The aftermath, part one

The moon was dark and the wind high, the night as black as ink, everything shrouded in gloom. On a stretch of shoal along the eastern bank of the Blackwater River, dense reeds intertwined with other water-loving plants, forming a green barrier that screened this section of the river.

A squad of Northern Alliance Army soldiers was busily searching, their nerves taut. With torches in one hand and sharp spears in the other, they carefully combed the reed bed for their target. Yet despite their best efforts, they found nothing.

As the disappointed soldiers turned to leave, none noticed a head quietly emerging from a clump of reeds nearby.

The figure cautiously raised his head above the water, drew a deep breath, then violently spat out a mouthful of muddy river water. Eyes wide, he stared at the cavalry receding into the distance and muttered, "Hmph. If I weren't afraid of revealing my whereabouts by making a move, I'd have finished you bastards off long ago!"

The speaker hastily wiped the water from his cheeks, revealing his face—it was Hurst, the grand instructor of the Silver Maple Secret Guard!

Hurst looked utterly wretched, drenched from head to toe, as though he had just endured a fierce battle.

His normally dignified, imposing face was now dark and brooding. One moment he frowned in thought; the next he gritted his teeth, seemingly wrestling with some thorny problem.

This battle had held extraordinary significance for him, for he had been entrusted with a crucial mission: lead the Silver Maple Secret Guard's trainees disguised as routed soldiers and find the best opportunity to assassinate the Northern Alliance Army's senior commanders.

The entire plan had gone astonishingly smoothly, beyond anything they could have imagined! With the aid of a secret drug, the trainees had paid