The alarm tore through the forest, and it was as if the night itself had been ripped open.
Not once. Not a single note.
The sound came from every direction, from different heights, all at once. Short, urgent blasts collided in midair, ricocheting off the trees, echoing through the darkness like countless invisible hands hammering blindly, frantically, at an unseen target.
Wei's breath caught.
He didn't dare turn his head. There was no time to wonder who had triggered it. One slow step, one hesitation, and the sound would pin him to the spot like a stake through the heart.
He forced himself to think, recalling the forest's layout, the shapes of the trees he had memorized. His hand slid along the rough bark beside him.
"This way," he whispered, barely more than air.
Chun didn't resist when he yanked her sharply. She lost her balance for a moment, then instinctively pressed close to him. They moved sideways along the ground, slipping into a thicket of low bushes. Branches scraped against their faces, slick with cold dew, sharp enough to sting, biting into exposed skin.
Wei lifted a hand, feeling along a rough patch of bark with his fingertips.
Not a tree.
A deliberately preserved burl, hidden in plain sight. His heart skipped a beat, but he didn't pause. He traced the bulge downward and, with a swift motion, lifted a wooden hatch.
"Get in."
He pushed Chun through first.
The space beyond was a hollow dug beneath the tree roots, a small pit cleverly concealed under fallen logs and moss. From the outside, it looked like nothing more than a rotten stump. Inside, it was just large enough for two or three people. The earthen walls were compacted tight, dry and solid.
Wei crawled in last. His knee struck the dirt wall with a muffled thud.
Not far from the forest floor, the crisp crack of bone hitting bone sounded again—thirty meters away, maybe less.
Something was approaching.
They clutched hands and held their breath.
Through the trees, the golden-plated armors advanced. They moved with a deliberate calm, maintaining a measured distance that was unsettling in its certainty.
"You've completed your task," the general in the golden armor said.
The words hit Lin like a cold gust. For a moment, he felt his stomach lurch. Something wasn't right.
When had he started acting like them? Using the same cold, calculating logic, the same ruthless methods he despised in the undead?
He had scolded them for their cruelty, their lack of empathy, yet here he was, doing the same thing without even realizing it. Deep down, he admitted it: he was using this pregnant woman to buy time for Wei and the others.
"You've done very well," the general repeated, and even the surrounding soldiers turned their heads.
"No!"
Lin's roar split the air. It wasn't a reply—it was a declaration, a desperate attempt to define what "human" meant when he stood on the edge of life and death.
He stepped back from the cliff. Loose stones tumbled down into the black ravine below, vanishing without a sound.
Behind him, the pregnant woman's voice broke entirely. Her curses, sobs, and hysterical accusations blended into a chaotic storm. She believed him now, believed that handing over her child would end everything. Fear gnawed at her reason, leaving her voice alien even to herself.
Lin didn't turn. He knew explanation was impossible. And it wasn't necessary.
He reached into his cloak and drew out a small clay jar.
No hesitation. No warning.
With all his strength, he hurled it.
The target: the nearest bronze-armored soldier.
"Bang!"
The fuse ignited midair and burned through. The jar smashed against the ground, erupting violently. This was no ordinary shatter. It exploded outward, sending blackened oil and jagged bone fragments flying across the forest floor, over leaves, tree roots, armor, and dirt.
The oil was thick and heavy. Silent when it landed, it quickly clung, flowed, and spread, creeping along the ground like waking serpents of fire.
The forest air changed in an instant.
The undead warrior's footsteps faltered for the first time.
Not in fear.
In instinctive caution—an acknowledgment of something outside their understanding, something foreign. This was not a spark, not a flicker of flame—it was a full surge, a rolling wall of fire leaping up from the earth like a wild beast, jaws wide, snapping at the soaked path.
The bronze soldier had no time to retreat. The flames crept along the seams of his armor, devouring the inner lining and leather beneath. His body became a twisted silhouette, screaming hoarsely as he flailed, limbs thrashing without control.
He slammed into his companions. Dry plates of armor, bloodied furs, oil-soaked straps—all instant fuel.
Boom! Boom!
The second and third jars ignited in succession. Flames danced wildly through the group of soldiers, consuming everything in their path.
The night in the forest blazed into life.
Heat rolled like waves. Black smoke spiraled upward.
Trees warped in the firelight, turning the entire woodland into a map of hell.
The golden-armored general's face glowed in the flickering firelight.
His gaze, however, was not on the burning soldiers.
It was on Lin.