Fierce Clash, Both Sides Evenly Matched

The instant his sword tip touched the ground, the gray-gold mark in Chen Wuya's palm suddenly burned, as if a thread of fire had shot through his meridians. His pupils contracted slightly, and almost at the same moment, he heard the drums of the enemy formation abruptly change—not the low hum that stole souls and muddled minds, but three sharp beats like silk being torn.

It was here.

He pressed three fingers together and slashed them through the air before his chest.

All thirty men of the Vanguard-Breaking Battalion lowered their bodies in unison, their long spears angled forward. The archers crouched behind the sand dunes, fingers already resting on the triggers of their mechanism arrows.

The great banner at the center of the tribal army suddenly dipped forward. Iron cavalry poured down from the high ground like a black tide, their hooves crushing sand and stone with thunderous force. The front rank consisted entirely of heavily armored riders wielding massive axes, charging straight for the weak point on the allied army's left flank.

"Steady your breathing." Chen Wuya swung himself onto his horse, yanked the reins, and galloped toward the gap at the flank amid a shrill neigh. Rather than meeting them head-on, he raced along the edge of his own formation, lightly tapping each soldier's shoulder armor once with his short sword as he passed.

Once, twice, three times.

The rhythm matched their heartbeats.

The new recruits, whose breathing had been thrown into disarray by the enemy's crushing advance, were unknowingly drawn into that cadence. The hands gripping their spears stopped trembling, and the formation locked together once more.

A heavily armored tribal rider swung his axe down at him. Instead of retreating, Chen Wuya advanced. His warhorse leaped sideways, and he twisted atop the saddle, his short