Atlas could barely keep his eyes open.
The exhaustion had seeped into his bones, deeper than pain, deeper than fatigue—it was absolute. Every muscle screamed in protest, his veins felt as though they were set ablaze, and his limbs trembled under the weight of battle. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body betraying him with each second that passed.
Yet he still forced himself to stand.
The footsteps grew closer.
Atlas swallowed, his throat dry, his vision hazy. His instincts screamed at him to run, to hide, to do anything but fight, but he couldn't.
Meilin was still unconscious.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of her, slumped against the wreckage, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Her blade still rested loosely in her fingers, coated in drying blood, but her strength was gone. If the next wave of attackers reached them, she wouldn't be able to defend herself.
No. That won't happen. I won't let it.
Atlas forced his aching body forward, his stance unsteady. His head spun from Qi overload, the foreign energy still surging through his system like a storm. He had already released too much, but his body wouldn't stop taking more, drinking in the battlefield's lingering energy like a starved beast.
It hurts. It fucking hurts.
His fingers twitched as the absorbed Qi threatened to burst out of him again, uncontrolled and unstable. Every time he used it, it was like ripping his body apart and forcing it to move with broken pieces.
He gritted his teeth. Just hold on a little longer. Just a little longer.
The first figure emerged from the darkness, torchlight casting eerie shadows across his face. Then another. Then another. Five men, all armed, all watching him like a wounded animal.
"Tch. Tough bastard's still standing," one of them muttered.
"Barely" another sneered. "Just put him down and take the girl."
Atlas' blood ran cold. His body moved before he could think, his muscles screaming in protest as he lunged forward, fist clenched. The closest bandit raised his sword, but he was too slow—Atlas's punch landed first, a brutal, raw explosion of force. The bandit's ribs cracked audibly as he was sent flying, crashing into a tree with a sickening thud.
But Atlas barely stayed on his feet.
His knees buckled, his breathing ragged. His vision swam.
I can't keep doing this. But I can't let them get Meilin.
The next bandit slashed at him, and Atlas barely twisted in time, the blade carving a deep gash along his chest. He choked back a scream.
Move. Move, damn it!
He forced his body forward, slamming his elbow into the attacker's jaw. The man staggered, but Atlas didn't have the strength to finish him off before the others came at him all at once.
A dagger plunged into his side. White-hot pain exploded through his ribs, and Atlas gasped, staggering backward. Another fist connected with his jaw, sending him reeling.
Fuck! Fuck it hurts!
He hit the ground hard, his vision darkening at the edges. His hands dug into the dirt, trying to push himself up, but his limbs were too heavy, his strength failing.
Is this it? No. Not yet. Meilin...
His eyes flickered to Layla's unconscious form. His chest ached—not just from the wounds, not just from the Qi, but from something deeper.
She's counting on me. I won't let her die here.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself up again. His breath was ragged, his body barely responding. Blood soaked his torn clothing, a deep gash across his chest leaking warmth down his abdomen, mixing with the dried, crusted remnants of past wounds. His ribs burned from the dagger still lodged in his side, and every muscle felt as though it had been shredded apart and stitched back together with fire. The unstable Qi within him pulsed violently, a cruel force that refused to settle, threatening to burst through his already battered frame. His body was barely holding itself together, but he had no choice.
Just one more hit. Just one more. Just one more hit. Just one more. One more. One more.
The bandits laughed. "Still getting up? Just die already."
One of them raised his sword, prepared to finish him off. Atlas clenched his fists, drawing in every last shred of energy he had left.
If I'm going down, I'm taking one more.
Then—
Shing
A blur of motion. A flicker of steel. And then, suddenly, the bandit's head was gone.
Atlas blinked.
What?
A new figure stood between him and the remaining attackers, his robes flowing like storm clouds, his sword dripping with fresh blood.
"Yan…" Atlas breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.
The strongest disciple of the Shrouded Peak Sect had arrived, and now, he would ensure their survival beyond this night.
The remaining bandits froze, terror flashing in their eyes. One of them took a hesitant step back.
"Wait, that's—"
Yan Shuren didn't wait for them to finish. He moved like a force of nature, his blade carving through the night like lightning.
Sundering Summit. The first sword strike alone split the ground beneath them, sending a shockwave through the battlefield. The second shattered their formation. The third ended them.
Within seconds, it was over.
Atlas barely remained conscious long enough to see the last body fall. His knees gave out, and this time, he didn't fight it. He collapsed beside Layla, his body finally giving in to the pain.
If it's him, we are safe. God I'm in alot of pain.
Yan Shuren turned to them, sheathing his sword. He glanced at the ruined carriage, the bodies, then at Atlas's broken, bloodied form.
"You're still alive?" His tone was unreadable.
Atlas let out a weak, breathless laugh. "Haha, yeah. Barely."
Yan Shuren exhaled through his nose, then knelt beside Layla, pressing two fingers against her wrist.
"She's alive."
Atlas sighed in relief, his head tilting back against the dirt. "Good.."
He could finally rest. Even if just for a moment.
But he couldn't. His mind was still working even when he's half dead. He forced his swollen, bloodied eyes open, fixing Yan Shuren with a weak but determined stare.
"The Emperor sent a decree. If we don't appear before him... all of Silver Lotus will be in danger."
The last thing he heard before unconsciousness took him was Yan Shuren's quiet voice
"Rest for now." Yan Shuren's voice was firm, unwavering.
