The sea no longer stirred, and the ship steadied. Chen Wuya withdrew the hand he had pressed against the keel. His palm was burning as Misaligned Force made a circuit through his meridians, finally ceasing its wild rampage. He looked ahead. The island's outline was now clear—a dark, sprawling mass, its cliffs steep and trees dense, like a wall rising at the end of the sea.
"We can't delay any longer," he said.
Mo Feng stood beside the helm, his fingers still resting along the edge of the sand table. That energy fluctuation from before had vanished again, but they all knew this was only temporary calm. They had to go ashore; otherwise, once the second wave of the formation activated, even their retreat would be sealed off.
Bai Zhi emerged from the cabin hatch with her flexible sword in hand. The blade remained sheathed, but her gaze had already changed. She glanced at Chen Wuya, then toward the shore. "Someone's guarding that place."
Chen Wuya nodded. He had sensed it too. The woods were too quiet—not even the sound of wind slipping through the leaves. This was not a natural silence. Someone had deliberately pressed it down.
The ship reached the shallows. Its underside scraped over a reef with a piercing screech. The three of them leaped from the ship and stepped into seawater that rose past their ankles. The beach was soft, and every step left a wet imprint. Behind them lay the pitch-black sea; before them stood the shadowy depths of the forest.
The instant they set foot on land, three figures sprang from the woods.
They wore silver-black armor of a strange design, with protrusions on the shoulders like beast horns. Curved blades hung at their waists, red stones set into the hilts. Half-masks concealed their