The warning came too late.
By the time the signal flare exploded into the sky—an emergency mark meant to override all formations—the damage had already been done.
Mo Yun felt it first.
Not through sight or sound, but through the sudden absence of something that should have been there.
A formation node had gone silent.
Not disrupted.
Not overwhelmed.
Gone.
"West perimeter," he said, voice steady despite the cold crawling up his spine. "We've lost a node."
Shen Yue froze. "That's impossible. Even if overwhelmed, the node would collapse outward—"
"It didn't," Mo Yun interrupted. "It was… removed."
The implications were horrifying.
Before orders could be issued, the forest answered.
A roar thundered through the trees—not wild, not enraged, but coordinated. The ground split as beasts surged from hidden tunnels beneath the defensive line, bypassing every precaution they had painstakingly set.
"They were never meant to break us head-on," a disciple whispered. "They were waiting for permission."
Mo Yun's eyes widened.
"No," he said softly. "They were waiting for alignment."
The beasts didn't scatter. They moved with singular purpose—straight toward a small evacuation group retreating from a nearby village.
"Intercept!" Mo Yun shouted. "All mobile units—now!"
The disciples moved with practiced urgency, but distance was cruel. The beasts were already too close.
A lone figure stepped forward instead.
Elder Qiao.
He was not the strongest among them. Nor the fastest. But he stood between the beasts and the civilians without hesitation, activating his life-bound talisman.
"Elder, don't—!" Shen Yue cried.
Too late.
The talisman flared brilliantly—then shattered.
Not from force.
From interference.
Something unseen reached through the fabric of the realm and snuffed it out, like fingers pinching a candle.
Elder Qiao staggered.
The beasts struck.
When Mo Yun reached him, the forest was quiet again.
Too quiet.
The elder's body lay unmoving, eyes still open, expression frozen not in fear—but realization.
He had understood.
This wasn't a mistake.
The retreat was orderly, but the atmosphere was suffocating.
No one spoke.
The civilians were safe. The line held. Strategically, it was a success.
Yet no one dared call it that.
Elder Qiao's remains were recovered in silence. Even the wind seemed hesitant to pass through the clearing.
That night, the camp did not light celebration fires.
Mo Yun stood alone, fists clenched behind his back.
"They wanted him," he said finally.
Shen Yue nodded slowly. "Not personally. Symbolically."
"A protector," Mo Yun continued. "Someone who would step forward without calculation."
She swallowed. "They're pruning us."
Across the camp, Li Chen opened his eyes from meditation.
He had felt it.
Not the death itself—but the seal snapping somewhere far beyond the battlefield, like a lock finally turning.
So this is your first claim, he thought grimly.
For the first time since transmigrating, Li Chen felt something heavier than fear.
Responsibility.
Far away, beyond the lower realm's borders, a figure lowered their hand.
"One variable removed," they murmured. "The disciples now understand loss."
Another voice chuckled softly. "And they will change because of it."
"Yes," the first replied. "That is the true harvest."
The next morning, Mo Yun addressed the disciples.
His voice was calm. Too calm.
"From this point forward," he said, "this mission is no longer about beast suppression. It is about survival under manipulation."
He met each gaze in turn.
"You will hesitate more. You will second-guess. That is normal. But understand this—what we lost last night will not be the last thing taken if we continue pretending this is a training exercise."
A junior disciple finally broke. "Then what do we do?"
Mo Yun exhaled slowly.
"We stop reacting," he said. "And start denying them the outcomes they want."
No applause followed.
But resolve settled deeper than noise ever could.
That night, Li Chen visited Elder Qiao's resting place.
No incense. No ceremony.
Just silence.
"I still prefer not to stand out," Li Chen said quietly. "But it seems the world doesn't care about my preferences."
The forest did not answer.
But somewhere, something listened.
And smiled—because the game had finally moved past the opening.