*Disclaimer: This chapter contain mature scene it might disturb some readers
"What did you say?"
Headmaster Falani's brow furrowed, his usually composed face now creased with bewilderment.
Aleeman tilted his head, his smirk infuriatingly casual.
"I said, no promises, Headmaster."
His voice was smooth as silk, but there was an edge—like a blade sheathed, but ready to strike.
Falani exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples.
"This boy—"
Aiguo Wei-Tang's lips curled into a sneer, his fists clenching atop his pristine robes.
"Such arrogance. You truly believe you can do whatever you please?"
Aleeman didn't respond—he simply glanced at him, unreadable, detached.
Aiguo's cheeks darkened with rage.
"If you were not the son of Orhan Bey, you would be nothing but a stray dog barking in the streets!"
Silence.
Aleeman moved then—stepping forward, his posture still relaxed, but his presence suddenly suffocating.
His palms rested on Falani's desk, his stance deliberate, powerful—a lion cornering lesser prey.
Then, his voice dropped, a mere whisper—but it sliced sharper than any blade.
"And yet… here I stand."
For a moment—
The room froze.
Even Aiguo, a man who prided himself on his authority, felt his breath hitch.
Falani, unwilling to let this moment escalate further, straightened.
"If that is so, Aleeman, then you are suspended from every school activity!"
Aleeman arched a brow, waiting.
"No more combat training."
No reaction.
"No more leadership meetings."
Still nothing.
"No sports, no strategy seminars, no access to the Grand Hikmah Library!"
At that, Aleeman's smirk twitched.
Now that was an inconvenience.
Falani watched him carefully, then added:
"You will attend classes. That is all. Until further notice."
Aleeman leaned back, rubbing his jaw in mock thought.
"So, in other words, I'm free from everything except the one thing I already ignore?"
Falani sighed, exasperated.
"You are impossible."
As Aleeman turned to leave, Aiguo spat one last remark:
"Seems like he parades himself as a commander, but strip him of that title, and he will be nothing."
Aleeman paused mid-step, then slowly turned, his expression unreadable.
Then, he smiled.
"It's funny you should say that, Vice Principal."
His voice was calm, but the venom beneath it dripped slow and lethally.
"Because when your son loses to me—every single time—what does that make him?"
The room tensed.
Aiguo's jaw clenched, his eyes burning with restrained fury.
Before he could retaliate, Falani raised a hand.
"Enough. Let him be."
Aiguo turned away, fists trembling at his sides.
Falani, tired yet amused, muttered under his breath:
"You truly take after your father, Aleeman. Too ambitious for your own good."
Aleeman gave a lazy wave, heading for the door.
"You say that like it's a bad thing, Headmaster."
The hallway stretched before him—dimly lit, empty, silent.
And then—
She was there.
Shi Zhao Mei.
Leaning lazily against the wall, arms crossed, her crimson lips curled into a villainous smirk.
She was dressed to kill.
The black and red ensemble crop top with black long trousers
The deep-cut halter left the soft, toned plane of her midriff exposed, the golden fastenings at her hips gleaming under the flickering torchlight.
And there, at the center of her umbilicus, nestled like a jewel on the hilt of a legendary blade—
The red gemstone.
A curse.
A mark.
A promise of destruction.
Aleeman sighed, already unimpressed.
"What do you want?"
Shi Zhao Mei tilted her head, voice like honey laced with arsenic.
"I was wondering what took you so long, but then I realized—"
Her eyelashes fluttered mockingly.
"It must have been a very long scolding."
Aleeman exhaled through his nose, stepping past her.
"Not in the mood, Zhao Mei."
But she simply pushed off the wall, following beside him with lazy grace.
"Oh? And why is that?"
Aleeman didn't answer.
So—
She grinned.
And pressed.
"Could it be…" she mused, twirling a strand of her raven-black hair, "that our righteous commander is upset because the big bad Vice Principal scolded him?"
Aleeman rolled his eyes, picking up his pace.
She matched him step for step.
"Or…" she continued, mischief twinkling in her gaze, "perhaps it's because deep down, you know I helped you in that fight, and it's eating at your very soul that you owe me?"
Aleeman halted.
Shi Zhao Mei halted too.
A beat of silence.
Then—
Aleeman turned to her, slowly, his expression unreadable.
Then, he smirked.
"You?" he repeated, amusement dripping from his tone.
Shi Zhao Mei narrowed her eyes, sensing danger.
"Yes. Me."
Aleeman tilted his head, grinning like a wolf.
"You mean the same woman who, not too long ago, nearly got herself skewered by an automata?"
Shi Zhao Mei's jaw clenched.
"It was all part of the plan."
Aleeman leaned in slightly.
"Right. And was getting your 'beautiful face' scratched part of the plan too?"
Shi Zhao Mei jerked back, her cheeks immediately flushing pink.
"That—that was different!"
Aleeman snorted.
"Sure it was."
She glared daggers at him.
"You are insufferable."
"And yet, you keep chasing after me."
Her eye twitched.
Aleeman grinned, stepping away.
"Good night, Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker."
Shi Zhao Mei grabbed the nearest object—a candle holder—and chucked it at him.
Aleeman closed the door behind him just in time.
The candleholder struck the wood with a loud clang.
From the other side, his muffled laughter echoed down the hallway.
Shi Zhao Mei exhaled sharply, crossing her arms.
Then, despite herself—
She smirked.
"Idiot brute."
The grand hall was bathed in flickering torchlight, casting elongated shadows across the polished jade floor. Ornate golden dragons coiled around the pillars, their emerald eyes glinting ominously, as if whispering secrets of dynasties long past.
At the center of it all—the Emperor.
Weng Jin Shun sat upon his throne of obsidian and gold, his face impassive, yet his fingers tapped against the armrest—a rhythmic echo, betraying the simmering storm beneath.
A hush settled over the court as Monk Pan Zhihaou entered, his saffron robes trailing behind him like a dying ember. His bald head gleamed under the lantern light, but it was not his presence alone that commanded attention.
It was the object he carried.
A small, black lacquered scroll case, etched with symbols of an ancient dialect, its surface pulsating with a faint, otherworldly glow—as though it breathed with an unseen force.
Pan Zhihaou approached the throne, his expression unreadable, and knelt before the Emperor, raising the scroll case with both hands.
"This," he intoned, his voice a low murmur, "comes from the east. A gift… from King Charles IV of Arcanodole."
The Emperor's brows arched slightly, interest piqued.
"Charles IV?" he mused, eyes narrowing. "And when, exactly, did you meet with the King of Arcanodole?"
A slow smirk curled Pan Zhihaou's lips, his head tilting slightly.
"In the depths where only shadows dare tread, my Emperor. A place where secrets are spoken in hushed tones and sealed in blood."
The Emperor considered him, fingers stilling.
"Noctis Concordia Bar."
Pan Zhihaou chuckled softly, nodding.
"The King has extended his hand to us, my Lord. He sees potential in an alliance with Ji-Gong. Arcanodole will provide us with weapons—weapons beyond our imagination—to obliterate our enemies. But more than that…"
He gestured toward the scroll case, his eyes glinting with intrigue.
"…he offers this. A token of goodwill. A key to our ascension."
The Emperor leaned forward, his curiosity overpowering his suspicion. With deliberate movements, he unlatched the scroll case and pulled out its contents.
A parchment of ancient origin, its edges frayed with time, black ink scrawled in arcane symbols—but what glowed beneath was more than mere scripture.
It was power.
A whisper—silent, yet deafening—coiled through the chamber like a phantom breeze.
Something forbidden.
Something dangerous.
The Emperor's breath slowed, his gaze locked onto the script as though entranced.
Then—a slow, wicked smile.
"If King Charles IV seeks to work with us," Weng Jin Shun murmured, his voice laced with newfound amusement, "then let us embrace this opportunity. With Arcanodole's aid, Ji-Gong shall rise beyond mere survival—we shall reign as conquerors."
Pan Zhihaou bowed his head in satisfaction, but before he could speak again, the Emperor's expression darkened.
"But first—"
His grip tightened on the parchment, the glow reflecting in his eyes like a predator scenting blood.
"—We must sever the limbs before we strike at the heart."
His gaze snapped toward the guards.
"Summon General Xuè Lián."
Moments later, General Xuè Lián entered the throne room, her steps precise, her expression unreadable—but her sharp eyes betrayed her unease.
The court fell into silence as she stepped forward, performing a measured gongshou—cupping one hand over the other and bowing slightly.
"Your Majesty."
The Emperor's gaze bore into her, cold and merciless.
"General Xuè Lián, I have an order for you."
She stilled, awaiting his command.
Then—
"Kill the wolf of Abjannas."
Silence crashed over the room like a tidal wave.
Xuè Lián's spine stiffened, her jaw clenching ever so slightly.
But the Emperor was not finished.
"Bring me his head by tomorrow."
The weight of his words settled upon her shoulders like chains.
A beat.
