Final Confirmation, Battle Plan Takes Shape

The charcoal stick snapped, and half of it rolled to the edge of the sand table.

Chen Wuya did not pick it up. He stood there, his gaze resting on the three words "start of the Hour of the Dragon," one finger pressing down on the crossed-out old timeline as though confirming something. The lamplight in the tent flickered faintly, casting his profile in calm shadow. Only his knuckles tapped lightly against the edge of the sand table once—brief and crisp.

Outside, the cries of messengers gradually faded, and footsteps receded. The camp settled into a subdued bustle. Wind slipped through a gap in the tent flap, stirring an uncollected blueprint at the corner of the table. Its edge lifted, revealing beneath it a half-finished diagram of vibration transmission routes.

Bai Zhi remained where she was, one hand still resting on her sword hilt. She watched Chen Wuya and waited for him to speak.

At last, he raised his eyes and swept his gaze over the few remaining generals in the tent. None of them had left, and none spoke. They simply stood there, as though waiting for the final word.

"Just now, I said we would move ahead of schedule." Chen Wuya's voice was not loud, but it was steady. "Not because we're in a hurry, but because they're already waiting for us to be 'ready.'"

One general frowned. "But the soldiers still haven't fully mastered the synchronization rhythm of Misaligned Force. If their strength becomes misaligned during a forced assault, they may injure themselves instead."

"Then let them be misaligned." Chen Wuya walked to the sand table, picked up another charcoal stick, and redrew the attack routes. "Misaligned Force was never meant to follow rules. What you see as a flaw, the enemy will find even harder to