Yeah, I did my best. Meilin is safe.
Then, turning sharply, he called out;
"Guan Fei, go. Inform Master Daokan immediately. Tell him Meilin and Atlas need to appear before the Emperor, but their bodies are battered beyond recognition. We don't have much time.''
Foul play is in play here, that bastard Jinhai. Yan Shuren thought to himself, being slightly annoyed.
Meanwhile, at Shrouded Peak, Master Daokan sat beneath a blossoming tree in the night with servants holding lanterns, watching Lianhua and Shen Xue play in the hall. The moment Guan Fei arrived, breathless and urgent, everything changed.
"Master Daokan! The Emperor demands Meilin and Atlas immediately, but they are grievously wounded!"
Daokan's expression darkened instantly.
Jinhai! You dirty bastard!
He did not hesitate. With a fierce motion, he grabbed his robes, his Qi surging violently as he moved. In a blur of motion, he was gone.
Ten minutes. That was all it took for him to reach the Imperial Palace from Shrouded Peaks.
Jinhai felt it before he saw it.
The oppressive weight of an immense Qi presence, raw and unrestrained, flooding the Imperial Palace like an approaching storm. The moment it entered the threshold of the grand hall, his entire body tensed.
This wasn't just anyone. This is Master Daokan, and he is furious.
The emperor's fingers curled around the armrest of his throne as he slowly stood, his golden robes shifting with the movement. His usually composed expression darkened, calculating the implications of what was to come.
Then, the doors exploded.
BOOM!
Two bodies hurtled through the air like discarded dolls, crashing into the marbled floor with bone-crunching force. The impact echoed through the vast hall, sending a ripple of tension through the gathered court officials and guards. The scent of blood permeated the air.
Standing in the ruined doorway, his robes billowing with the sheer force of his Qi, was Daokan.
His gaze was a tempest—furious, unyielding, demanding justice.
"Jinhai!" Daokan's voice was deathly calm, yet beneath it rumbled a wrath that could shatter mountains.
"Explain yourself."
The court fell silent. Even the ever-loyal General Zhiyuan stiffened, his hand unconsciously moving toward his sword. Chunwen, the head financial advisor, lowered his gaze, as if hoping to disappear into the marble floor.
Jinhai exhaled slowly, his crimson eyes never leaving Daokan. He could feel the tension, the sheer violence barely restrained within the old master's frame. This was no mere sect leader pleading for mercy—this was a man who had stormed into the imperial court itself, unchallenged, dragging the battered remains of Jinhai's own guards with him.
"Master Daokan." Jinhai's voice was steady, but his mind raced. He had anticipated resistance, had accounted for political maneuvering—but not this. Not a direct confrontation fuelled by unrestrained fury.
Daokan stepped forward, his Qi warping the very air around him. The torches lining the chamber flickered wildly, as if bowing to the presence of something far greater.
"You issued a decree" Daokan said, each word edged with steel.
"You demanded the presence of Atlas and Meilin. And yet, they arrived before me—broken, bleeding, left to die like discarded pawns!"
Jinhai's gaze flickered for the briefest of moments, betraying nothing—but Daokan saw.
"This was not an invitation, was it?" Daokan pressed on, his steps slow, deliberate.
"This was a test wasn't it. A move to remind Silver Lotus and Shrouded Peak where they stand. Did you expect them to crawl here, gasping for air, begging for mercy?"
The gathered officials held their breath. No one dared speak. No one dared move.
Jinhai finally descended from his throne, his movements deliberate.
"I expected them to be strong enough to stand before me."
Daokan's Qi surged, cracking the marble beneath his feet. "Then you are blind, boy!"
Jinhai's fingers twitched at the insult, but he held his composure.
"You stand in my court, Master Daokan. Watch your tone."
"I will watch nothing, try me." Daokan snapped, his voice echoing.
"Atlas Ryland and Meilin arrived to me near death. You knew the dangers that awaited them on the road, and yet you did nothing. This was orchestrated. If not by you, then by those who act in your name."
Jinhai's eyes narrowed.
Daokan's next words struck like thunder. "Who sent the assassins? Was it you?"
The emperor did not respond. Instead, his mind churned with irritation.
This was not how it was supposed to go.
Silver Lotus and Ryland Trading were meant to be wiped cleanly from the board—a mere decree, a carefully placed ambush, and the problem would be solved. He had never expected either of them to crawl out alive, let alone stand defiant in his court.
The plan had failed, and now Daokan stood before me, raging like a force of nature, demanding answers.
Daokan took another step, and the very air in the hall trembled.
"Answer me, Emperor of Jin! If you cannot protect the ones you summon, then you are either incompetent—or complicit."
Murmurs rippled through the court like wildfire. No one had ever spoken to Jinhai in such a manner and lived.
Jinhai's expression remained unreadable, but his silence spoke volumes. He had not expected Daokan's direct challenge. He had expected him to scheme, to bargain, to threaten from the shadows.
Not this.
Daokan exhaled sharply, reigning in his Qi just enough to keep from tearing the entire chamber apart.
"I do not come here for war, Jinhai. But mark my words. If Atlas Ryland or Meilin does not walk out of this palace alive and untouched when you talk with them, then war is exactly what you will have."
Jinhai's gaze met Daokan's, unreadable and sharp.
And for the first time in a while, the emperor of Jin felt something unfamiliar.
Unease.