Then—
"…Your Majesty," she finally spoke, her tone even, yet laced with restrained disbelief. "Aleeman Hakiman is a formidable opponent. If we are to—"
The Emperor's hand shot up, cutting her off.
His expression twisted into something dangerous.
"Are you questioning my command, General?"
A chill seeped into the air.
Xuè Lián lowered her gaze, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.
"No, Your Majesty."
The Emperor smirked, leaning back into his throne.
"Good."
Then, his voice dropped into a venomous whisper.
"Unless, of course… you would rather share the fate of Ying Wei?"
A shudder ran through the court.
Xuè Lián's throat tightened, memories flashing—the blood, the severed head, the Emperor's unflinching gaze as the body was discarded like refuse.
She swallowed.
Then, with forced composure, she lowered herself into a deep bow.
"I shall not fail you, My Emperor."
A dark grin tugged at Weng Jin Shun's lips.
"See that you don't."
The moon hung heavy over Miracheneous Academy, its silver glow spilling through the delicate lattice windows of Shi Zhao Mei's room.
Yet sleep did not come.
She lay sprawled across her silken sheets, her raven crop top clinging to her skin, beads of sweat trailing down her bare stomach, glistening against the red gemstone embedded at her — umbilicus mark of her accursed fate.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, a battle between exhaustion and unrest raging within her.
The room was still, yet her mind screamed with echoes of something she could not understand.
And then—
Darkness swallowed her whole.
The world around her shifted, fading into a crimson void.
A sense of dread coiled around her like an iron serpent, its presence suffocating.
She stood in the middle of nothingness, a formless abyss stretching in all directions.
And then—
A figure appeared.
A man in a black hooded robe, his face obscured, his presence exuding death itself.
Shi Zhao Mei's breath hitched, her pulse hammering like war drums.
Her eyes fell to the ground beneath him—a pool of blood.
A corpse lay there.
No.
Not just any corpse.
Aleeman.
His sabres lay discarded, his body motionless, his amber eyes dull and lifeless—his once indomitable fire snuffed out in the void of oblivion.
Her blood ran cold.
The black-hooded figure stepped over Aleeman's body, a curved dagger glinting under the phantom moonlight as he raised it—
A final strike to ensure death.
"NO—!"
Shi Zhao Mei gasped awake, her body jerking upright as though an invisible chain had snapped.
Her skin glowed with perspiration, her breath shallow, her hand gripping her chest as if to stop the frantic beating of her heart.
"Aleeman…!"
The name escaped her lips involuntarily, an echo of fear lingering in her voice.
Her throat was dry, her mind racing.
She could still see it—the image of him, lifeless, motionless, blood pooling beneath him.
Her fingers clawed at her sheets, her body trembling against her will.
"Why…?"
Her voice was barely a whisper, yet it carried the weight of confusion, of frustration—of something she refused to name.
As she clutched her own arms, trying to steady herself, another memory resurfaced, slamming into her like a tidal wave.
The moment when she was tired and hide herself by the branch of the tree as she was surrounded by her own clan soldiers and Commander Zhao Fengxian at the moment Aleeman arrives and the way he defeat them all and saves her not knowing that she was the fallen prince but ashe knew the truth he keep it with himself of her true identity and helps her much he can.
Shi Zhao Mei exhaled shakily, the memory fading as she hugged her knees to her chest, her damp skin cooling under the night breeze.
Why was she worried for him?
Why did the thought of his death send a spike of fear through her bones?
He was the Wolf of Abjannas, a man capable of commanding the battlefield with nothing but sheer will and steel.
He was… infuriating.
But—
He was not supposed to die.
Not like that.
Not at the hands of some nameless figure cloaked in black.
Shi Zhao Mei's jaw clenched, her fingers curling into the sheets.
She would not allow it.
Whatever this vision had been—
She would make sure it never became reality.
Her eyes burned with determination, the remnants of sleep long forgotten.
The Cursed Prince of Ji-Gong had never been one to stand idly by and watch fate take what belonged to her.
And she wasn't about to start now.
Shi Zhao Mei stood before the mirror, her deep red eyes glimmering under the moonlight, as she traced the fabric of her raven-black crop top—a garment that felt both foreign and dangerously revealing.
Her fingers ghosted over the hem, her stomach still exposed to the night air, the gemstone attached to her umbilicus catching the dim glow of her lantern.
She sighed, the memory of earlier events flooding back like an unstoppable tide.
The setting had been Mei-Xi-Li's room, where she, Mika Yamana, and Elizabeth Feng had gathered, their eyes gleaming with mischief.
"This—" Mei-Xi-Li declared, holding up the black crop top like it was some divine artifact.
"This," Mika chimed in, nudging Shi Zhao Mei towards it, "is a gift of civilization. You must wear it."
Shi Zhao Mei blinked, suspicious, her brows furrowing.
She had never seen such an audaciously short outfit before.
"This… is missing the rest of its fabric."
Elizabeth laughed, flicking Shi Zhao Mei's forehead lightly.
"It's called fashion. Try to keep up."
"I refuse," Shi Zhao Mei folded her arms, turning away like a stubborn child.
"You will wear it."
"I will not."
"You will!"
"I WILL NOT!"
"Fine!" Mika smirked, throwing a challenge into the air. "Then I suppose you're afraid of how good you'd look in it."
Shi Zhao Mei paused. She glared. She scowled. She contemplated.
Her fingers twitched.
"Fine!" She grabbed the top.
The room fell silent when Shi Zhao Mei stepped out wearing the crop top, her arms awkwardly crossing her stomach as though she could make the fabric stretch longer.
Her cheeks flared pink as the air kissed the newly exposed skin of her abdomen, her gemstone gleaming like a forbidden treasure.
A long silence followed.
Then—
Smoke.
Not literal smoke, but Mei-Xi-Li, Mika, and Elizabeth reacted like their souls had just been forcibly separated from their bodies.
Elizabeth's ears turned red, her nose flaring as if trying to contain an existential crisis.
Mika had to cover her mouth, blinking rapidly like she had just witnessed an untouchable goddess descend from the heavens.
Mei-Xi-Li?
Mei-Xi-Li was simply staring at her stomach—not saying a word.
"Why are you all looking at me like that?" Shi Zhao Mei's voice was dangerously cautious.
More silence.
More staring.
Finally, Mika exhaled, whispering under her breath:
"We should have prepared ourselves for this."
Just as Shi Zhao Mei was about to retreat and burn the outfit out of sheer embarrassment, the door swung open.
Hua-Jing stepped in, looking as if she had just walked into an entirely different dimension.
She took one glance at Shi Zhao Mei.
Paused.
Tilted her head.
Took a step forward.
Paused again.
Then, with a grin so mischievous it could shatter worlds, she said:
"My dear gemstone-bellied troublemaker, I have a plan."
Shi Zhao Mei groaned, already regretting everything.
Hua-Jing's Grand Idea:
"Approach Aleeman. Stand close. Say something distracting. Maybe touch his arm. He will never stop looking at you."
A solid plan.
An absolutely terrible execution.
The moment Shi Zhao Mei had sauntered up to Aleeman, wearing the crop top and attempting to unleash her most lethal charm, he had—
Glanced at her. Blinked.
Then walked past her like she was a lamp post.
She stood there, mouth slightly open, confidence brutally crushed.
Behind her, Hua-Jing facepalmed so hard that even Mika winced.
Shi Zhao Mei sighed, dragging her fingers through her raven-black hair, shaking her head.
Her eyes flickered toward the memory of their hallway exchange.
As they have a conversation when he came out from Headmaster Falani while returning to each of their room he says "Good Night Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker"
Now, as she rested against the frame of the mirror, she sighed again, pressing a hand to her still-burning cheek.
"That didn't go well."
She glanced back at the bed.
Tomorrow was going to be another chaotic day.
Hopefully, it wouldn't go any worse than today.
She collapsed onto the bed, draping an arm over her eyes, her breathing slowing as sleep finally crept in.
A final thought drifted across her half-conscious mind.
"I really, really hate that I let Hua-Jing talk me into this."
The morning sun spilled through the towering, stained-glass windows of Miracheneous Academy's grand lecture hall, casting prismatic reflections across the polished marble floors. The chandeliers above flickered softly, illuminating the massive bookshelves that lined the walls—each time stacked like an archive of forgotten knowledge.
At the center of the vast hall, Professor Aurelia Whitmore stood poised behind an intricately carved ebony lectern, her sharp hazel eyes scanning the rows of students before her.
Her presence alone commanded silence—not out of fear, but from sheer admiration. A woman of profound intellect, dressed in midnight-blue robes trimmed with silver runes, her platinum-blonde hair coiled into an intricate bun, with glasses perched delicately upon her nose.
She exhaled, adjusting the open book before her.
"Today, we discuss the philosophy of power, warfare, and governance—how history has shaped leaders, and how leaders, in turn, have shaped history," her voice rang clear, articulate, imbued with a calm authority.
