The instant firelight surged up from the direction of Wind Howl Ridge, Chen Wuya's fingers clenched sharply. A corner of tattered cloth was crushed in his palm, the pattern of broken chains pressing into his flesh and drawing a thread of warmth. That pulling sensation abruptly intensified, like an iron wire driven from his chest straight through the back of his head, forcing his spine taut.
He did not look back. He only barked, "Move!"
The group had not yet formed up, but there was no time to hesitate. Bai Zhi sprang forward, her flexible sword tracing a silver arc through the wind to guard the left flank. The others rushed on, crossing shattered rocks and ravines as they charged toward the outskirts of the royal court. The night wind hurled sand and dust into their faces. The farther they went, the heavier the air became, as though a water-soaked cloth had been pressed over their noses and mouths.
By the time they reached the outer ring of the altar, heaven and earth had already changed color.
Black mist poured from cracks in the earth, carrying a rotten stench as it wound between broken stone pillars. Two figures stood silently atop the central platform. One wore a blood-red robe and a mask over his face, his arms hanging like dead branches. The other stood at his side, silver armor reflecting a ghostly gleam, a curved saber angled toward the ground in his hand. The ruby set in its hilt flickered bright and dim.
Chen Wuya halted. A piercing, dull pain shot through his wounded shoulder, as if fine needles were burrowing inward along his tendons. Gritting his teeth, he slowly fed Misaligned Force into his Shanzhong Acupoint. His true qi flowed backward through the Ren Meridian as he forcibly steadied