Yin looked up from the fire.
The wind had shifted.
For a moment, it felt like the night was holding its breath.
Across from him, Yang’s smile faded. His hand moved instinctively to his sword.
They didn’t say anything.
But both of them knew—
Something was coming.
The general and Wang Xuance were already moving, trying to rally the soldiers as alarm bells rang in their instincts. But it was too late.
Arrows flew—silent, swift—cutting through the black.
A second later, shadows burst from the treeline, masked figures racing in with blades drawn. Silent. Coordinated. Precise.
It was a perfect ambush.
Most of the soldiers were still asleep. Those awake were green and scattered—barely trained, hardly armed. Chaos bloomed like fire in dry grass.
The enemy wasn’t targeting the entire camp. They encircled the squad directly.
This is no random raid… they’re after us, the general thought grimly as he deflected an arrow with his forearm guard.
"Everyone, tighten up! Don’t get separated!" Wang Xuance called, already scanning the dark for the source of the attack. "It’s too dark—we fight together!"
But just as the squad tried to regroup—they came.
A flock of crows. Dozens. Hundreds.
They swooped in out of the sky like a black tide, screeching and clawing, flying in tight circles that cut the squad off from each other.
Qi. These aren’t normal birds. Wang Xuance gritted his teeth, trying to pierce through the chaos with his senses. This is the work of someone powerful… someone deliberate.
The air was thick with feathers and shrieking cries. Flames sputtered. Visibility dropped to nothing. And just like that—the squad was broken apart, isolated one by one.
When Lu Yin and Lu Yang finally cleared the skies around them, a strange silence fell.
The crows were gone.
So was the firelight. So were the others.
They stood alone in the woods.
Breathing heavily.
Gripping their blades.
And surrounded by dark.
The campfire was snuffed out.
Only embers remained—glowing faintly in the dark like the last heartbeat of safety.
Smoke curled through the cold night air, stinging their eyes.
The wind howled between the trees, carrying distant shouts... or screams.
The night was no longer quiet.
It was hunting them.
"Damn it, where are the others?" Yang said, breath visible in the cold. "The fire’s out—I can barely see anything in this dark."
"There’s no time," Yin replied sharply. "Footsteps."
He was right.
Seven masked soldiers emerged from the shadows, blades drawn, eyes gleaming with murderous intent. They charged without a word, like wraiths summoned by the darkness itself. Their shadows danced across the earth like ghosts set free. The trees swayed violently as another gust tore through the clearing.
Yang moved first.
He launched at the nearest enemy with explosive force, sword flashing in a brutal arc that caught the soldier off guard.
A clean kill.
One down. Six left.
The attackers didn’t hesitate.
Three lunged toward Yang. The other three veered toward Yin.
Despite being outnumbered, Yang looked like the aggressor. His strikes were wild but sharp, forcing the enemies to cover for one another with practiced formation. They moved as a unit—no openings given.
But Yang was relentless.
Yin, however, didn’t strike.
He moved like water over stone—slipping between blades, stepping just out of reach. Graceful. Calm. Controlled.
But not without fear.
There was hesitation in his rhythm. The weight of uncertainty pressed into every dodge.
He could feel it—his Soulprint urging him to act, but his body refusing the final leap.
"Yang, don’t get hit! Fall in!"
"Already moving. You better catch me, Yin!"
Their backs met—just like a hundred sparring matches before.
One fire. Two blades.
"Too many," Yang hissed. "I can’t find an opening!"
Yin's voice was steady. "Remember our spar. We’re not the same anymore."
"No more holding back," Yang growled. "Yin—shield me. I’m letting loose."
"Understood." Yin’s eyes narrowed. "Let’s end this."
In an instant, Yang unleashed himself.
He moved like a wild beast—claw-like strikes mixing with swordplay in a dance of controlled chaos.
Every step was unpredictable. Every motion—explosive.
He wasn’t fighting with logic anymore.
He was fighting with instinct.
And Yin—he flowed around him like a current.
Not to strike, but to protect.
To read the chaos and anchor it.
His body shifted to cover Yang’s flanks, to catch the gaps, to keep their rhythm unbroken.
Strike.
Block.
Pivot.
Strike.
Two soldiers fell—fast, brutal takedowns.
Only four remained.
But now, all eyes were on Yang.
The remaining enemies moved in formation—coordinated, efficient, desperate.
They had chosen their target.
They were going to kill him first.
Ignoring Yin completely, they charged Yang.
Desperation made them bold.
But it also made them reckless.
They had made a fatal mistake.
They believed Yin was the shadow.
The silent one.
The one who wouldn't kill.
