Elena sprinted across the battlefield, her armor cracked and her blade dripping. Her eyes locked on the mana core inside the warp gate. If she destroyed it, reinforcements would never arrive.

But when she reached it, she froze.

Ezra was already there. His sword was buried deep in the glowing core. The light shuddered, then died. The gate collapsed.

Elena smiled faintly, then her body gave out. She fell.

"—Elena!"

Ezra caught her before she hit the ground. He checked her pulse. Weak, but alive. Her body was covered in wounds, each breath shallow. He pulled out the signal gun and fired.

A red fog spread across the sky. The signal of completion.

Ezra looked at Mirella's corpse in the distance, then back at Elena. "Good grief… killing above your stage. What kind of monster are you?"

A Rank 2 killing a Rank 3 wasn't unheard of—artifacts, tricks, and luck could tip the balance. But above Rank 4? The gap became a chasm. A lower rank simply did not kill a higher one. It was a truth written into the marrow of cultivation. And yet… here she was.

Ezra uncorked a vial, pressing it to her lips. The potion trickled down, barely swallowed. He rubbed her throat, forcing her body to accept it. Then he took another, crushing the glass and spreading its shimmering contents across her wounds.

The air shifted. Ezra's head snapped up.

A figure staggered into view—Professor Sergei. His once-immaculate silver hair was drenched in blood, his robes shredded, his breath ragged. He looked less like a professor and more like a revenant that had crawled out of hell.

"Professor!" Ezra called. "Are you alright?"

Sergei landed heavily, nearly stumbling. "Yun Hao… escaped…" His eyes darted to Elena, softening for the briefest moment. "How is she?"

"Alive," Ezra said firmly. "Barely. Most of the betrayers have been dealt with. Only three Rank 6s remain."

Sergei gave a slow, heavy nod, as though the weight of the battlefield pressed against his skull.

Then another shadow cut across the red-stained sky. Mustafa descended, his body broken, one arm severed at the elbow. His face was ashen, his flight uneven, but he still stood straight when he landed.

"General…" his voice was hoarse, but steady. "All the betrayers have been dealt with. Two hundred surrendered. One Rank 6 escaped. Two are dead."

A silence fell. Sergei's golden eyes lingered on him, then on the corpses littering the ground. "Losses?" he asked quietly.

Mustafa's throat tightened. His voice cracked.

"…Including us here… only a hundred survive." His voice broke. "The rest… all gone."

The silence was heavy. Mustafa trembled, on the verge of tears. It was his first war, and nearly all his friends had died.

Sergei stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. His voice was quiet, but firm.

"Mustafa. War takes everything. Friends, family, even your hope. Do not break. Your comrades died as soldiers. Carry that weight, and keep walking. That is all we can do for them."

Mustafa lowered his head, fists clenched, fighting to stay composed.

Ezra didn't move. His eyes stayed on Elena's weak breathing, his mind cold.

Whether a hundred survived or none did, it changed nothing. Victory wasn't measured by lives saved, but by objectives completed. The dead were numbers, the living just tools that hadn't broken yet.

He had done his part. The mission was complete.

Nothing else mattered.

Sergei and the others began to walk.

Outside the ruins of the battlefield, bodies lay scattered. Some soldiers were slumped against broken walls, drinking healing potions with shaking hands. Others had lost arms, legs, eyes—staring blankly at nothing. The air was heavy with the stench of blood and smoke.

After some time, Mustafa's direct subordinate ran up, saluting with a tired hand.

"General… we've informed headquarters. Marshal's orders are for all units to withdraw and rest."

Sergei gave a short nod. His steps were slow, each one heavy with exhaustion. Mustafa followed beside him in silence, his face pale.

Ezra said nothing. He carried Elena with the other injured soldiers, her blood still staining his arm. When the wagons arrived—makeshift transports to carry the wounded back to the rear lines—he placed her inside without hesitation.

