The New King's Mandate, Deep into the Enemy's Hinterland

Before the messenger had even finished speaking, Chen Wuya had turned and issued his orders. "Fortify the western camp at once. Archers to the walls. Scouts spread out along both flanks. Do not let a single person come within three li of the royal court." His voice was crisp, without the slightest hesitation. Bai Zhi stood half a step behind him, her fingers lightly resting on her sword hilt as her gaze swept over the far end of the wasteland.

Wind and sand swept gray dust across the drill ground. The newly bestowed black-gold command banner at Chen Wuya's waist swayed faintly, its corners not yet fully unfurled, yet it had already quelled the unrest across the entire field.

A moment later, an attendant hurried over and said in a low voice, "His Majesty requests that you both enter the hall at once."

Chen Wuya glanced at Bai Zhi. She gave a slight nod. The two walked side by side along the main road through the camp. Soldiers on either side lowered their heads and stood solemnly; no one dared utter another word. Last night's confrontation had branded itself into everyone's eyes—some hated, some feared, and some had quietly changed their minds.

The doors to the secret hall opened. The new king of the foreign tribes sat alone below the raised platform, a beast-hide map laid before him, its edges scorched black by fire. He looked up at them, his expression calm, yet carrying several more layers of unfathomable meaning than yesterday.

"The movements of the Third Prince's remnants are now clear," he began. "But they are not the most dangerous."

Chen Wuya stood in the middle of the hall. He neither bowed nor pressed for answers, merely waited for him to continue.

"There are seven tribes in the heartland.