The students scribbled down notes, their eyes flicking between the professor and the diagrams that materialized midair through a holographic projection.
Except for one.
One whose head rested lazily on his hand, golden eyes half-lidded, the glint of boredom etched into his very bones.
One who absently spun a quill between his fingers, his thoughts clearly wandering elsewhere.
One who was, very obviously, not paying attention.
Aleeman Hakiman.
Beside him, Shi Zhao Mei, draped in her usual black and crimson ensemble, arms crossed, gave him a side glance of sheer amusement.
She smirked, resting her chin on her hand, whispering,
"The mighty wolf of Abjannas… conquered by a mere history lecture. Pathetic."
Aleeman did not even glance at her, merely shifting his posture, his expression unreadable.
From across the room, Hua-Jing and their friends watched him with knowing glances.
Wang leaned in, grinning.
"Think he's actually listening?"
Finn snorted.
"Not in this lifetime."
Before their quiet banter could escalate—
Professor Aurelia Whitmore suddenly called out, her voice cutting through the hall like a blade.
"Commander Hakiman."
A silence fell over the room.
Aleeman's quill stilled mid-spin.
Shi Zhao Mei's smirk deepened.
Wang bit his tongue to stop from laughing.
Aleeman, with the slowness of a man who had just been dragged back into reality from another realm, lifted his gaze to meet the professor.
Aurelia Whitmore arched a perfectly sculpted brow.
"Would you care to enlighten the class on the strategic philosophies behind Emperor Viridian's War of the Twin Kingdoms, and how it reshaped the economic power balance across Halmosian?"
The room went utterly silent.
Every student turned to look at Aleeman.
Even John Wei-Tang, the academy's self-proclaimed academic prodigy, leaned forward, a smug grin curling on his lips, sensing an opportunity to witness Aleeman fail.
Aleeman's face remained unreadable.
Professor Whitmore waited.
Aleeman exhaled slowly, then stood up, posture straight, commanding, yet eerily casual.
His golden eyes flicked over the room—calculating, cold, untouched by urgency.
Then he did the unthinkable.
He said nothing.
Absolute silence.
Professor Whitmore's brow furrowed.
John smirked, chuckling under his breath.
"What's wrong, Commander? Not so clever when it comes to actual learning, are we?"
Several students muffled their laughter.
Aleeman remained still as stone, his jaw clenching slightly.
He was thinking.
Shi Zhao Mei, observing from beside him, tapped her fingers on the desk, barely concealing her amusement.
Then, as John prepared to throw another insult—
Aleeman spoke.
"The War of the Twin Kingdoms wasn't about conquest. It was about control."
The laughter died instantly.
The students blinked, stunned.
Aleeman's voice was low, deliberate, unrushed, yet each word carried the weight of centuries.
He continued, stepping forward, pacing slightly.
"Emperor Viridian didn't just invade. He fractured alliances before swords were even drawn. He manipulated trade agreements, destabilized economies, forced treaties that were doomed to fail. The war was decided before the first battle even began. The battles themselves? Formalities. Blood spilled for the sake of image."
He turned, his gaze landing on John.
"It was never about winning. It was about ensuring his enemies couldn't afford to fight back."
John's smirk faltered.
Aleeman's eyes glinted.
"But you already knew that, didn't you, John?"
The students erupted into laughter.
John's face twisted in irritation, his hands curling into fists on the desk.
Professor Aurelia Whitmore, however, was silent.
Then—
A slow, satisfied smile crossed her lips.
"Impressive," she said, nodding. "I was wondering if you were even listening."
Aleeman shrugged, lowering himself back into his seat.
"I was. I just didn't feel like answering immediately."
Professor Whitmore chuckled.
"Continue paying attention, Commander Hakiman. You might surprise yourself with what you learn."
Aleeman merely nodded, though beside him, Shi Zhao Mei's smirk widened.
"I knew you weren't just another brute," she murmured, low enough for only him to hear.
Aleeman side-eyed her.
"Don't get used to it."
She laughed softly, crossing her arms.
John gritted his teeth, shooting a glare at Aleeman.
Celeste Marlowe, sitting nearby, scoffed, leaning in.
"Perhaps you should stop underestimating him, John."
John huffed, arms crossed.
"I wasn't underestimating him. I just—"
"Just what?"
John fell silent.
Meanwhile, Hua-Jing and their friends stifled their laughter.
Wang nudged Finn.
"I think John's just realized he should stop picking fights with Aleeman."
Finn grinned.
"A lesson long overdue."
Shi Zhao Mei glanced at Aleeman again, amusement flickering across her face.
"So, you do have a brain after all."
Aleeman sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Remind me again why I bother proving things to idiots?"
She smirked.
"Because you enjoy making them look stupid."
Aleeman paused.
Then, grinning slightly, he shrugged.
"Fair point."
The bell rang, signaling the end of the lecture. A murmur rippled through the hall as students filed out, some still grumbling about the merciless Arcane Titan trials while others chattered about the upcoming school activities.
Aleeman strode through the crowd like a lone wolf, his sabre Wolf Claw resting comfortably against his hip, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. The flickering lanterns cast long shadows across the polished floors as he descended the marble steps leading to the courtyard.
Beside him, Shi Zhao Mei matched his pace with feline grace, her dark raven hair flowing behind her, her expression unreadable yet carrying a glimmer of mischief.
"So," she began, her voice silk laced with intrigue, "what school activity are you planning to participate in?"
Aleeman didn't even look at her.
"None."
Shi Zhao Mei arched a brow.
"None?"
"None."
From behind, Hua-Jing, Mei-Xi-Li, Mika Yamana, Elizabeth Feng, and Wang Ji-Pang all halted mid-step, their heads snapping toward Aleeman in unison.
"WHAT?!" Hua-Jing's voice boomed like a war drum, stopping a few passing students in their tracks.
Aleeman remained utterly unbothered, adjusting his gloves casually.
"I got suspended."
Silence.
A solid ten seconds of pure, stunned silence.
Then—
"YOU GOT WHAT?!" Hua-Jing screeched, her jade-green eyes ablaze with disbelief.
Aleeman sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Suspended. Banished. Exiled. Blacklisted. Take your pick."
Mei-Xi-Li covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.
Mika elbowed Wang, whispering, "I told you he'd do something reckless."
Elizabeth shook her head in mock disapproval.
Shi Zhao Mei, however, only smirked, her arms crossed.
"I can't say I'm surprised. So what was it this time? Did you accidentally declare war on another empire, oh mighty Wolf of Abjannas?"
Aleeman exhaled, his patience as thin as a strand of silk stretched over a blade.
"I went too far." His voice was calm but resolute, like a soldier accepting his fate.
"Headmaster Falani said my actions—despite being approved by the state—were not appropriate for the academy."
Shi Zhao Mei's smirk widened.
"Translation: You were too good, and it scared them."
Aleeman rolled his eyes.
"Sure, we'll go with that."
Hua-Jing, still fuming, crossed her arms.
"So what now?! You're just going to wander the city doing nothing while we actually work hard?"
Aleeman shrugged.
"I'll go to my brother's workshop."
Shi Zhao Mei tilted her head.
"Samiyoshi?"
"No. Ashai."
At this, Shi Zhao Mei blinked, momentarily thrown off.
"Who?"
Before Aleeman could answer, Hua-Jing spoke up, arms still folded like a displeased matriarch.
"Our second older brother. Ashai Hakiman. He runs Vitreum Solaris Glassworks—the most renowned glass workshop in the entire state."
Shi Zhao Mei's eyes flickered with curiosity, a rare softness dancing in her gaze.
"A glassmaker?"
Aleeman glanced sideways at her, noting the way her curiosity mirrored a cat stalking its next prey.
"Yes. And before you ask, no, he does not craft weapons out of glass."
Shi Zhao Mei's villainous smirk returned.
"I wasn't going to ask that."
"You were."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
Shi Zhao Mei placed a hand on her hip.
"Alright, I was. But wouldn't it be fascinating? Imagine slicing through your enemies with a sword of enchanted glass—"
Aleeman raised a hand, cutting her off.
"No. Absolutely not. No one's fighting with fragile glass weapons. Not in this lifetime."
Shi Zhao Mei pouted, then shrugged.
"Your loss."
Aleeman exhaled heavily, as if physically restraining himself from questioning how he ended up surrounded by lunatics.
At that moment, he turned away and raised a hand in farewell.
"Well then, good luck with your school activity."
His tone was mockingly polite, an unmistakable hint of amusement in his voice as he strode toward the academy gates.
Hua-Jing's brows twitched violently.
"GOOD LUCK?!" she scoffed, placing her hands on her hips.
"ALEEMAN HAKIMAN, YOU GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!"
Aleeman did not.
He merely lifted his hand higher—a silent, infuriating wave of dismissal—and disappeared into the bustling streets beyond.
Hua-Jing's eye twitched.
"I hate him. I absolutely hate him."
Mei-Xi-Li patted her shoulder sympathetically.
