Misaligned Force Fusion, Defeating the Mysterious Opponent

The wind had stopped, and the figure at the end of the camp road was gone.

Chen Wuya stood outside the tent, one hand still resting on the blue cloth strap, his knuckles faintly white. He did not return to the tent at once. Instead, he lowered his head and looked at the shadow by his feet—long, slanted, motionless, like a verdict yet to be delivered.

He knew tonight would not be peaceful.

Sure enough, less than an hour later, a disturbance came from the drill grounds. It was neither a horn nor footsteps, but an extremely low vibration, as if someone were tapping stone tiles again and again with the tip of a staff. The rhythm was strange, yet it carried a stubborn summons.

He threw on an outer robe and stepped out of the camp.

Bai Zhi was already waiting for him on the road, a flexible sword in her hand. The sapphire on its tassel glimmered with cold light in the dusk.

"He's back," she said.

Chen Wuya nodded. "This time, he isn't probing."

The two walked side by side toward the drill grounds, soldiers along the way hastily making room. At the center of the martial platform, that man already stood beneath the dying sun. His gray-brown fur cloak trailed to the ground, his hooked staff planted at an angle before him. The leather veil still covered his face, revealing only a pair of golden eyes that burned like undying fire in the darkening sky.

He said nothing. He merely pulled up the hooked staff and swept it sideways with one arm.

This was a challenge.

Chen Wuya removed his pack, set it by Bai Zhi's feet, and slowly ascended the platform.

"What exactly do you want to see in me?" he asked.

After a moment