Outside Moss City.
The city gates slowly closed behind them,
and the noise of the marketplace was instantly swallowed by the wind.
Hong Chen walked at the front.
His pace was unhurried, yet without the slightest hesitation.
The Ten Attendants followed closely behind.
After a long silence, one of them finally spoke:
"My lord… where are we going now?"
Hong Chen did not turn back.
His gaze passed over the rolling plains,
as if already seeing the white giant city far beyond the horizon.
"Holy City."
The words fell.
The air seemed to freeze.
The Ten slowed for a moment.
Several glances crossed one another—not fear, but shock.
They understood better than anyone the weight of those three words:
Holy City.
Hong Lei.
Farr.
And the place that was once called home.
No one asked further.
No one objected.
The Ten resumed their pace,
as if going to the Holy City had always been only a matter of time.
At the same time—Blackwind City.
The throne of the Orc King stood high upon a platform built from black iron and beast bones.
The fire basins flickered, illuminating a pair of eyes far too calm for a beast.
"Hong Chen."
The general reported the name in a low voice.
The hall immediately stirred—
claws scraping against armor,
tusks flashing cold in the shadows.
"Let us march!"
"Eleven men dare challenge us?!"
"I will tear him apart myself!"
As killing intent surged,
the figure upon the throne slowly raised a hand.
All noise ceased instantly.
The Orc King did not roar.
His voice was hard as iron.
"No. Hong Chen is not the target now."
He stood.
His towering body cast a heavy shadow as he turned toward the map behind the throne.
A claw pressed firmly upon a white mark—
the Holy City.
"The blade must point there."
His tone was calm, yet absolute.
"Order it:
cease scattered operations.
Concentrate the army.
All siege weapons are to be forged at full speed.
Training, reinforcements, and supplies—leave nothing lacking."
"For this battle…
I want an ending."
The hall fell completely silent.
The generals lowered their heads.
They finally understood:
Hong Chen was merely the blade.
And the Holy City—
was the spine meant to be severed.
The flames flickered.
Blackwind City sank into the stillness before war.
And far away, Hong Chen had already begun the road of return.
Two lines of fate
were now inevitably drawing closer.
Holy City.
The victory report from White Horse City hung in the most visible place of the council hall.
A victory on paper—
thin powder spread over a reality full of cracks.
Deep within the royal palace, music never ceased.
Golden cups collided,
wine swayed in their rims,
and the shadows of dancing girls swirled under the firelight.
Kai reclined beside the throne, goblet in hand, laughing lightly.
"The orcs have retreated.
White Horse City still stands… good enough."
He waved his hand as if brushing away an insignificant insect.
Night.
Another night of revelry.
On the defense tower of the city wall,
Hong Lei's cloak snapped loudly in the night wind.
He stared into the distant darkness.
There was nothing there—
yet it felt as though countless armies were pressing closer.
"Transfer thirty percent of the western troops for reinforcement.
Reinspect the granaries.
Register all reserves."
Orders came one after another.
No royal decree.
No ceremony.
Only an old general using the last remnants of his authority
to hold up a city already on the verge of collapse.
The adjutant spoke quietly:
"General… these orders have not been approved by His Majesty."
Hong Lei did not turn.
"By the time His Majesty nods, the city will already be gone."
In Farr's study,
the lights had not gone out all night.
Scrolls covered the desk.
Troops.
Routes.
Supplies.
Time.
Every simulation led to the same conclusion:
The Holy City could not hold for long.
He set down his pen.
His gaze drifted toward the high wall outside the window.
The old blade mark upon it appeared faintly beneath the moonlight.
"What… do you intend to do?"
The whisper dissolved into the wind.
No one knew
whether he was asking Hong Chen—
or fate itself.
In the court,
the ministers appeared obedient.
But privately, each harbored his own plan.
Some secretly moved their families away.
Some quietly hoarded grain.
Others still gambled—
gambling that the name Holy City
might still frighten away any invading enemy.
No one mentioned that name.
But everyone understood:
what truly unsettled them
was no longer the orcs.
Outside the Holy City.
On the ancient road from Moss City leading there,
Hong Chen still walked at the front.
His cloak hung low.
His steps were steady as stone.
The night stretched his shadow long—
like a blade still sheathed,
yet already showing its edge.
The Ten followed silently.
Quiet.
Sharp.
The wind passed across the plains.