They couldn’t be more wrong.
A vision flashed in Lu Yin’s mind—the enemy’s formation as they charged his brother.
A flowing pattern of lethal strikes.
Elegant. Precise. Deadly.
A path through their blades that would end this fight here and now.
His Qi urged him forward.
But his heart hesitated.
He had never taken a life before.
This is war, he told himself. I knew there would be death. Yin, move!
But the image that surfaced wasn’t strategy.
It was his mother.
Her body, still and broken, as she was cut down.
To do to others what had been done to her...
Could he?
He froze.
And in that moment—the soldiers reached Yang.
Yin’s breath caught in his throat.
The world felt smaller. Louder. Every heartbeat thudded in his ears like a drum of judgment.
His hand clenched around the hilt—not from courage, but from something older. Something deeper.
The fear of losing the only person he had left.
Steel clashed. Sparks flew. Yang struck back with fury, but some blades slipped through his guard.
He grunted, stumbled.
He was being overwhelmed.
Yang knew the fight would end the moment Yin chose to act.
But he also knew the storm raging inside his brother.
So he gave him what he needed.
“Yin! Look at me! You’re not killing for revenge—
You’re fighting for me! Yin—if you don’t move… I die!”
Blood dripped from Yang’s mouth as he fought to stay standing.
“So don’t you dare freeze now. I’m not dying today—not without you.”
Those words struck deeper than steel.
And the image of their mother...
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Was replaced with something worse.
A lifeless Yang.
A world without his brother.
Yin hesitated no more.
His eyes snapped to the formation.
Four soldiers.
Four steps from taking everything from him.
He saw their movements before they made them.
A blade rising too high.
A right foot too committed.
Openings, written like brush strokes across a canvas of blood.
He didn’t think.
He moved.
Qi surged through him—not wild like Yang’s, but sharp.
Intentional.
A thread of silver slicing through shadow.
His body turned with precision. No wasted motion.
Not a dance.
Not a technique.
A decision.
The first strike was silent.
A palm to the throat—windpipe crushed.
The second—two fingers into the pressure point near the heart. Instant collapse.
The third soldier turned just in time to see Yin’s eyes.
Not cold.
Not angry.
Resolved.
The blade slid beneath his ribs like poetry—clean, controlled.
Three.
The fourth hesitated.
That was his mistake.
In the man’s fear, Yin saw a reflection.
A boy who hadn’t asked for this life.
Who only wanted to protect, not destroy.
Yin’s voice was low.
“I’m sorry.”
Then he stepped forward.
And ended it.
As each body fell, Yin’s eyes grew colder.
Silence returned—but it wasn’t peace.
It was after.
Yin stood there.
Blood on his hands.
Not trembling.
Not broken.
But changed.
Behind him, Yang let out a breath—half-laugh, half-sob.
“Told you… you weren’t the same anymore.”
He slumped to a knee, clutching his ribs.
“Remind me never to piss you off.”
Yin didn’t respond.
He just stared at the bodies.
At what he had done.
At what he had become.
And the wind kept blowing…
Cold as ever.
But no longer enough to make him shiver.
Then—
As if waiting for the moment to end,
a single figure emerged from the shadows.
Cloaked in black, a sleek mask hid his face, and a silent crow perched on his shoulder.
Another enemy had appeared.
But he was different.
A terrifying, cold pressure radiated from his presence—so heavy it seemed to press the world in around him.
The brothers froze, instinct locking their bodies in place as the figure approached.
Step by slow step.
No words.
No weapon in sight.
The brothers gathered themselves, breathing steady, readying for another fight.
Then the man spoke—
“So… you’re the ones he chose.”
His voice was smooth. Empty.
“I expected more. Weak. Pathetic. You’ll never avenge your mother’s death with strength like that.”
Shock cut through both brothers.
How did he know?
Could it be…?
Yang’s anger surged.
“Who are you?! How do you know about our mother?”
But the man didn’t answer.
He just kept walking—closer.
Yang couldn’t take it anymore.
He charged, eyes blazing.
“Answer me!”
With a roar, Yang drove his blade straight through the man’s chest.
But—
It phased through.
The figure vanished before Yang’s eyes.
“Tch—what?”
Then—
A voice, cold and intimate, breathed behind Yin.
“You hesitate to strike, even in war? How cowardly can you be?”
“You don’t understand revenge. You think morality will bring her peace?”
Yin swung hard behind him—reflex, fear, fury.
Nothing.
The masked man was gone.
Until he wasn’t.
Now above them—
Perched on a branch, legs folded, staring down with that motionless crow still on his shoulder.
“An impulsive brat… and a cowardly fool.”
