocent?"
The man flinched, snarling, and lunged again.
"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?"
—
The name cut through Ling Xi like a blade—Queen. Her son.
The kingdom's venom.
His lips curled into a sneer.
Foolish.
—
They charged again, desperate, reckless.
Four remained now, all panting, eyes wild, swinging blindly at death incarnate.
Ling Xi met them with ruthlessness, faster and sharper, every strike deliberate.
He fought with the precision of a man who had nothing left to lose.
—
A blade flicked from behind, grazing his already injured arm.
Fire seared through him, and a bitter thought struck—were these weapons poisoned?
Otherwise, why was his strength failing so quickly?
—
Another punch landed squarely on his shoulder, right over the wound.
He stumbled, chest tightening, breath hitching.
Pain radiated from his energy center, his core destabilized, but he forced himself upright.
—
A kick slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind from him.
His knees buckled slightly; his breath came in sharp gasps.
He groaned through the pain, hair falling over his face, blood mixing with sweat.
The remaining soldiers smirked, confident, cruel.
"This is it," the leader said, voice dripping with triumph. "Your royal blood ends here."
Ling Xi's amber eyes flicked upward at the raised sword.
His mind raced.
Not yet. Not today.
Not while his life, his mission, his revenge—everything that mattered—still demanded him.
His energy roared deep within, surging through every vein.
He would not die here.
—
Suddenly, the leader paused, sensing something, and ordered the others to hold him.
Two flanked Ling Xi from behind, one in front.
The surrounding men closed in, weapons poised.
—
Ling Xi followed the leader as he disappeared into the forest mist, his amber eyes followed, but the mist swallowed the man entirely.
—
He had no idea what went on in that fog, only that the silence that followed was suffocating.
Moments crawled by.
Two, maybe three minutes.
Something twisted in his chest—dread, anticipation, and curiosity all at once.
—
Then came a scream.
"MONSTER!"
A soldier bolted, tripping into the clearing and collapsing onto his own blade.
The sickening finality of it—the blood, the gurgled scream, the sudden silence—made Ling Xi's chest tighten.
Shock and disbelief collided with a cold spark of grim satisfaction.
He looked at the remaining three men.
Pale, trembling, frozen in fear.
—
One of the soldiers stepped back, voice shaking.
"What… the hell…"
Ling Xi's gaze swept the clearing.
The forest was silent again, eerily so.
Cold seeped into his bones, the mist curling around him.
Pain radiated through his energy center, bruising his core, but his mind stayed razor-sharp.
—
A whisper of dread touched his mind: this place… this forest… it was not ordinary.
Not ordinary at all.
—
The forest was silent again.
Only the faint whistle of wind slipped through the trees, stirring the thick mist that coiled along the roots like pale smoke.
The three men stood frozen, staring at the spot where their leader had fallen—blood still pooling, the sword half-buried in mud.
—