The refugee corridors were never meant to be defended.
They were temporary routes—thin lines carved through forest and broken terrain, designed only to move people away from danger, not stand against it. The moment beasts redirected toward them, everyone in the command tent understood the implication.
This was not an attack.
It was a verdict.
"They're herding," Shen Yue said quietly. "Not hunting."
Mo Yun stared at the updated map. Red markers crept along the refugee paths like spilled ink. If the corridors fell, the displaced villages would have nowhere left to run.
"How many civilians?" someone asked.
"Thousands," came the answer. "Mostly elderly. Injured. Children."
The tent felt smaller.
Li Chen stood near the entrance, face calm, heart anything but.
This is it, he thought. The shape of the trap.
Arguments flared—but they burned out quickly this time.
No one suggested splitting forces again.
No one spoke of ideals.
They all knew what this was.
"To defend the corridors," Mo Yun said slowly, "we must abandon Stone Spine."
The words tasted like ash.
A leader from another sect clenched his jaw. "If we do that, the beasts will pour into the borderlands within weeks."
"Yes," Mo Yun agreed.
"And if we don't," Shen Yue said, voice trembling, "there won't be anyone left to defend."
Silence followed.
This time, it wasn't indecision.
It was resignation.
Li Chen stepped forward.
The movement was small—but unmistakable.
All eyes turned.
"I will not command this," Li Chen said calmly. "But I will state a fact."
He looked at the map, then back at them.
"Stone Spine can be rebuilt. Lives cannot."
No one argued.
"But understand this," he continued, voice steady. "If you choose the corridors, you must accept that future blood will stain your hands. Not today. Later."
Mo Yun met his gaze.
"I accept that," he said.
"So do I," Shen Yue added.
One by one, the leaders nodded.
No one smiled.
Orders were issued.
Formations dismantled.
Stone Spine was abandoned.
As the last cultivators withdrew, the ancient gorge groaned—a sound like something ancient exhaling its final breath.
Far away, the beasts surged.
The border was broken.
The defense of the refugee corridors was brutal.
There was no terrain advantage. No elegant formations. Just walls of flesh and qi standing between monsters and the helpless.
Disciples fought until their arms shook.
Healers collapsed from exhaustion.
At one point, a young disciple laughed hysterically while swinging his blade. "If we survive this, I'm retiring!"
Someone shouted back, "You're sixteen!"
"I'll retire early!"
The laughter was brief.
Then another wave hit.
Li Chen moved—not as a commander, but as a stabilizer. He blocked killing blows, sealed breaches, redirected pressure. Always subtle. Always precise.
No one noticed how many disasters quietly failed to happen near him.
By dawn, the corridors held.
Barely.
The ground was soaked red.
But the refugees lived.
News spread quickly.
Stone Spine had fallen.
Panic rippled across the sects.
Some praised the decision.
Others condemned it.
Within the alliance, cracks deepened.
Outside it, whispers grew sharper.
Mo Yun stood before the gathered disciples, face pale but resolute.
"This was my call," he said. "Record it as such."
A leader protested. "We all agreed—"
Mo Yun raised a hand. "History does not care."
Li Chen watched silently.
He's taking the weight, he thought. Good. He'll survive longer that way.
That night, Li Chen sat alone, gazing at the stars.
"I chose the path with less immediate blood," he murmured. "And more future debt."
The wind stirred.
Somewhere beyond the lower realm, something shifted.
"So," a distant voice said softly, "the anomaly chooses compassion."
A pause.
"Interesting."
By morning, the Hard Choice Arc was over.
The consequences were not.
The border was compromised.
The alliance was strained.
The enemy had learned something crucial.
And Li Chen understood a truth he could no longer escape:
Avoiding attention was no longer the same as avoiding responsibility.
The game had changed.
And it would not slow down for him.