Seeing Through the Trap, Annihilating the Remnants

The windblown sand gradually subsided, and the night breeze thinned the smoke over the battlefield. Chen Wuya stood at the edge of the high platform, his drumstick hanging at his side, his knuckles faintly numb from gripping it for so long. At the mouth of the valley ahead, a small band of surviving foreign soldiers was retreating in panic into that narrow ravine, their footsteps disorderly yet strangely unhurried.

He did not order pursuit.

Bai Zhi walked to his side, her sword already back in its sheath, her breathing steady. Following his gaze, she frowned slightly. "They're leaving too smoothly. They didn't even leave a rearguard."

Chen Wuya crouched and pressed his palm against the scorched earth. Misaligned Force slowly seeped into the ground, like water probing through cracks in stone. A moment later, he withdrew his hand, his fingertips coated in a thin layer of ash.

"They aren't fleeing," he said. "They're leading us in."

Bai Zhi did not move, only asking in a low voice, "How do you know?"

"The footprints are too dense, but the rhythm matches." He rose and dusted off his hands. "A defeated army shouldn't have command left, but every ten paces, one of them looks back, as if waiting for us to follow them inside."

He closed his eyes. Misaligned Force circulated through him of its own accord, quietly resonating with the vibrations in the air. The system activated soundlessly, drawing every subtle change around him into his perception—the echoes from the rock walls lagged by half a beat; hollow spaces beneath the soil were resonating; and the wind blowing from the valley carried the mingled scent of rust and grease, the smell left behind only by crossbows concealed for a long time.

When he opened his eyes again, he had already seen