Foreign Races' Movements, Undercurrents Surge

Sand grated softly beneath his boots as Chen Wuya slowly straightened, his gaze never leaving the southern horizon. The tremor from when he had probed the ground still lingered in his palm—it was not the rhythm of men and horses marching, but more like something heavy being dragged slowly along, pressing the sand until it faintly caved in.

"Seal off the entrance to South Valley." His voice was not loud, yet the soldiers nearby who had been inventorying their weapons immediately stopped what they were doing. "From this moment on, no one enters or leaves without permission."

An engineer captain hurried forward. "General, should we post sentries?"

"Set up three lines of markers, with wooden stakes and rope. Report any new tracks to me at once." He paused. "Pay particular attention to wheel ruts or drag marks. Don't let them get mixed in with the old traces."

Bai Zhi approached with the freshly copied inventory of spoils in hand. She glanced south, then looked to Chen Wuya. "Do you still remember that bronze token?"

He nodded and drew the eagle-feather bronze token from his robes. The metal had been warmed by his palm, its pattern clear and distinct. "The Seventh Squad... when they vanished back then, not even their bodies were recovered. Now it has turned up on an enemy commander. That means they infiltrated us long ago."

Bai Zhi's brows drew together. "Could it have been seized and worn casually afterward?"

"No." Chen Wuya shook his head. "These secret-command tokens bear no names, only numbers. They are useless in an outsider's hands and would only expose their bearer. If he carried it, then either he was deliberately flaunting it, or... he already knew the truth."

Footsteps sounded in the distance as three allied commanders approached side by side. The