Hidden Sentries Seek Treasure, Intelligence Acquired

The windblown sand still howled. Chen Wuya pressed his fingers to the ground, their tips faintly numb. The tremors from that last wave had carried far, and their aftershocks had yet to fade. He could sense that the rhythm of distant footsteps had changed—the enemy formation no longer dared advance in lockstep. Every step tested the ground before falling.

Bai Zhi crouched beside him, keeping her breathing low. She said nothing, merely touched his arm lightly to signal that it was time to leave.

He did not move.

"You still want to go back?" she asked.

"It's not that I want to." He slowly withdrew his hand. The bloody marks on his palm had stopped seeping so badly, leaving only a layer of dark red congealed along the cracks in his skin. "I have to."

He looked toward the hidden sentry post. That cluster of ruined tents lay tucked between two sand dunes, with sparse firelight and few guards. Their tremor-force diversion had drawn all the enemy's attention to the main defensive line, making this place quieter instead.

"Do you remember that tent?" he said. "The fabric was wrong, and the stakes weren't military issue. They don't station men there, but they must be hiding something inside."

Bai Zhi frowned. "You can barely stand steady. How are you going again?"

"I don't need to fight." He smiled, the dimple in his left cheek appearing and vanishing in an instant. "I'm only going to take what should have been taken."

Bracing himself against the ground, he rose slowly but without swaying. Though the Misaligned Force was sluggish, the heat still flowed through his meridians, like an iron bar fresh from the fire—scalding, yet unbroken. He knew he could neither force a confrontation nor linger. But he also knew that mechanism stakes