"It's okay, Hua-Jing. You can just imagine throwing him into the Grand Hikmah Library and forcing him to read textbooks for eternity."
Shi Zhao Mei, watching Aleeman disappear, chuckled under her breath.
Hua-Jing caught the sound immediately.
"Oh, don't tell me you find this funny."
Shi Zhao Mei turned to her, smiling innocently.
"What? I simply admire a man who knows how to be rebellious."
Mika snorted.
"Oh, please. You just enjoy messing with him."
Shi Zhao Mei merely shrugged.
Wang Ji-Pang shook his head.
"Heaven help Aleeman."
The morning sun bled across the sky, its golden hue stretching over the grand stables of Ji-Gong Palace, where the scent of fresh hay mingled with the crisp air of impending war. The horses, their sleek coats gleaming under daylight, pawed impatiently at the ground, their breath clouding in the cool morning breeze.
General Xuè Lián, adorned in crimson and silver armor, stood beside her black warhorse, meticulously tightening the reins. The Twin Crimson Blades – Xuefang & Luoyan rested upon her back, their deadly edges concealed within ornate scabbards. Her onyx eyes held a storm within them, unreadable, poised between duty and reluctance.
A shadow shifted behind her—the presence of a man both elusive and familiar.
Bai Hànfeng.
Dressed in dark azure robes, his Phantom Blade & Stealth Dagger strapped securely to his waist, his long, ink-black hair tied loosely behind him, the Phantom of Ji-Gong approached with his usual lazy smirk.
"Going somewhere, General?" His voice was silk dipped in amusement, yet laced with genuine curiosity.
Xuè Lián didn't even glance at him as she adjusted the saddle.
"It's an imperial order," she said, her voice carrying the weight of command.
Bai Hànfeng's brows arched. "Emperor's order?"
Before Xuè Lián could respond, another figure stepped forward, her presence as refined as it was commanding.
Zhang Ruiying.
The Crimson Dragon Scholar, Grand Tactician of Ji-Gong.
She stood gracefully, her crimson robes trimmed with golden embroidery, a folding war fan of Etherium Technology resting delicately in her hand. Her eyes—sharp, calculating—held an intelligence that few could match.
She studied Xuè Lián with a mixture of intrigue and skepticism.
"The Emperor commands you to hunt the Wolf of Abjannas?" Zhang Ruiying's voice was smooth, precise—like a blade striking where it would wound most.
Xuè Lián gave a long, slow sigh, as if saying it aloud made it worse.
"Yes."
Bai Hànfeng tilted his head, rubbing his chin.
"Then I'm coming with you."
Xuè Lián finally turned to him, a single brow raised.
"No, you are not."
Bai Hànfeng grinned.
"Oh, I am. You see, I have a personal interest in this Wolf. The one who waltzed into our palace, humiliated our Emperor, and made an absolute mockery of Minister Cai Sheng? That man is either fearless or utterly reckless. Either way, I want to see him for myself."
Before Xuè Lián could counter, a smooth, commanding voice cut through the air.
"None of you are going."
They all turned.
From the shadows of the stable entrance, a tall figure emerged—Liu Zhenbao.
Draped in deep navy-blue robes, his features carved with disdain, he strode toward them with the confidence of a man whose words carried the weight of lineage and authority.
Xuè Lián's gaze narrowed.
"This is an imperial order, Prince Zhenbao. I must follow it."
Liu Zhenbao crossed his arms, his lips curling into a smirk filled with sharp edges.
"Oh, must you? Or will you simply be walking into an elaborate death trap?"
Zhang Ruiying's eyes flickered with interest.
"Explain."
Liu Zhenbao exhaled sharply, pacing like a predator preparing to strike.
"This is not a hunt. This is an execution order." His voice was laced with venom, yet beneath it lay something else—anger? Guilt? A bitter truth he refused to swallow.
Bai Hànfeng's grin widened.
"Oh? Are we questioning our beloved Emperor's wisdom now?"
Liu Zhenbao's jaw clenched.
"I don't question. I understand. And what I understand is that our Emperor does not merely wish for the Wolf's head. He wishes for Shi Zhao Mei's destruction."
Xuè Lián's fingers tightened around the reins, her expression unreadable.
"Wei Yang Hong."
The name lingered in the air like a curse.
Liu Zhenbao stepped closer, his voice lowering.
"If we ride under this command, it will not end with Aleeman. The Emperor wants his own bloodline erased. The moment we bring back Aleeman's head, Shi Zhao Mei is next."
A weight fell upon the air, thick with unsaid truths.
Zhang Ruiying tapped her war fan against her palm, contemplative.
"So, what do you propose?"
Liu Zhenbao's gaze darkened.
"We save them. Both of them."
Xuè Lián stilled.
Bai Hànfeng blinked once, then let out a low whistle.
"Well, well… looks like our fearless prince has decided to go against his own blood."
Liu Zhenbao's eyes burned like embers.
"If it means stopping my father from becoming a monster, then so be it."
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then—
Xuè Lián let out a slow breath.
Her grip on the reins relaxed.
She turned to Bai Hànfeng and Zhang Ruiying.
"Are you with us?"
Zhang Ruiying smiled—a slow, knowing smile that hinted at a mind already calculating a hundred moves ahead.
"I was never fond of following blind orders anyway."
Bai Hànfeng grinned.
"Well, this just became far more entertaining than I anticipated."
Liu Zhenbao nodded once.
"Then we ride. And we ride fast."
Bai Hànfeng smirked.
"Oh, don't worry. I know just the right people to join us."
Xuè Lián swung herself onto her horse, her expression unreadable, but for the first time in days, a sense of purpose filled her.
Today, they rode as warriors.
Not hunters.
Not executioners.
But saviors.
The golden sun blazed overhead, its rays filtering through the towering spires of Miracheneous Academy, casting elongated shadows across the vast training courtyard. Students from every faculty gathered in clusters, murmuring in anticipation for the day's mandatory school activities.
A towering sandstone arch marked the courtyard's entrance, engraved with ancient runes and arcane sigils, a testament to the academy's rich history.
At the center, Professor Aurelia Whitmore stood with a clipboard in hand, her piercing gaze scanning the crowd like a hawk surveying prey.
"This afternoon," she declared, "each of you will participate in a trial of skill, intellect, and endurance—whether you excel in combat, strategy, or creative arts, today will determine your strengths and weaknesses."
A murmur spread through the students, half in excitement, half in dread.
Then came the announcement.
"Archery."
"Combat duels."
"The Grand Maze Challenge."
"Engineering & Alchemy."
A ripple of mixed reactions surged through the crowd. Some students fist-pumped, eager to test their skills, while others groaned, already mourning their dignity.
Among them, Hua-Jing stood rigid, arms crossed so tightly it looked as if her veins were close to bursting.
Her jade-green eyes flickered with an unholy fire, her brows furrowed into a merciless scowl.
A vein twitched on her forehead.
"Where is Shi Zhao Mei?"
Mika Yamana, standing beside her, casually inspected her nails.
"Oh, she's nowhere to be seen."
Hua-Jing's scowl deepened.
"What do you mean—'nowhere to be seen'?!"
Mei-Xi-Li, ever the calm strategist, exhaled a knowing sigh.
"She dumped the class."
Wang Ji-Pang and Finn nodded in solemn agreement, arms crossed as if attending a funeral for proper attendance.
Hua-Jing's right eye twitched violently.
"She WHAT?!"
Mei-Xi-Li shrugged, unfazed.
"She dumped the class."
Wang Ji-Pang pointed vaguely toward the academy gates.
"She was here. Then she was gone. Like a ghost."
Finn, arms still crossed, nodded sagely.
"One moment she was standing with us, the next she vanished like morning fog under the rising sun."
Hua-Jing's face darkened, her fingers clenching into fists.
"Oh-ho-ho, is that so?" She hissed, a storm brewing in her chest.
Mika Yamana, watching her with half-lidded amusement, leaned slightly toward Elizabeth Feng.
"Do you think she'll explode?"
Elizabeth Feng chuckled.
"She's already steaming. Another push and she'll detonate."
"Unjust!" Hua-Jing finally roared, causing several students to jump.
Her loud voice thundered across the courtyard, earning startled glances from passersby.
"This is ABSOLUTE INJUSTICE! I am being wronged!" she declared, pacing back and forth, her boots stomping against the stone tiles.
Mei-Xi-Li rubbed her temples.
"Oh no. Here we go."
Finn folded his arms, unimpressed.
"We are being wronged?"
"Yes! We!" Hua-Jing exclaimed, motioning to all of them.
"She escaped school activities! And we are forced to suffer through them! This is tyranny! This is corruption! This is… THIS IS A MOCKERY OF JUSTICE!"
Wang Ji-Pang rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"She does have a point."
Mika Yamana nodded in agreement.
"She does."
Elizabeth Feng snorted, shaking her head.
"Not you too."
Hua-Jing whirled back toward them, eyes blazing.