There were no horns.
No banners.
Yet something was being carried toward the Holy City.
Not an army.
Not a declaration of war.
The crisis itself.
Unaware within its walls,
the Holy City did not yet know—
Hong Chen was returning step by step,
bringing with him the hidden blade
and the rising storm of uncertainty.
青苔城外.
城门在身后缓缓合拢,市井喧哗顷刻间被风声吞没.
红辰走在最前,步伐不急,却无丝毫犹疑.
十待紧随其后.沉默良久,终于有人开口:
"主上...我们现在,去哪里?"
红辰没有回头,目光越过起伏的原野,似已望见那座远在天际的白色巨城:
"圣城."
话音落地,空气骤然凝滞.十待脚步微顿,几道目光交错...不是恐惧,是震惊.
他们比谁都清楚这三个字的分量:圣城,洪雷,法尔,还有那个曾被称作"家"的地方.
无人再问,亦无异议.十待重新跟上,仿佛"去圣城"从来都只是时间问题.
与此同时,黑风城.
兽人王的王座高踞在黑铁与兽骨堆砌的阶台之上,火盆跃动的光,映出一双冷静得不像兽人的眼睛.
"红辰."将领低声报出这个名字,殿内瞬间躁动...利爪摩擦甲胄,獠牙在阴影里寒光乍现.
"让我们出战!""区区十一人也敢...""我要亲手撕碎他!"
杀意翻涌之际,王座上的身影缓缓抬手,所有喧嚣立时噤声.兽人王没有怒吼咆哮,语声冷硬如铁:
"不.红辰不是现在的目标."
他站起身,高大身躯投下压迫的暗影,转身望向王座后的地图,一根利爪稳稳按在白色标记上...正是圣城.
"刀锋,必须指向那里."语气平稳,却不容置喙,"下令:停止零散出击,集中兵力;攻城器械全面赶造;训练,补员,补给,务必周全.这一战...我要的是终结."
殿内再无杂音,将领们齐齐低头.他们终于明白:红辰是刀锋,而圣城,才是要斩断的脊梁.
火焰跳动,黑风城沉入战前的死寂,而远方的红辰,正踏上回归之路.
两条命运的轨迹,已开始不可避免地靠拢.
圣城.
白马城的捷报高悬在议事厅最显眼处,纸面的胜利如薄粉,堪堪遮住满是裂纹的现实.
王宫深处乐声不绝,金杯相碰,酒液晃荡,舞姬旋转的影子在火光照耀下摇曳暧昧.凯靠在王座旁的软榻上,酒盏不离手,笑声轻浮:
"兽人退了,白马城还在...够了."
挥手间,似在驱散一只无关紧要的飞虫.夜,又是一夜笙歌.
而城防塔上,洪雷的披风被夜风吹得猎猎作响.他凝视着远方的黑暗,那里空无一物,却又像有千军万马在逼近.
"西线调三成兵力驰援,粮仓重新盘查,预备役全数登记造册."命令一条条下达,无王令,无仪式,唯有老将用残存的威望,硬撑着这座摇摇欲坠的城.
副官低声提醒:"将军...这些命令,没有陛下首肯."
洪雷没有回头:"等陛下点头时,城早就没了."
法尔的书房,灯火彻夜未熄.卷轴铺满案头,兵力,路线,补给,时间...每一次推演,终点都指向同一个结论:圣城守不久.
他搁下笔,目光落在窗外高墙上,那道旧刀痕在月光下若隐若现:"你...到底想怎样?"
低语声飘在风里,不知是问红辰,还是问冥冥中的命运.
朝堂之上,大臣们表面恭顺,私下却各怀心思:有人悄悄转移家眷,有人暗中囤积粮秣,也有人仍在赌...赌"圣城"二字,还能吓退来犯之敌.
没人提及那个名字,但所有人都清楚,真正让他们不安的,早已不是兽人.
圣城外,青苔城通往圣城的古道上,红辰仍走在最前.披风低垂,步伐稳如磐石,夜色将他的影子拉得很长,像一柄藏于鞘中却已透出锋芒的刀.
十待默然跟随,沉默却锋锐.风吹过原野,没有号角,没有战旗,却有什么东西正被带向圣城...不是军队,不是战书,是危机本身.
圣城里殊不知,红辰正一步一步,把蛰伏的锋芒与暗涌的变数,带回这里.