“I wanted to see if you two were ready.”
“It’s obvious you’re not.”
Crows burst into the air from the branch where he sat.
When the feathers cleared, the figure was gone again.
Only his voice remained—an echo on the cold wind.
“If you haven’t changed by the next time we meet…
It will be the last.”
The echo of his voice faded, leaving only the rustle of wind.
Yang ran toward his brother, who was standing motionlessly, staring at where the man once was.
Yang grabbed him, determination in his eyes.
“Yin—he’s probably the one who killed her. What are you doing? Let’s go after him!”
Yin didn’t answer.
Yang shook him, frustrated. “Yin, do you hear me?! Let’s go!”
Then he saw Yin’s face—and he stopped.
Yin’s heart pounded like a drum in his chest.
That voice.
Those words.
“You don’t understand revenge. You think morality will bring her peace?”
Words from an unknown man—and yet they shattered something inside him.
Yang’s tone softened.
“He knew about her. He knew what happened. He spoke as if he knew us as well… Who could it be?”
Yin’s eyes were still locked on the place the man had vanished.
His hand was trembling—just barely.
But enough.
“I’ve never felt anything like that,” Yin said quietly.
His voice sounded distant, like it wasn’t fully his.
“Not fear. Not even rage. Just... emptiness.”
He swallowed.
“Like he looked straight through me—and saw everything I didn’t want to be.”
Yang didn’t know what to say.
So he said the only thing that felt real.
“We’ll find him. We’ll get answers. Together.”
Yin nodded. But slowly.
Almost like the weight of the moment refused to let him rise from it.
From behind the trees, torches began to flicker.
Familiar voices called out in the dark.
The rest of the squad—arriving too late.
But something in the air had changed.
And neither brother could look at the firelight the same way.
Not after the shadow that just passed through it.
The silence was broken once more—this time by the sound of a dozen footsteps approaching through the underbrush.
Yang flinched.
“Yin, get it together,” he said sharply, eyes scanning the shadows. “There might be more.”
But a warm orange glow lit the clearing.
Torches.
Voices.
It wasn’t the enemy this time.
It was the squad.
General An Lushan emerged first, flanked by Wang Xuance, Wang Hua, and the lieutenants.
Li Yi, Siming, Fang, and Zhongkan spread out in formation, weapons drawn—until they saw the two boys.
They slowed.
Blood.
Broken ground.
Scorched earth.
No corpses in sight.
But the signs of battle were unmistakable.
Yang broke into a sprint, relief washing over him as he ran toward them.
“We’re okay,” he said quickly. “We’re fine now.”
The general held up a hand.
“What happened, Yang? After those crows passed through, you both vanished.”
Yang paused, breathing hard.
“I—I don’t know how, but we ended up in a different part of the woods. The crows… it was like they pulled us through shadow.”
“It wasn’t just disorienting,” Yang added. “It was like they wanted us lost—like it was all part of something bigger.”
His voice dropped. “Someone separated us on purpose.”
He glanced over his shoulder.
Yin hadn’t moved.
“Then… soldiers ambushed us. Seven of them. Me and Yin fought them off, but—”
He hesitated.
“But one of them wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t there to fight.”
Yang’s voice dropped.
“He was there for us.”
Wang Xuance stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
“Describe him.”
“He wore a mask. A crow perched on his shoulder. He never drew a weapon… and he knew things.”
Yang looked away.
“About our mother.”
A silence fell over the squad.
Xuance’s expression darkened.
That man… did he isolate them on purpose? His Soulprint... I couldn’t sense a thing.
Li Yi stepped past the others, eyes landing on Yang’s blood-stained side.
“Yang, you’re hurt. Sit down—I need to treat you.”
“I’m fine, Yi. Really.” He waved her off weakly.
He turned to the general again.
“That man didn’t attack. He just… spoke. Taunted us. But his presence alone—his strength—was way beyond ours.”
An Lushan said nothing.
His gaze drifted past Yang, toward Yin.
Yin was still standing exactly where they’d found him.
Alive.
But unmoving.
His back was visible. His face wasn’t.
But it didn’t matter.
His presence—usually calm, composed—was gone.
He looked like a ghost.
Li Yi knelt beside Yang, inspecting the gash at his side with a sharp breath.
“You’re lucky this didn’t go deeper. Hold still.”
“I said I’m fine,” Yang muttered, wincing as she pressed a cloth to the wound.
“You’re bleeding. You’re not fine,” she snapped gently.
As she worked, she followed Yang’s glance across the clearing—toward his brother.
The general’s voice cut in.
“Yi. Tend to Yin first.”
He turned back to Yang.
