The signal flares burned out without ceremony.
By the time Mo Yun ordered a response team, the forest had already swallowed the truth. The air itself felt wrong—thick, oppressive, as though the land was holding its breath.
They found the first body less than a mile from Yunxi's outer ridge.
A disciple lay against a broken tree, sword shattered, armor torn open. His eyes stared skyward, unblinking, expression caught somewhere between shock and disbelief.
No one spoke.
The second body came shortly after.
Then the third.
The unauthorized group had not been wiped out—but they had been broken. Survivors stumbled back in fragments, injuries severe, formation shattered beyond recognition.
"They… waited," one of them gasped. "The beasts didn't rush. They let us commit."
Mo Yun listened in silence.
Shen Yue knelt beside a wounded disciple, hands glowing as she stabilized his meridians. Her jaw was tight, teeth clenched.
"They isolated us," the survivor continued. "Every time we tried to regroup, something cut us off. It was like they knew where we'd move next."
Li Chen's gaze hardened.
No, he thought. Not like. Exactly.
The loss spread outward.
Stone Spine's formations finally faltered under sustained interference. A key anchoring array cracked, forcing Mo Yun to divert additional resources just to prevent a full collapse.
Yunxi did not fall completely—but half the outer settlements burned.
The choice had not been made cleanly.
Instead, it had been made poorly.
That was the cruelest outcome.
At dawn, the casualty report was read.
No embellishment. No softening of language.
Numbers only.
They sat heavy in the air, each one a weight added to a growing burden.
Mo Yun dismissed the group afterward without speeches.
There was nothing to say.
Li Chen stood alone near the treeline, hands folded behind his back.
I warned them, he thought.
The realization did not bring relief.
If anything, it made things worse.
Because warning without action was just another form of evasion.
A presence approached.
Shen Yue stopped beside him, gaze fixed on the horizon. "Do you think it would've been different if we'd committed fully?"
Li Chen answered honestly. "Yes."
She flinched.
"Better or worse?" she asked.
Li Chen didn't respond immediately.
"Cleaner," he said at last.
She laughed quietly—short and hollow. "That's the worst answer you could've given."
The repercussions rippled through the alliance.
Disciples avoided one another's gazes. Leaders spoke more carefully. Orders were obeyed—but without trust.
Some whispered that Mo Yun had failed.
Others whispered that the unauthorized group had doomed them all.
No one said the real truth aloud:
Everyone had been wrong.
That evening, Mo Yun called Li Chen to the command tent.
Not as a subordinate.
Not as a superior.
As a peer.
"I keep replaying it," Mo Yun said, staring at the map. "Every permutation. Every delay."
Li Chen studied the markings.
"The problem isn't that you chose poorly," he said. "It's that you tried to preserve every ideal simultaneously."
Mo Yun's shoulders slumped. "I thought that's what righteous cultivators do."
Li Chen's voice softened. "Righteousness isn't avoidance. It's acceptance of consequence."
Mo Yun looked up sharply. "And you? What would you have accepted?"
Li Chen met his gaze.
"Being hated," he said.
Silence followed.
That night, the beasts did not attack.
Instead, they repositioned.
Scouts reported movements that made no tactical sense—unless viewed as preparation for something far larger.
A false calm settled over the borderlands.
Li Chen sat in meditation, but his mind was restless.
Then he felt it.
A ripple.
Subtle. Controlled.
They're done with testing, he realized.
Now they'll collect.
Far away, in a place untouched by mortal fear, a figure observed the battlefield's aftermath.
"Loss accepted," the voice murmured. "They hesitate under moral pressure. Excellent."
Another presence responded. "And the anomaly?"
The first paused. "Contained. For now."
Li Chen's eyes snapped open.
A chill ran through him.
The next morning, Mo Yun gathered the leaders.
"We cannot afford another split," he said firmly. "From this point forward, decisions will be unified. Agreed or not."
No one objected.
Because they had seen what disagreement cost.
As the meeting ended, a messenger rushed in, breathless.
"New beast movement detected," he said. "But this time… they're not heading toward villages."
Mo Yun frowned. "Then where?"
The messenger swallowed.
"Toward the refugee corridors."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Li Chen closed his eyes.
The hard choice was not over.
It had only deepened.