Blood dripped from his fingertips, splattering dark spots across the stone platform.
Chen Wuya stared at that drop of blood, his pupils suddenly contracting. The cracks in his palm were still spreading, as though something were crawling upward from the depths of his bloodline. He abruptly looked up. Wind and sand swept withered grass past the mountain pass, while the distant horizon trembled faintly.
It was no illusion.
"Enemy attack!" he shouted low, raising a bone whistle to his lips and blowing hard.
The piercing whistle tore through the night. The martial world disciples who had just settled down in camp sprang up in alarm—some seized their swords, others rolled onto their horses. Bai Zhi already had her sword drawn; with a flash, she was at his side.
"Not the planned route." Her gaze swept across the northern dunes. "They bypassed the beacon tower."
Chen Wuya did not answer. He leaped onto the ruins of the stone platform, dragging his sword tip across the ground to swiftly draw three horizontal lines. "Misalignment formation. Groups of three—hold the slope entrance." His voice was steady. "Shields in front, spearmen behind, archers take the high ground."
Before his words had faded, the first wave of cavalry burst from the curtain of sand. Black horses, black armor, saber edges gleaming dark red—they charged straight for the camp's weak western flank. Three disciples met them head-on, only to be cut down at the first clash. One man's arm was nearly severed at the shoulder, blood spraying forth.
"Form up!" Chen Wuya sprang down, blocking the breach. Rather than retreating, he advanced. With one kick, he crushed an enemy horse's skull, then used the force to vault into the air. His sword swept sideways, cutting the second rider from his saddle.
Bai Zhi cut in from