The southern wing erupted in chaos. Screams and steel rang through the torchlit corridors as Hua Jing and her force burst through the breach. The remnants of Pei Rong's men, led by Han Sui, fought with desperate ferocity, emboldened by their leader's wrath. The air filled with the acrid tang of smoke and the metallic scent of blood.
Hua Jing moved at the front, her blade flicking under torchlight, crimson robes trailing trails of steel. Every strike was precise—no hesitation, no mercy. She carved a path toward the heart of the rebellion, the flash of her sword teaching men to fear.
Beside her, Wei Ling and Zhao Ling Xu fought as one. Wei Ling's shield rose and fell, parrying blows that might have killed them both. Zhao Ling Xu's blade was a herald of vengeance—always forward, never wasted—cutting without remorse.