"I will NOT be left behind while that Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker wanders freely doing whatever she pleases! This is a declaration of war!"
Mei-Xi-Li raised a delicate brow.
"War?"
"War."
Finn sighed, already mentally preparing for whatever scheme was about to be concocted.
Mika Yamana, looking at Wang Ji-Pang with an amused smirk, whispered:
"Mark my words—this will end in absolute chaos."
Wang Ji-Pang grinned, cracking his knuckles.
"And I can't wait."
The sky stretched vast and endless, painted in hues of deep sapphire and golden streaks, where the sun hung like a celestial sentinel, casting its warm gaze upon the pure, untainted grasslands.
A lone tree stood tall in the heart of this emerald sea—its gnarled branches swaying gently in the soft lull of the wind, its leaves rustling like whispers of an ancient past.
Here, amidst nature's unspoiled embrace, Aleeman rode atop his mighty steed, Şimşek, the warhorse's obsidian coat gleaming under the sunlight. The stallion's muscles rippled, its breath steady yet sharp, as if it, too, could sense the magnitude of the moment.
Aleeman, ever the lone wolf, halted his journey beneath the tree's shade.
Sliding off Şimşek, he landed with the grace of a falcon—swift, effortless, yet with an unspoken dominance that only a warrior bore.
He patted the horse's sleek neck, his fingers tracing the sturdy bridle, his gaze lost in the distant horizon.
"Şimşek," he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand untold dreams, "no one sees the world as we do…"
Şimşek's ears flicked, its nostrils flaring as if urging him to continue.
Aleeman exhaled, the wind carrying his words like a sacred vow.
"The world is shackled by greed, torn apart by those who wish to rule not with justice, but with fear. They build walls not to protect, but to divide. They hoard power, leaving the weak to perish in the shadows."
His steel-like gaze darkened.
"But I dream of a world where no man lives under another's heel. Where no kingdom preys upon the innocent. Where power is not measured by bloodlines, but by honour."
Şimşek snorted, stamping its hoof against the soft earth, as if in agreement.
Aleeman chuckled, a rare and fleeting sound.
He leaned his forehead against the horse's mighty mane.
"**And you, my companion, shall ride with me to that dream. Together, we shall carve a path through the unconquered, and Orphanius—**the city that no empire could break—shall bow before our storm."
Şimşek rose slightly on its hind legs, its silken tail whipping in the wind, its eyes reflecting the fire that burned in its master's soul.
Aleeman's smirk grew, his palm once again brushing the stallion's flank.
"Ah, so you agree? Good. Then let the world beware."
A sudden gust of wind howled, tearing through the grassland like an unseen force awakening from slumber.
The once tranquil air shifted into a swirling maelstrom, sending waves of green blades dancing in frenzied motion.
Şimşek whinnied, stepping back as its nostrils flared.
Aleeman's eyes snapped upwards, his warrior instincts already coiled like a drawn bowstring.
And there—against the sky, framed by the golden sun, soared a dark red dragon.
Its colossal wings sliced through the heavens, each stroke causing the air to tremble. Its crimson scales shimmered, reflecting light like polished rubies, and from its throat, a low rumble echoed—a beast that commanded both awe and terror.
Aleeman's jaw tightened, his fingers instinctively grazing the hilt of his sabre.
The dragon circled above him, then with an elegance that defied its size, it descended, the ground quivering beneath its weight as it landed.
A moment of stillness.
Then, before his very eyes, the beast shifted.
Scales melted into silken skin, mighty claws softened into delicate fingers, and its long, whip-like tail vanished into flowing raven-black hair—no, not raven anymore.
It was red.
A deep black-red, like embers that refused to die.
And its eyes—once dark as night—now burned like molten garnets.
Before him stood Shi Zhao Mei.
But not as she was.
No longer in the embroidered robes of a noble lady.
No longer in the delicate silks of a palace-bred beauty.
She stood in black and crimson, an ensemble crafted for power, for command.
A raven-black crop top hugged her athletic frame, its golden fastenings shimmering in the dying light.
Long, detached sleeves of sheer obsidian fabric billowed as the wind caressed them.
Her trousers, tight yet flexible, bore the insignia of the Blood Dragon, embroidered in crimson thread that curled like fire upon her thigh.
A single red gemstone gleamed just above her navel, set in a delicate golden frame, pulsing faintly with an energy that felt almost… alive.
Aleeman's brows arched, his sabre still resting in its scabbard, yet his muscles remained taut.
"And what exactly are you doing here?" His voice held neither hostility nor warmth—just unreadable curiosity.
Shi Zhao Mei's lips curled, a smirk that carried a hint of villainy, a dash of mischief, and an ocean of danger.
"I could ask you the same, Commander." She took a step forward, the grass barely bending beneath her feet. "But I already know. You came here to dream aloud, to whisper your ambitions to the wind, to speak of a world that only exists in your mind."
Aleeman's expression remained neutral, though the fire in his eyes never wavered.
Shi Zhao Mei tilted her head, her red-black locks cascading like silk over her shoulder.
"I came to see what the mighty Wolf of Abjannas does when he thinks no one is watching."
A beat of silence passed.
Then Aleeman exhaled a short, humourless laugh.
He shook his head, stepping forward until only a breath of space separated them.
"You speak as if you weren't watching me long before today."
Shi Zhao Mei's smirk did not falter.
"And if I was?"
Aleeman's lips twitched.
"Then you are exactly what I thought you were. A troublesome woman."
Shi Zhao Mei's smirk deepened.
"And you, Aleeman Hakiman, are exactly what I thought you were. A man who thinks he can conquer the world… but has yet to conquer me."
The wind howled again, tangling the strands of their hair, shadows from the lone tree stretching long beneath them.
Şimşek snorted, sensing the growing tension between the wolf and the dragon.
Aleeman's hand brushed his sabre, his smirk sharp as a blade.
"Then let's see who breaks first, Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker."
Shi Zhao Mei's eyes gleamed, her fingers flexing as the power of her Blood Dragon hummed beneath her skin.
"Let's."
The wind howled between them, carrying the scent of wild earth, steel, and an unspoken challenge.
Aleeman drew his sabre, Wolf Claw, its curved blade gleaming under the setting sun, whispering promises of carnage with every shift of his grip. His stance was firm, feet planted like unshakable mountains, shoulders loose, yet poised—a warrior who had danced with death and lived to tell the tale.
Shi Zhao Mei, standing across from him, cracked her neck, her blood-red locks cascading like silken embers over her shoulder.
She raised her right hand, and from her palm, the Asina Wo Do Blood dao slithered into existence, as if summoned from the depths of her very soul. Its deep crimson blade pulsed, reflecting the very essence of her Blood Dragon cultivation—a living, breathing weapon of destruction.
Her stance shifted, one foot forward, her body angled just enough to strike or evade. Her golden fastenings glinted, the red gemstone on her navel pulsing like a heartbeat.
Two warriors.
Two forces of nature.
One battle.
The Wolf of Abjannas.
The Cursed Prince of Ji-Gong.
And then—
A gust of wind ripped through the grass, swirling around them like an invisible bell signaling the beginning of a war.
Aleeman charged first, his sabre slicing through the air with the speed of a falcon in pursuit of its prey.
CLANG!
Shi Zhao Mei met his strike mid-air, her dao locking against his sabre, the force of their collision sending a shockwave through the grasslands.
The ground trembled beneath their might, their weapons locked in a battle of dominance.
Aleeman's biceps tensed, his muscles coiling like a drawn bowstring, pressing forward.
Shi Zhao Mei smirked, her lips curving into that villainous smile—and then she twisted.
Like a shadow slipping through fingers, she spun away, her dao slicing towards his ribs in a crescent arc.
Aleeman barely dodged.
He twisted his body, his sabaton boots digging into the earth, and retaliated with a downward slash, his blade hungry for flesh.
But Shi Zhao Mei was not where he expected her to be.
Like a whisper of wind, she had disappeared.
Above.
She was above him.
Her body twisted mid-air, her Blood Dragon cultivation flaring, wrapping her in a fiery crimson aura as she descended like a shooting star, her dao poised to strike.
Aleeman smirked.
He dropped low, using his shield to absorb the impact, the force of her landing causing the very ground to crack beneath them.
A second of stillness.
Then, chaos.
Aleeman lunged—not with reckless force, but with a soldier's discipline.
His blade moved like a hurricane, a flurry of precise slashes, each strike aimed to push Shi Zhao Mei on the defensive.
Shi Zhao Mei, however, was no mere opponent.
Her movements were a dance, her dao singing as it deflected, parried, and redirected every strike with lethal elegance.
She moved like a river—fluid, unpredictable, relentless.
Aleeman gritted his teeth, spinning on his heel, bringing Wolf Claw in a brutal arc, his sabaton scraping against the earth as he aimed for her exposed flank.
Shi Zhao Mei anticipated it.
With an effortless backflip, she soared backwards, her eyes gleaming, landing with the grace of a panther.
She tilted her head, a mischievous glint in her crimson eyes.
