Inside the tent, the light from the Alchemy Furnace cast sharp, defined contours across Shen Luolin’s profile.
He kept his head down, the blunt carving knife in his hand moving slowly across the piece of white buckeye wood. Shavings fell away rhythmically, releasing a faint, delicate fragrance into the warm air.
He looked so focused that it seemed as if the world had shrunk down to this small piece of wood, isolating him from the wind, snow, and murderous intent outside the tent.
This was the nearly peaceful scene Aila witnessed when she walked in.
She didn’t speak immediately, merely standing quietly in the shadows of the door curtain, observing him.
Over the past few days, he had ceased all radical behavior, cooperating like a prisoner who had truly had his sharp edges ground away.
But she knew him too well. He was like a dormant tundra wolf; the quieter he became, the sharper his fangs were being honed.
Was this a disguise, or… was he truly willing to turn back for her?
The thought bubbled up uncontrollably, causing a faint, sharp pang in Aila’s heart.
She loathed herself for this moment of hesitation.
“It seems you’ve grown accustomed to this life,” she finally spoke, her voice carrying its usual coldness, attempting to mask her internal turmoil with a businesslike tone.
Shen Luolin’s movements did not stop. He merely gave a faint response. “Accustomed? Perhaps. Or rather, I just remembered those days in the capital… with nothing to do, I could only pass the time with these boring things.”
His words accurately pierced the softest part of Aila’s memory.
In the capital, he really had been like that.
Holding power without authority, he had spent his time bored out of his mind as the Instructor for the princes and princesses, radiating an aura of detachment that screamed “don’t bother me.”
And she had been the only one who could stay by his side, watching him spend an entire afternoon whittling a tree branch into an exquisite wooden sword.
“You’ve changed.” Aila stepped forward, her voice softening instinctively. “The old you would never have said such things.”
The old him would only have used silence and an even colder gaze to combat that boredom.
Shen Luolin finally stopped his movements. He looked up and met Aila’s eyes.
In those eyes, which were usually as fathomless as a frozen pool, there was now a trace of exhaustion she had never seen before—as if he had laid down all his burdens.
“People change, Aila.” He looked at her, using no military rank or title. “Perhaps the wind and snow here are too cold, making one want to grasp onto a bit of warmth.”
His gaze was too focused, too sincere.
Aila’s breath hitched.
Reason screamed a frantic warning in her mind, telling her that all of this could be a disguise, a sophisticated psychological ploy.
Yet, her heart—frozen for so long—began to melt at a single corner because of the word “warmth.”
Years of suppressed longing and admiration transformed into the most lethal poison at this moment, making her want to draw closer even though she knew a literal abyss lay before her.
She noticed a slight crease in his collar from sitting too long. That tiny imperfection felt strangely eyesore to her.
It became the only excuse she could find for herself to get close to him.
Aila finally smoothed the non-existent crease on his collar for him.
It was a gesture that bordered on tenderness.
Shen Luolin could smell the cold scent lingering on her, a mixture of wind, snow, and ink.
Her fingertips were slightly cool. As they brushed past his shoulder and collar, they brought a nearly imperceptible, metallic sensation that vanished in an instant.
It happened so fast that he didn’t have time to dwell on it.
He simply assumed it was an accidental touch from a metal accessory on her uniform and didn’t pay it any mind.
She said nothing, only giving him a deep look that contained far too many things Shen Luolin didn’t want to decipher.
Then, she turned and left.
The heavy door curtain fell, sealing away the last trace of her scent within the tent.
Shen Luolin stood silently, counting the fading sound of her footsteps and calculating the interval for the patrol rotation.
He knew this was his only window.
The guards outside the tent stood like two frozen statues, yet he walked straight toward the most inconspicuous corner of the tent.
Lifting the animal hide rug he had stepped on countless times, an irregular gap just large enough for a person to crawl through appeared in the bottom fabric of the tent.
Over the past few days, using the disguise of carving wood to pass the time, he had swept the fine wood shavings into the corner to cover the marks of his blunt knife slowly grinding away at the material.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he leaned down and slipped out soundlessly.
The cold wind cut like a blade, instantly stripping away the last of his warmth.
Instead, he felt a searing sense of freedom.
Like a shadow, he pressed against the stacks of supplies and the shadows of tents, moving without a sound.
The layout he had glimpsed on Aila’s sand table was already etched into his mind, now serving as an absolutely precise tactical map.
The guards at the Armory were dozing around a fire. He slipped inside like a lynx, quickly changing into a set of standard heavy armor used by the Dragon-Slaying Knights.
The cold plate armor pressed against his skin, isolating him from the outside temperature and stripping away the last personal trace of “Shen Luolin.”
From this moment on, he was merely an ordinary soldier following orders.
The closer he got to the center, the tighter the security became.
