Alliance Begins, Dissent Within the Alien Army

The oil lamp went out.

Chen Wuya opened his eyes. There was already movement outside the tent. The scrape of iron armor drew nearer, and a messenger loudly read out the military order beyond the camp gate, every word crisp and clear—"Effective immediately, the Central Plains and the Northern Frontier shall jointly oversee border defense deployments. The allied forces will be organized into three divisions, all under the royal court's command."

He sat up and lightly tapped the edge of the table twice with his knuckles. After last night's confrontation, the new king had indeed kept his word. The edict for the alliance had arrived even faster than expected—so fast it felt like a ceremony hastily arranged to nail shut a coffin.

Bai Zhi stood at the tent entrance, holding a newly issued deployment map. She said nothing, merely spreading it open and tapping the position of the right-wing camp with one fingertip. "The third squadron of the border garrison changes shifts today. The one leading them is a new face."

Chen Wuya walked over, his gaze falling upon the name circled in vermilion ink on the map: Agur.

He remembered this man. When the royal guards had escorted the captives away last night, one figure had stood at the very back of the crowd, neither moving nor lowering his head. Three red-bronze rings encircled that man's left arm—the mark borne only by veteran soldiers of the Northern Frontier. At the time, he had been murmuring to a soldier beside him, his voice pressed extremely low, yet Chen Wuya had still caught two words—"southern dogs."

Now, that name was written clearly and unmistakably on the allied army's deployment map.

"Let's go," he said.

The two left the side tent and headed toward the drill grounds along the main camp road.