"Tch. Not bad, Wolf."
Aleeman rolled his shoulders, gripping Wolf Claw tighter.
"Try harder, Dragon."
She laughed—a sound both sultry and menacing—and then, she vanished.
A blur of red and black.
A howl of steel against steel.
The two warriors clashed like titans, their blades dancing in a symphony of death and dominance.
Aleeman dodged left—Shi Zhao Mei mirrored right.
She sliced upwards—he parried downwards.
He lunged for her throat—she ducked and aimed for his knees.
Each strike pushed the other to the edge, forcing them to evolve mid-battle.
They were equals, a perfect storm of ferocity and finesse, brutality and beauty.
Aleeman's breathing was heavy, but his smirk never faded.
Shi Zhao Mei's chest rose and fell, but her gaze burned with exhilaration.
And then—
CLANG!
Their blades locked one final time, their faces inches apart.
Their breath mingled, their eyes bore into each other's souls.
For a fleeting moment—there was only silence.
And then—
A voice.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY FOUGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE?!"
Hua-Jing.
The two warriors snapped their heads towards the voice, breaking their stance just in time to see a fuming Hua-Jing storming towards them.
Finn, Wang, Mei-Xi-Li, Mika, and Elizabeth trailed behind her, all half-amused, half-terrified.
Aleeman exhaled, wiping his blade.
Shi Zhao Mei sheathed her dao, her smirk never leaving.
"You lose focus too easily, Wolf."
Aleeman glanced at her, then at his sister's deathly glare.
He sighed.
"Tch. Trouble."
Shi Zhao Mei tilted her head.
"Your problem, not mine."
And with that, she turned away, walking into the sunset, leaving Aleeman to face the wrath of his very angry little sister.
The last embers of sunset bathed the battlefield in a golden hue, the air still thick with the scent of steel and sweat. A gentle breeze swayed the grass, carrying the lingering whispers of their clash.
Aleeman exhaled, his grip on Wolf Claw loosening as he finally sheathed his sabre. His muscles ached, a faint sting traveling across his skin where Shi Zhao Mei's blade had nearly grazed him.
And then—
"YOU DID WHAT?!"
A voice like a thunderclap of fury shattered the momentary peace.
Aleeman turned just in time to see Hua-Jing marching toward him, her hands clenched into tight fists, her face a mixture of pure exasperation and barely restrained rage.
Finn, Wang, Mei-Xi-Li, Mika, and Elizabeth followed behind her, half-curious, half-amused, watching the scene unfold like spectators at an execution.
Shi Zhao Mei, meanwhile, stood off to the side, her arms crossed, her smirk still lingering, her eyes flickering with villainous amusement.
"You—" Hua-Jing jabbed a finger at Aleeman's chest, her crimson eyes blazing.
"—were supposed to be at Ashai's workshop! Not out here playing warrior in the middle of nowhere!"
Aleeman tilted his head, unfazed. His brow arched, and with a flat tone, he asked,
"And you were supposed to be at school activities, weren't you?"
Hua-Jing stiffened, her eyes widening for a split second before she crossed her arms.
"That's different!" she huffed, attempting to deflect the accusation.
Aleeman gave her a slow, unreadable look, then exhaled through his nose—the universal sound of an older brother unimpressed with his younger sibling's excuses.
"You came all this way just to lecture me?" he muttered, running a hand through his raven-black hair, his tone laced with mild annoyance and exhaustion.
Hua-Jing scoffed, planting her hands on her hips.
"No, I came because you're a disaster waiting to happen!"
Hua-Jing narrowed her eyes at him.
"Why are you even here, Aleeman?"
For the briefest moment, Aleeman said nothing.
His gaze drifted toward the distant horizon, where the last rays of sunlight faded into the embrace of night.
Then, with measured indifference, he answered,
"Nothing."
Without another word, he turned toward Şimşek, his loyal stallion. The silver-maned horse neighed softly, sensing his rider's intentions.
Aleeman swung himself onto the saddle in one smooth motion, his movements fluid, precise—like a man who had mastered the art of war but still struggled with the chaos of his own life.
He didn't glance at them.
Didn't offer another explanation.
Didn't humor his sister's temper tantrum.
Instead, he clicked his tongue, spurring Şimşek forward, riding away without so much as a parting glance.
Shi Zhao Mei watched him go, her arms still crossed, a smirk ghosting her lips.
The way he ignored everyone, the way he brushed off concerns like dust on his shoulder—it was infuriatingly intriguing.
She didn't chase after him.
Didn't call out his name.
Instead, she merely tilted her head, her crimson gaze following him like a predator tracking prey.
And then—
A low chuckle escaped her lips.
"Tch. Interesting."
The golden rays of sunset poured over the landscape, bathing the rolling plains in an ethereal glow. The wind whispered through the tall grass, a fleeting melody before the storm of battle.
Aleeman rode calmly atop Şimşek, his expression unreadable—stone-carved, wrought from tempered steel and quiet defiance.
But then—
A wall of shadows appeared ahead of him.
Figures emerged from the shimmering heat of the road, blocking his path like spectres of war materialising from the dust of history.
One by one, they revealed themselves:
Xuè Lián – The Crimson Blade of Ji-Gong, her Twin Crimson Blades—Xuefang & Luoyan—resting at her sides, eyes sharpened with cold resolve.
Liu Zhenbao – The Emperor's son, his arms crossed over his chest, his smirk laced with condescension and curiosity.
The Radiant Sky Knights (Golden Dragons)
Huang Feilong – The Sun's Champion, spear Solaris Aeternum glinting in the daylight.
Lin Yuexin – The Moonblade Valkyrie, her Twin Moonblades—Lunar Mirage & Crescent Reaver—curving like celestial crescents in her grip.
The Wei-Young Clan (Gray Dragons)
Lu Fangxiao – The Laughing Warlord, his War Axe slung over his shoulder and his Plasma Bow strapped across his back.
Mei Xianhua – The Silver Viper, twin Etheric Poison Blades gleaming with lethal promise.
The Tai-Wan Clan (Black Dragons)
Xie Longwei – The Black Executioner, his Executioner Greatsword—Deathfang—resting against the ground like an executioner's final judgment.
Ren Xiaotian – The Shadow Reaper, Twin Blacksteel Katanas whispering through the air like death's own caress.
The Li-Shu Clan (White Dragons) – The Unseen Protectors
Wu Xianfeng – The Wandering Sage, his Etheric Staff radiating celestial energy.
Bai Meiling – The Whispering Dove, her Chakrams humming in silent readiness.
And standing at the forefront, blade drawn in silent challenge—
Bai Hànfeng – The Phantom of Ji-Gong, his Phantom Blade & Stealth Dagger poised like a hunter ready to strike.
Aleeman reined in his horse, his onyx gaze scanning them with an expression of quiet, simmering intensity.
Then, with a voice as calm as a blade unsheathed, he asked:
"What is it you all want from me?"
Liu Zhenbao smirked, stepping forward with lazy arrogance, his ceremonial dao gleaming in the sunlight.
"What we want, Wolf of Abjannas, is simple—your head."
Aleeman let out a small exhale, the weight of war settling over his shoulders like an unshakable cloak.
"So the Ji-Gong clan sends a hunting party?" His voice was almost amused, almost weary.
"Quite the welcoming committee."
Xuè Lián remained silent, her eyes flickering with something unreadable, but it was Bai Hànfeng who stepped forward next, his Phantom Blade gleaming wickedly in the light.
"Enough talk. Draw your weapon, foreigner. I challenge you!"
Aleeman's gaze flicked toward him—cold, sharp, and unflinching.
Then, without a word, he swung off his horse, landing with the grace of a seasoned warrior.
His sabre, Wolf Claw, gleamed as he unsheathed it in one fluid motion, the blade catching the light like a silver fang bared against the storm.
His other hand reached behind his back, unlatching his ornate steel shield, its intricate golden engravings whispering tales of a thousand battles fought under the banner of Abjannas.
Aleeman's jaw clenched, his posture steady as a mountain before the storm. His dark eyes locked onto Bai Hànfeng like a predator sizing up its prey.
Then, in a tone as steely as the blade in his hand, he said—
"Come then. Let's see if the dragons of Ji-Gong can hunt a wolf."
Bai Hànfeng lunged first, his movements a blur, Phantom Blade aimed straight for Aleeman's throat.
But the Wolf of Abjannas was not so easily slain.
CLANG!
Steel met steel as Aleeman parried, his shield absorbing the force of the blow, his sabre striking back in a counter-slash.
Bai Hànfeng twisted, evading the attack with phantom-like fluidity, before coming in with a reverse dagger thrust—
But Aleeman anticipated it, twisting low, his sabre whistling through the air, nearly grazing Bai Hànfeng's ribs.
The crowd of warriors watched in stunned silence, their eyes locked on the clash between the foreign wolf and the phantom of Ji-Gong.
Xuè Lián's eyes narrowed as she studied Aleeman's footwork, his tactics, his uncanny ability to read his opponent.
