The corridors of the Royal Army Headquarters were deathly still.
Lanterns burned with pale-blue flame, their light flickering over stone walls engraved with battle honors of centuries past. Outside, the capital slumbered uneasily beneath a heavy fog, as if the Empire itself held its breath.
Deep within the command wing, Colonel Zhang sat behind a broad oak desk littered with sealed reports and half-burned scrolls. His face—normally composed and commanding—was lined with fatigue. Tonight, he wasn't just a soldier. He was a man burdened by the truth.
Across from him stood Alaric and Alex Vardar, their postures rigid, their uniforms immaculate. The air was tense, charged with quiet anticipation.
Zhang gestured to the door. "Seal it."
Alex lifted his hand slightly. Spatial energy rippled through the air—the latch clicked shut, and a faint shimmer formed along the door's edge, isolating the room from the world outside.
"Good," Zhang muttered. He opened a drawer and withdrew a sealed document, the crimson wax marked with the insignia of the Imperial Intelligence Division—three blades surrounding a watchful eye. He slid it across the desk.
"That," he said, "is the official report on the Jin Clan's collapse. But what's inside…" His voice lowered. "...isn't meant for public record."
Alex glanced at Alaric before unsealing it. His eyes scanned the contents swiftly—then stilled.
Zhang continued. "The Jin Clan wasn't acting alone. They had outside backing. Weapons, cultivation manuals, resources—all traced to one source: the Zhang Empire."
A deadly silence followed.
Alaric's aura flickered, faint but sharp. "So the Third Prince's presence that day wasn't coincidence."
"No," Zhang replied. "According to the scouts, Zhang Wei had been funding the Jin Clan for years. They were his foothold inside our territory—smugglers, informants, and thieves under his command. Their collapse has set his plans back, but it's not over. The Zhang Empire's hand is deeper than we thought."
Alex's tone was calm, but his eyes were glacial. "Then this wasn't just an internal purge. It was the first move in something larger."
Zhang nodded grimly. "Exactly. But the Emperor can't risk war yet. The Grand Marshal is still securing the Northern Front. So for now, this must remain silent."
He leaned forward, voice low. "The two of you are symbols now—the Empire's rising generation. That means you'll be watched by our enemies and our allies alike. Stay alert. The Zhangs will come again… and when they do, I need you both ready."
Alaric met his gaze evenly. "We'll be ready."
Zhang allowed himself a faint, approving smirk. "Good."
He turned to Alex, the flicker of command returning to his tone. "Lieutenant Vardar—there's one more thing."
Alex straightened. "Sir?"
"Your official promotion papers have been processed." Zhang tapped a file on his desk. "Effective immediately, you're to report to the First Battalion Barracks at dawn to receive your new insignia and reward package. The ceremony will be brief, but your performance in the Jin operation earned more than recognition—it earned respect. Don't waste it."
Alex gave a small, firm nod. "Understood, Colonel."
"Good." Zhang leaned back, eyes half-shadowed by the lamplight. "You've done well, both of you. Now go rest. Tomorrow, the capital will celebrate heroes… but behind the applause, remember—there are still eyes watching in the dark."
The brothers exchanged a glance, silent understanding passing between them.
As they turned to leave, the candlelight wavered—and for a fleeting second, Zhang's expression hardened again, as though he saw something the others could not.
When the door finally closed, the colonel exhaled and looked down at the last line of the report still open on his desk:
> "Subject confirmed: The Zhang Empire's covert faction—Codename 'Black Phoenix'—has infiltrated the Qin borders."
He muttered under his breath, "So… it begins."