The western frontier was a land of fractured stone and shifting sands, where wind carved patterns through the earth and mountains stood like silent sentinels. It was here—between desolate ravines and forgotten ruins—that Jeng Minh sent the Elite Guard on their first true covert mission.
The hidden sect had left signs:
Symbols half-erased.
Ashes rearranged with purpose.
Footsteps that were not footsteps at all.
Subtle. Precise. Almost taunting.
Jeng Minh gathered his most capable trio—Lin Yue, Yuan Shan, and Gao Ren—inside the war room, a map spread before them with black charcoal markings looping across the west.
"This region," Jeng Minh said, pointing to a cluster of ridges, "lies at the center of every clue. If the Shadowed Hand tests the western lords, their operations originate here."
Bai Ye frowned. "But this area is barren. No villages. No rivers. Nothing of value."
"Precisely," Jeng Minh replied. "That is why it hides secrets."
Three squads departed at dawn, traveling in silence.
Lin Yue's team moved through elevated cliff paths, navigating sheer drops with ghost-like precision.
Yuan Shan led the main force through the rocky ravine, carrying heavy packs with ease.
Gao Ren's scholars marched lightly behind, recording every anomaly, every disturbed pebble, every symbol carved into stone.
The deeper they ventured, the more unnatural the terrain felt—too still, too undisturbed, as if human presence had been swept clean.
Finally, at the mouth of a narrow canyon, Lin Yue halted and raised a hand.
"Here," she whispered. "Something passed through recently."
Yuan Shan knelt, brushing his hand over the dust. "Not a caravan. Not soldiers. The tracks are too light."
Gao Ren squinted thoughtfully. "A formation… walking in exact rhythm. Their footsteps overlap."
An eerie silence passed through the canyon.
It was the first echo.
The canyon opened into an unexpected clearing—a wide, flat basin of cracked stone. At its center stood the remains of an ancient structure: crumbling walls, fallen pillars, a shattered staircase leading into the earth.
Time had devoured it long ago… yet someone had disturbed it recently.
Lin Yue moved first, gliding across the basin with silent feet, running her fingers along the damaged stone.
"These cracks are fresh," she whispered. "Someone opened this ground."
Yuan Shan placed his palm against a fallen column, brows furrowing. "This break… it was made intentionally. Not by weather or time."
A faint symbol had been etched into the stone—a circle split by three strokes.
Gao Ren knelt immediately, brushing dust from it with reverence. "The same sigil from the abandoned fortress. The ancient sect marked this place."
"And they marked it recently," Jeng Minh's voice came from behind them.
The three spun around—surprised. He had followed silently, arriving without a single soldier hearing his approach.
"When?" Yuan Shan asked, bowing.
"Just after you left," Jeng Minh answered, stepping into the clearing. "If I do not see the battlefield myself, I see only half."
Jeng Minh studied the ground, the cracked patterns, the faint ash marks. He crouched, touching a spot where dust had been brushed subtly aside—not by wind, but by fabric.
"They stood here," he murmured. "Watching. Waiting."
Lin Yue's voice dropped. "Are we being observed now?"
Jeng Minh didn't answer immediately. Instead, he lifted a small stone—the underside marked with a hidden groove.
"A signal stone," he said. "Used to transmit vibrations through the ground. Very old. Very rare."
Gao Ren inhaled sharply. "So this site… was a listening post."
"Not just listening," Jeng Minh corrected. He stood, eyes narrowing toward the surrounding cliffs. "It was a test."
Yuan Shan stiffened. "A test… for us?"
The wind whispered through the basin, scattering dust across the cracked stone.
Jeng Minh nodded slowly. "They want to know how we respond. How we move. How we think."
A chill crept up every spine.
Footsteps.
Faint.
Soft as dust falling.
Lin Yue reacted instantly, pulling her dagger and melting into shadow. Yuan Shan shielded the scholars. Gao Ren raised a hand in warning.
Jeng Minh remained perfectly still.
The sound came from the upper ridge—barely audible, but unmistakably human.
Someone was watching.
Someone disciplined enough to hide.
Someone skilled enough to approach unnoticed.
Someone unafraid of the Elite Guard.
Jeng Minh's eyes sharpened.
"Do not move," he whispered.
The footsteps stopped.
Then—vanished.
A moment later, a single object rolled down the ridge, landing gently at Jeng Minh's feet.
A polished stone.
Carved with the three-stroke sigil.
Fresh.
Deliberate.
A message.
A challenge.
An echo.
Yuan Shan growled, "Commander, let us pursue—"
"No," Jeng Minh said. His voice was firm, unyielding. "This was not an approach. It was an invitation."
"What do they want?" Gao Ren whispered.
Jeng Minh turned the stone in his hand, gaze dark and calm.
"They want us to follow the echo—but only after we understand that they are watching from the dust."
He slipped the stone into his sleeve.
"This is only the beginning."
The wind howled across the canyon, scattering dust into the air—echoes of a presence deeper, older, and more dangerous than any warlord.
The first echo had been heard.
And Jeng Minh knew the next would not be so subtle.