Ezra stood there for a moment, watching the wagon door close, before turning back to the field without a word.

Sergei walked up beside Ezra as the trucks carrying the wounded get away. His gaze lingered on Elena for a moment before he spoke.

"She'll be fine. She's exhausted, and her organs are strained, but Bloodfort has a peak Rank 6 healer. They'll stabilize her with high-grade devices. Don't worry."

Ezra didn't nod. His eyes flicked to the blood still dripping from Sergei's robes.

"I'm more worried about you. At this rate, won't you die?"

Sergei's brow twitched. "I'm trying to give you comfort, and you—"

Ezra smirked. "Hehe. Don't need it. But you should get treatment. Who else is going to take our sword classes if you're dead?"

Sergei froze, completely thrown off. His mouth opened, then shut again. Finally, he let out a sharp "hmph" and turned away, muttering under his breath.

Ezra followed with a grin, clearly amused.

—————————-

They reached the front wall. Sergei changed into a clean set of clothes and washed the blood off with a healing potion. Surface cuts closed fast. His mana had not recovered yet.

They walked along the battlement. Marshal Chu sat nearby, meditating. His spear floated at his side. It was around 2 PM; the fighting had paused. Some soldiers returned to guard, others rested where they stood.

Marshal Chu opened his eyes and looked at them. "Good work," he said. "Ezra, I'll reward you. Don't worry."

He rose. His spear returned to its ring. He went to Sergei, put a hand on his shoulder, and pulled a small vial from his space ring. "This is a Rank-7 mana recovery potion," he said. "You did well. Recover quickly—I still need you." He handed the vial to Sergei. "Take it."

Chu turned to the group. "Our protective formation won't hold more than a day. The enemy will break through if we don't act. We must destroy their jammer and send the signal. We also need someone to repair the warp gate."

Chu Kuangren looked toward Ezra. "We need to talk about that. Follow me. Ezra, stay here."

"But—" Ezra started. Kuangren cut him off. "You too. Come."

Ezra followed. They moved to the command room. Soldiers worked at terminals, controlling drones and watching CCTV feeds of the city. Marshal Chu closed the door behind them and sat in a quiet office.

"They hid the jammer well," he said. "From what we've found, they have only one jammer, but it's high-level interference. We must find and destroy it. I've sent teams out of formation to search. Some results are coming in."

He pointed to a map. "West of Bloodfort, scouts report a Rank-6 and a Rank-5 guarding something. I think that's the jammer."

Ezra shrugged. "Could be something else. Hard to be sure."

Sergei spoke up. "It's the jammer. Our detector picked up its signature. It won't hold us long—maybe twenty-four hours at best. Headquarters needs a report. I sent the last update yesterday. If no signal goes out in fifteen hours, they'll assume we're in full war. I can send my team to take it, but I don't know when the enemy will move. I want full forces here."

Chu looked at Ezra. "Can you go?"

Ezra blinked. "Seriously? Can't you send someone else?"

"No one else is free," Chu said. "Can you do it?"

Ezra measured the room. He looked at his hands, the way his mana had been drained. "Fine. I need one hour to recover and prepare. I'll leave in an hour."

"Good." Chu nodded. "I'll send ten top mages to fix the warp gate. They should take about seven hours if nothing goes wrong. We must hold until then. I've sent scouts. The vampires plan to surround us. Their warp gate failed, but they will launch an all-out attack soon. I'll send most forces to the front and cover the city with formations."

He turned to Sergei. "General Sergei, I need you to lead the defense at the west. Don't worry—I'll follow behind. Coordinate with the squads I send. Hold until Ezra and the repair team finish."

Sergei bowed. "Understood."

They left the command room with orders clear. Ezra kept his face neutral. Sergei held the Rank-7 potion at his side and focused on preparing the men. The wall looked out over a quiet, bloody field. The clock was ticking.

——————————

Author's Note:

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