As he approached the direction of the Emperor’s Tent, he felt an extremely faint sensation of energy beneath his feet.
Pressure Runes.
He stopped in his tracks, waiting patiently.
A patrol squad happened to pass by in front of him. He calculated the rhythm, and at the moment their heavy boots landed—the exact second the rune energy fluctuated—he stepped into one of their footprints and blended through.
Not far ahead, something invisible in the air seemed to flicker with a regular pulse.
Mana Threads.
He narrowed his eyes, calculating the intervals of the energy pulses. In the thousandth of a second when the light dimmed, he slipped through sideways.
Everything was under control.
Just as he was about to reach the inner circle, with the magnificent Emperor’s Tent visible in the distance—
“Wooo—!”
A shrill alarm, loud enough to tear eardrums, rang out without warning across the snow-swept camp!
Shen Luolin’s body reacted faster than his mind. At the first note of the siren, he curled into the shadow of a supply pile, every muscle tensed.
Was he exposed?
He rapidly scanned himself; he hadn’t triggered any traps he knew of.
Had Aila left a hidden trap? Or was there a high-level barrier he hadn’t detected?
Then, dozens of massive Alchemy Searchlights flared to life. The snow-white beams of light didn’t lock onto him as expected; instead, they swung wildly toward another section of the camp!
Every knight pouring out of the tents and every searchlight beam converged frantically toward a single center of chaos—
But it wasn’t here.
Something had happened!
To avoid exposing himself, he stayed low, blending into the surging crowd of soldiers mobilized for the emergency, allowing himself to be shoved forward.
When he was pushed to the outer edge of the encirclement by the chaotic crowd, he finally saw the center of the disturbance.
That petite silver figure, fighting a bloody battle against countless knights—
It was Moyin!
She was covered in blood, yet she charged against the defensive line of heavy armor and Frost Halberds with a suicidal frenzy.
And every time she dodged, every time she counterattacked, every time she condensed and released flames… it carried the cold, efficient shadow of his own personal tutelage.
Shen Luolin understood everything in an instant.
A wave of cold fury and sharp heartache gripped his heart.
That idiot!
No, he was the idiot.
He thought he was placing pieces on a chessboard, not realizing they were both already caught in the same lethal web.
However, the current chaos became the best possible cover.
Hiding behind the crowd, he flicked his wrist, and a dagger he had swiped from the Armory slashed out soundlessly.
A crossbowman about to pull the trigger felt his weapon go slack; the reinforced bowstring had been severed.
He flicked a finger, and an inconspicuous pebble struck the flagpole held high by a commander, causing the signal for an encirclement maneuver to veer off by a fraction.
Shen Luolin prowled the edges of the boiling battlefield, prying open gaps in the path to survival for that silver figure time and time again.
And Moyin’s frantic advance also served as the perfect distraction for his path toward the Emperor’s Tent.
With Shen Luolin’s covert assistance, Moyin miraculously tore through the final line of defense!
The magnificent Emperor’s Tent was right within reach!
Shen Luolin also used the momentum of the pursuing tide to get within twenty paces of his objective!
Success was right before him!
He prepared to break away from the crowd and launch his long-planned fatal strike.
However, a grey figure appeared out of thin air in front of him, blocking his path completely.
It was Aila.
He didn’t know when she had appeared, but on her usually icy face was a chill he had never seen before—a mix of heartbreak and resolve.
She wasn’t here by chance; she had followed him the whole way.
“Luolin!”
Aila’s cry exploded in Shen Luolin’s ears, and it echoed across the entire chaotic battlefield.
It was also this shout that allowed him to see the scene that changed everything out of the corner of his eye.
The silver figure that should have been unstoppable froze in place the moment she heard that name.
That single millisecond of hesitation was enough.
Several heavy Frost Halberds tore through the air with a whistling sound, ruthlessly skewering her back and slamming her violently into the ground!
Simultaneously, Aila held a Runic Shortsword, its tip pressed firmly against Shen Luolin’s throat.
Her hand was as steady as a rock, but the tip of the blade experienced a nearly imperceptible tremor just a millimeter from his skin.
Behind her was the Emperor’s Tent, symbolizing the supreme power of the Empire—his destination, now unreachable.
On the other side, the girl being pinned into the slush and mud by several knights summoned the last of her strength to painfully lift her head.
Those silver eyes looked past all the grotesque, greedy faces, past the swirling snow and firelight, and gave him one final, broken look of despair.
There was no more hate left in them, and no more love.
There was only a dead, silent wasteland burned to ash, and a silent yet deafening question.
[So it was you after all.]
On one side was the Imperial power he intended to destroy.
On the other was the last glimmer of light he had tried to save.
And he was caught in the middle, unable to move.
Defeat on both fronts.
A total loss.
Premium Chapter
Login to buy access to this Chapter.