“We’ve cleared the rest of the forest. The remaining enemies are finished. We’ll assess the camp next.”
Yang nodded.
“Understood, General.”
He hesitated, then looked at Li Yi.
“He’s shaken up. Maybe you could… help him more than I can.”
She nodded gently.
“I’ll do my best.”
An Lushan turned to Xuance.
“Stay here. You and Hua. Search for any remaining traces of that masked one. He’s not just dangerous—he’s planned this too well. We need answers.”
Wang Xuance nodded solemnly.
He didn’t speak.
But his eyes drifted once more to Yin.
He recognized something in that silence.
Not fear.
Not shock.
Transformation.
Li Yi walked slowly across the clearing, the torchlight flickering in her eyes.
She didn’t call out to Yin.
She knew better than to speak too soon.
He was still staring into the dark.
Not at anything. Just… into it.
As if he wasn’t fully back yet.
She stopped beside him, gave it a moment, then spoke.
“Little fox, you don’t have to answer but listen, okay?”
Yin blinked slowly. His shoulders didn’t shift, but his eyes flicked her way.
She crouched next to him, her voice softer now.
“I’m not sure what happened but… you’re not alone out here.”
Her words weren’t heavy. They didn’t try to fix anything.
They were just… true.
“You don’t have to talk. Or explain. Or pretend it didn’t mess you up.”
She paused, eyes watching his carefully.
“But I’m here. All of us are.”
Yin’s eyes returned to the dark.
He said nothing.
But the silence wasn’t as sharp this time.
Not as hollow.
Li Yi smiled faintly and gave his arm a small nudge with her elbow.
Just enough to remind him she was real.
“You don’t have to be strong right now, Yin.”
“You just have to be here.”
She stood, giving him space again.
Didn’t wait for a thank you.
Didn’t expect one.
She just turned and walked back toward the others, glancing once over her shoulder—
not to check if he was okay,
but to remind him he was seen.
Yin sat down slowly once she was gone.
The grass beneath him was damp.
The torchlight no longer reached this far, but that suited him fine.
The weight in his chest hadn't lifted.
But it wasn’t pressing him down anymore.
Not exactly.
It just… existed.
Like something new he’d have to carry now.
He looked at his hands again.
They’d stopped shaking.
That scared him more than the trembling.
The blood was drying beneath his fingernails.
Rust-colored. Flaky. Real.
He remembered every moment of it.
The strikes.
The final breath.
The eyes that stared back at him—not with rage or hate.
Just surprise.
It hadn’t felt like vengeance.
It hadn’t felt like justice.
It had felt… necessary.
And now, that necessity wouldn’t leave him.
He stared upward, through the twisted branches and into the stars.
What changed in me tonight?
He didn’t know how to name it.
Only that something had been shaken loose—
something he’d been holding tightly without knowing.
The masked man’s voice echoed again.
“You think morality will bring her peace?”
Yin had wanted to scream at him.
To fight him.
To make him pay.
But when the moment came… he couldn’t even move.
Not out of fear.
But because deep down, he knew—
The man wasn’t lying.
Peace wasn’t something given.
It had to be carved out of the chaos.
Claimed.
Defended.
And sometimes, to protect what mattered…
you had to become something you didn’t want to be.
Not because you liked it.
But because no one else would do it for you.
He looked toward the camp.
Toward the squad—his squad.
Siming sharpening his blade.
Zhongkan speaking softly with Fang.
Wang Hua silently watching everything, arms folded and unreadable.
Yang… his brother.
Still laughing through the pain.
Still trying to protect him in his own way.
Yin felt something stir beneath his skin.
A low warmth.
Not comfort.
Resolve.
He had something worth protecting now.
He wasn’t just surviving anymore.
He had people beside him.
A mission ahead of him.
And somewhere out there—
The man in the mask was waiting.
Watching.
Maybe even guiding him in ways he didn’t understand yet.
But the next time they met…
Yin wouldn’t be the same.
He would carry this moment forward.
Not as a wound.
But as a scar.
One he’d choose to wear.
The wind stirred the leaves above him like a whispering omen.
Somewhere beyond the trees, snow was already falling on the northern frontier.
He could feel it.
A colder war waited there.
Not just swords and rebels—
But something deeper.
Secrets.
Truths.
And perhaps… the answer to everything they had lost.
Yin turned back toward camp, the firelight now faint in the distance.
This time, he walked toward it without hesitation.
He stood slowly.
The sky above him was darker than before.
But he wasn’t afraid of the dark anymore.
“The next time we meet…”
Yin whispered to the wind,
“…I’ll be ready.”
Soulscript Studio
