Chen Wuya's fingers still gripped that bronze token, his gaze fixed on the carved eagle pattern. The Greenwood disciple stood where he was, the cloth sack in his hand hanging slightly low. The panic had yet to leave his face, but a stiffness had crept into it.
"A firestarter?" Chen Wuya's voice was low, as though he were merely asking in passing.
"Y-yes." The man's Adam's apple bobbed. "I was in too much of a hurry just now. I dropped it beneath a tree root."
Chen Wuya did not loosen his grip. He remembered that when Han Tianba had left, the group had inventoried their supplies. No one had mentioned losing anything.
Bai Zhi quietly stepped half a pace forward, her right hand already sliding to her sword hilt, fingertips lightly pressing the end of the scabbard. At a single command, she could draw the blade three inches.
"What is your name?" Chen Wuya finally lifted his eyes.
"Li Si... Third Squad of Greenwood's Southern Stronghold."
"Southern Stronghold?" Chen Wuya sneered. "Men from the Southern Stronghold wear gray hemp boots. Those on your feet are short oilskin boots—only hunters from Northern Ridge dress like that."
The man's expression changed.
Chen Wuya suddenly flicked his wrist. The bronze token flew from his hand, and he smoothly drew the shortsword at his waist. With an upward rap from the flat of his blade, he sent the spinning token hurtling toward the man's forehead.
The man instinctively raised a hand to block it.
In that instant, Chen Wuya closed in. His left palm struck against the man's chest, and Misaligned Force burst from his palm. True energy surged backward through the man's meridians, piercing straight into his Shanzhong Acupoint.
The man gave a muffled grunt and staggered back three steps. His back slammed