Liu Zhenbao crossed his arms, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.
"He fights better than I expected."
Bai Hànfeng gritted his teeth, frustration flickering in his eyes as Aleeman matched him blow for blow, countering every feint, every deceptive strike.
This wasn't just skill.
This was battle-hardened instinct.
This was a man who had fought wars, not duels.
And suddenly, the warriors of Ji-Gong understood something they hadn't before—
This was not just a wolf.
This was a beast of war.
And war was what he did best.
The Sunset of Its golden rays glinting off the edge of Aleeman's sabre, the cold steel pressed against Bai Hànfeng's throat. The world seemed to hold its breath, the tension thick as tempered steel awaiting the forge's wrath.
Xuè Lián's grip tightened around her Twin Crimson Blades, her muscles poised to strike. Huang Feilong shifted his stance, the spear Solaris Aeternum humming with celestial energy, ready to leap to his comrade's aid.
Even the usually smug Lu Fangxiao lost his mirth, his War Axe held at the ready, eyes trained on the foreigner who had dismantled their Phantom with ease.
Yet, before a single blade could move—
"Stand down."
Liu Zhenbao's voice cut through the tension like an imperial decree, his hand raised in a silent command.
The warriors hesitated, their fingers still twitching over their weapons, but they obeyed.
Aleeman's onyx gaze flicked to Liu Zhenbao, unreadable as the void before dawn.
A pause.
Then, in one swift movement, Aleeman lowered his sabre, stepping back from Bai Hànfeng, whose throat bore a thin crimson line from where the steel had kissed it.
The Phantom of Ji-Gong exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching toward his blade—but one glare from Liu Zhenbao kept him in check.
Aleeman twirled Wolf Claw before sheathing it, his expression impassive.
"You had your chance, Ji-Gong warriors. Speak now—what do you want?"
Liu Zhenbao dusted off his robes, his smirk returning like a serpent flicking its tongue after a failed strike.
"No need to be so defensive, Wolf of Abjannas," he mused, rolling his shoulders as though the weight of their mission did not rest upon him.
Then his gaze hardened.
"We didn't come here to take your head."
Aleeman's brows furrowed slightly, unreadable, but there was a shift in his posture—subtle, but keen-eyed warriors would notice.
Liu Zhenbao continued, stepping closer.
"We came here to warn you."
Aleeman remained silent.
"The Emperor wants your head, and my dear sibling, Wei Yang Hong, is to be executed."
A gust of wind rustled the trees, but the silence that followed was deafening.
Aleeman's jaw clenched, his gaze sharp as flint against steel, yet his voice was smooth, an undisturbed lake hiding a storm beneath.
"So your father is finally making his move."
Liu Zhenbao smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"It's not a move—it's a checkmate, foreigner."
Aleeman exhaled sharply, crossing his arms, his sabre resting against his hip like a silent companion.
"And you? Where do you stand in this game?"
Liu Zhenbao tilted his head, his jade-green eyes shimmering with something unreadable.
"That depends."
"On what?"
Liu Zhenbao smirked.
"On whether you can protect my sibling."
A shadow passed over Aleeman's face.
Protect?
Not far from the scene, a lone figure crouched behind a tree, her fingers clenched into fists.
Shi Zhao Mei had come searching for Aleeman, her gut twisting with an uneasy premonition.
But the moment she had seen Liu Zhenbao and Xuè Lián standing beside the Wolf of Abjannas, her heart clenched, and instinct drove her into hiding.
Now, hearing Liu Zhenbao's words, her nails bit into her palm.
Executed? Her father… wanted her dead?
The thought was a dagger to the ribs, twisting deeper with every second.
Then—
She heard Aleeman's voice, steady as iron, unreadable as the stars before a storm.
"Why should I fight to protect you?"
Shi Zhao Mei's eyes widened slightly.
Did he mean her?
Liu Zhenbao laughed, shaking his head.
"Oh, don't misunderstand me, Commander. I'm not asking for you to save her because I love my sibling. I'm asking because if she dies—
"It will be your problem."
Aleeman's eyes narrowed like a blade slipping into its sheath.
Liu Zhenbao took another step closer, lowering his voice.
"The Ji-Gong clan believes Wei Yang Hong's curse is a blight, a divine punishment upon our bloodline. If my father succeeds in executing her, the clans will be emboldened. Next, they'll come for your land, your people. If you allow her to die, you lose the war before it begins."
Silence.
Then, at last, Aleeman spoke.
"I don't fight wars that aren't mine."
Liu Zhenbao's smirk returned.
"Then make it yours."
A slow exhale left Aleeman's lips, his expression unreadable.
The moment Shi Zhao Mei stepped out from the shadows, it was as though time itself hiccupped in confusion.
Her boots touched the dirt, her head held high, her red-black hair cascading in molten fire down her back.
Yet it was not just her presence—
It was what she was wearing.
A modern red-black crop top, catching the light with every subtle movement.
Her trousers fit snugly, accentuating her form, while her long detached sleeves flowed behind her like the banners of a long-lost empire.
Her hair—once raven-dark—now glowed with streaks of crimson, her red-amber eyes gleaming with quiet fire.
The male warriors quickly looked away, some coughing into their fists, others pretending to inspect their boots with newfound fascination.
Even Huang Feilong, normally composed, rubbed the back of his neck, muttering something about "unexpected distractions."
The female warriors shifted awkwardly, their eyes darting to Liu Zhenbao, who—
The crown prince looked utterly flabbergasted.
Liu Zhenbao turned his head away so fast it nearly cracked.
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE HEAVENS ARE YOU WEARING?!"
Shi Zhao Mei smirked.
"You don't like it, dear brother?"
Liu Zhenbao threw his cloak at her without hesitation, voice frantic—
"PUT THIS ON IMMEDIATELY!"
Shi Zhao Mei caught it, but made no move to wear it. Instead, she turned to Aleeman, head tilted, smirk widening.
"Well?"
Aleeman met her gaze, his expression as unreadable as the deepest crypts of Orphanius.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then, in a voice devoid of amusement, he murmured—
"Gemstone Bellied Troublemaker."
Shi Zhao Mei twirled the cloak in her fingers, smirk deepening.
"Weird brute."
Liu Zhenbao, now absolutely red in the face, looked seconds away from throwing himself into a river.
"I give up!" he muttered under his breath.
The air hung heavy with unspoken words, the weight of a thousand fates dangling upon the edge of a single decision.
Aleeman stood at the heart of it all, arms folded, his dark, obsidian eyes piercing through the gathered warriors like a blade slipping between ribs.
Liu Zhenbao exhaled sharply, pacing in agitation. Xuè Lián stood in composed silence, her crimson armour catching the golden daylight, while Bai Hànfeng leaned lazily against a tree, idly flipping his dagger between his fingers, his smirk ever-present, ever-mocking.
Shi Zhao Mei, standing just a few steps away from Aleeman, watched him carefully, her fire-lit gaze sharp with silent calculation.
At last, Liu Zhenbao turned on his heel, frustration clear in every movement.
"Then tell me, Wolf of Abjannas—what do you propose? What are we supposed to do?"
Aleeman's jaw tightened slightly, his gaze hardening like steel fresh from the forge.
"Your father," he said, voice smooth yet unwavering, "has been brainwashed by his own ego. His pride has made him blind, and now, it is leading him to ruin."
The statement hung in the air like a drawn blade, its implications sinking into every ear.
Liu Zhenbao's brows furrowed.
"My father may be reckless, but he is not a fool."
"No," Aleeman agreed. "But he is surrounded by those who would gladly let him believe he is invincible. There are those within the imperial palace who whisper in his ear—those who want him to execute Wei Yang Hong, not for justice, but for their own schemes."
Shi Zhao Mei's fingers twitched at her sides, her body going rigid at the words.
Liu Zhenbao's expression darkened further, his hands curling into tight fists.
"Who?"
A moment of silence.
Then, in a tone as dry as the desert wind, Aleeman replied—
"I assume, and with great premonition, that the one causing all this trouble... is none other than 'Old Bald Donkey' himself."
For two long seconds, the forest held absolute silence, as though even nature itself was deciding how to react.
Then—
A sharp, choked snort.
General Xuè Lián bit her lip, her shoulders trembling slightly.
Shi Zhao Mei turned her head away, desperately trying to mask her amusement, her eyes glistening with suppressed laughter.
But Liu Zhenbao, oblivious to the chaos unfurling behind him, narrowed his eyes.
"And why, pray tell, are you two laughing?"
Shi Zhao Mei waved her hand dismissively, clearing her throat in a pathetic attempt to compose herself.
"Nothing—nothing at all."
Xuè Lián, however, was less discreet, barely managing to restrain a chuckle as she murmured—
"Old Bald Donkey… no one except Monk Pan Zhihaou."
The laughter finally burst free, echoing across the open glade.
Bai Hànfeng snorted, shaking his head, while the other warriors tried (and failed) to hide their amusement. Even some of the stoic clan warriors coughed to disguise their chuckles.
Liu Zhenbao's entire face twitched, the veins at his temple throbbing visibly.
"Monk Pan Zhihaou is a high-ranking Imperial Monk and a strategist of the palace! He is not some 'Old Bald Donkey'!"
But his protests were utterly drowned beneath the waves of poorly suppressed mirth.
Shi Zhao Mei turned slightly to Aleeman, eyes still gleaming with mischief.
"You really have a way with words, don't you, Wolf of Abjannas?"
Aleeman, utterly unbothered, merely tilted his head, his face impassive.
"I merely state the truth. He is bald. And he is a donkey."
Xuè Lián covered her mouth, but her entire body trembled with silent laughter.
Liu Zhenbao, exhaling through his nose in pure exasperation, ran a hand down his face.
"If you're all quite done acting like children—"
"I will never be done," Bai Hànfeng cut in, smirking. "This is my new favourite title for him."
At last, the laughter died down, the warriors regaining their composure.
Liu Zhenbao, though still clearly irritated, turned back to Aleeman, voice firm once more.
"Jokes aside—if you're right, and Pan Zhihaou truly is behind this, what do you propose we do?"
Aleeman's expression turned grave, his arms crossing once more.
"For now, nothing."
Liu Zhenbao frowned.
"Nothing? You want us to sit idle while my father is manipulated and my sibling is hunted?"
Aleeman shook his head.
"Not idle—strategic. If we act now, Pan Zhihaou will know we are onto him. We do not yet have enough evidence to turn the Imperial Court against him. If we move too soon, he will twist it, and he will make sure your father never listens to reason again."
Liu Zhenbao's jaw clenched.
"Then what?"
Aleeman's eyes scanned the gathered warriors, his gaze like an executioner's blade, weighing their worth.
"For now, you must all tread carefully." His voice was steady, unwavering. "The Ji-Gong clan is full of traitors—among them, officials who work in secret to see its downfall. Some support Pan Zhihaou. Others serve foreign interests. There are spies even among the noble ranks."
His words settled like a cold wind upon the warriors, their expressions shifting into unreadable masks of contemplation and distrust.
Then, slowly, Aleeman turned his gaze back to Liu Zhenbao.
"You must be careful, Crown Prince. They will try to manipulate you as well."
A flicker of emotion crossed Liu Zhenbao's eyes, but he said nothing.
Aleeman continued.
"Until we have solid proof, do not speak of this to anyone outside of this gathering. If Pan Zhihaou and his men realise we know the truth, they will accelerate their plans."
His gaze swept over the warriors, a silent warning embedded in his words.
"Trust no one outside of these ranks. When the time is right, the truth will reveal itself."
Silence.
Then, Liu Zhenbao nodded, his expression grim yet resolute.
"Very well."
Shi Zhao Mei, standing beside Aleeman, exhaled softly, murmuring to herself—
"This is only the beginning."
Aleeman's fingers brushed the hilt of his sabre, his voice a quiet promise beneath the shifting winds.
"Yes. And soon, the game will begin in earnest."
As The weight of their conversation still lingered in the air, a silent storm brewing behind the unreadable expressions of those present. The forest whispered with the rustling of the wind, yet among the warriors, not a single voice dared to break the gravity of the moment.
General Xuè Lián exhaled sharply, arms crossed over her chest, her crimson armour catching the daylight like frozen fire. Her keen eyes narrowed slightly as she studied Aleeman, who remained unwavering, his stance firm like a lone bastion against the tide of war.
At last, she spoke.
"And what exactly do you suggest I report to the Emperor?"
Aleeman, ever composed, tilted his head slightly, his obsidian gaze piercing through her like a blade slipping through silk.
"Tell him the wolf does not run from the hunt," he said smoothly, "but rather, he chooses when to bite."
Xuè Lián's lips curved slightly, an amused yet calculating smirk.
"So poetic."
Aleeman's expression remained stone-hard, his voice calm but edged with quiet authority.
"Let the Emperor know that his order has been heard loud and clear."
She raised a single brow.
"And?"
Aleeman's fingers drummed lightly against the hilt of his sabre before he leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering just enough for only those closest to hear.
"Tell him that I—Aleeman Hakiman, the Wolf of Abjannas—shall answer his challenge in due time." His eyes gleamed with something dangerous, something that whispered of battles yet to come. "Let him believe that his threats have shaken me, that I am considering my next move carefully. Let him think I am the prey."
Xuè Lián's smirk widened, her mind already spinning with the implications of his words.
"And what of Pan Zhihaou?"
At this, Aleeman's lips curled into a smirk of his own, though his was far more sinister, carrying the weight of strategy and foresight.
"Tell the Emperor that his beloved monk remains above suspicion," he said, his voice smooth as flowing ink. "Let him continue to trust the 'Old Bald Donkey' without question. Let Pan Zhihaou grow bolder, let him weave his schemes unchecked—because the more confident he becomes, the easier it will be to rip his foundation from beneath his feet."
Xuè Lián let out a breath, stepping back slightly, her gaze lingering on him. There was something unsettling yet undeniably captivating about the way he moved, the way he spoke—like a predator who had already seen the ending of the hunt before the chase had even begun.
Bai Hànfeng let out a low whistle, sheathing his Phantom Blade with a smirk.
"You're more dangerous than you let on, Wolf."
Aleeman didn't respond. Instead, he turned his gaze to Liu Zhenbao, who had been uncharacteristically silent, his expression unreadable.
"Do you understand, Crown Prince?" Aleeman asked, his tone neither mocking nor belittling—but heavy with expectation. "Your father is surrounded by liars. You cannot act rashly. If we strike too soon, the game is lost before it even begins."
Liu Zhenbao held his gaze for a long moment before nodding slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line.
"Very well. But if you fail—"
Aleeman cut him off smoothly, voice laced with unwavering confidence.
"I do not fail."
Silence.
Then, finally, Xuè Lián sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
"Fine, Wolf. I'll deliver your message to the Emperor, though I suspect he won't take it kindly."
Aleeman's smirk widened slightly, his arms crossing over his chest.
"I expect nothing less."
Shi Zhao Mei, standing slightly apart, watched the exchange with a mix of admiration and quiet amusement, though her fiery gaze betrayed the concern hidden beneath her usual mischief.
As General Xuè Lián turned on her heel, readying to depart, she paused for a moment, her eyes flickering back to Aleeman.
"And you?" she asked. "What will you do next?"
Aleeman's response was immediate, effortless, as if he'd known the answer long before she'd even asked.
"I will prepare for war."
The amber hues of the dying sun stretched across the sky, painting the heavens in shades of crimson and gold, like an artist's final stroke before surrendering to the oncoming night. The evening breeze whispered through the trees, carrying the lingering scent of autumn leaves and distant fires.
Aleeman and Shi Zhao Mei rode side by side, his horse moving in silent harmony as they left the meeting behind.
Yet, despite the serenity of their surroundings, tension crackled between them like an approaching storm.
Shi Zhao Mei's ruby-red eyes, deep and unreadable, flickered towards Aleeman as the wind played with the crimson-black strands of her hair. Her expression was carefully controlled, but her fingers curled slightly around the reins, betraying the inner conflict raging within her.
At last, she spoke, her voice calm yet carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid words.
"So... you're preparing for war against my people."
Aleeman, ever composed, did not turn to face her. His gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, the glow of the sunset casting half his face in gold, the other in shadow, making him seem half-man, half-myth—a warrior shaped by both light and darkness.
"It's not a war," he said simply, his voice steady, unwavering.
Shi Zhao Mei's brows furrowed slightly.
"Then what is it?"
Now, Aleeman turned his head slightly, his obsidian eyes catching the fire of the setting sun, reflecting it like molten steel.
"It's a reminder."
Shi Zhao Mei scoffed, her fingers tightening around the reins.
"A reminder? To whom?"
Aleeman exhaled slowly, as if weighing his words, his voice calm but carrying a quiet edge—a blade wrapped in silk.
"To your Emperor. To his court. To the ones who believe they can dictate the fate of an entire people without consequence."
His words hung in the air, heavy and deliberate.
Shi Zhao Mei studied him for a long moment, the setting sun casting a soft glow against the sharp angles of his face. The man before her was not simply a warrior, not just a commander of Abjannas—he was something else entirely.
A force.
An inevitability.
And that, perhaps, was what unsettled her most.
"You speak as if you're some divine reckoning," she muttered, half-amused, half-exasperated.
Aleeman gave a slight smirk, his grip tightening on the reins as his horse's hooves crushed the fallen leaves beneath them.
"No, Shi Zhao Mei," he said. "But I will ensure they remember why they should fear the wolf."
Shi Zhao Mei said nothing, but her heart thundered against her ribs, an unfamiliar sensation curling deep in her chest—one she could neither name nor understand.
The wind howled between them, and somewhere in the distance, the sun finally surrendered to the night.