The ravine had become a theater of psychological torment. Meng Tian, having used the very environment as a weapon to shatter the assassins' discipline, now descended from the heights. He did not drop down with a warrior's cry or a dramatic flourish. He simply emerged from the deep shadows at one end of the trapped caravan, a solid, imposing figure appearing as if he had been born from the mountain stone itself. The howling wind he had summoned died down, leaving an eerie, ringing silence broken only by the whimpering of the frightened children.
The eight handlers of the Silent Orchid, their nerves frayed and their formation broken, saw him. For a moment, they were frozen, staring at the lone figure who had single-handedly orchestrated their entrapment. Then, their training, their ingrained aggression, took over. With snarled curses and cries of rage, they charged.
The seven junior assassins, a mixture of men and women, moved first. They were a flurry of dark cloaks and glinting steel, their movements fast and coordinated, products of years of brutal, ceaseless training. They were the "Shadows" of their school, and they were deadly.
But they were fighting something that was not of their world. Meng Tian met their charge not with equal speed, but with an economy of motion that was terrifying to behold. He was a great stone in the middle of a rushing river. He did not need to dodge; he simply shifted his weight. He did not need a sword; his limbs were weapons of iron.
A female assassin lunged, her twin daggers aimed at his throat. He didn't even look at her. His left arm shot out, catching her wrist in a grip that crushed bone. He spun, using her own momentum to hurl her into another charging handler, sending them both crashing into the rock wall in a tangle of limbs. Another came at him from the side with a short sword. Meng Tian pivoted, his leg sweeping out in a powerful arc that shattered the man's shinbone with a sickening crack.
He moved through them with a brutal, dispassionate efficiency. A precise chop to a collarbone. A devastating palm strike to a chest that sent a man stumbling back, gasping for air. A quick, twisting motion that dislocated a shoulder with a wet pop. He was not fighting to kill; his Emperor had ordered them captured alive for interrogation. He was a master surgeon, systematically and calmly disabling each one, taking them apart with a terrifying knowledge of the human body's frailties. Within thirty seconds, seven of the eight assassins were on the ground, groaning, their bodies broken, their minds shattered by the sheer, impossible power of their opponent.
Only one remained standing: Kaelan, the Shepherd, the leader of the group.
Kaelan was different. He had not charged blindly with the others. He had watched, his cold, intelligent eyes analyzing the impossible battle, trying to comprehend the nature of the beast he was facing. He was a graduate of the school's highest, most lethal arts. He was a true master. He knew he could not win a contest of pure strength. He would have to rely on cunning, poison, and his own considerable skill.
He stood his ground as Meng Tian turned to face him, the bodies of his fallen comrades littering the path between them. "You are no mere soldier," Kaelan said, his voice a low, steady growl, betraying none of the fear that must have been churning in his gut. "What manner of demon are you?"
"I am the Emperor's justice," Meng Tian replied, his voice a quiet rumble.
Kaelan gave a sharp, mirthless laugh. He suddenly threw his hands out, and a cloud of fine, black powder erupted from his sleeves, carried on the breeze towards Meng Tian. It was a potent mixture of quicklime and ground viper venom, designed to blind and choke an opponent.
Meng Tian simply held his breath and raised an arm to shield his face. The powder washed over him, stinging his eyes and skin, but he did not falter. He had faced sandstorms in the Gobi desert; this was a mere annoyance.
As Meng Tian was momentarily distracted, Kaelan moved. He was incredibly fast, a black blur darting forward. He did not attack with his sword. Instead, he lunged low, a hidden, needle-thin stiletto appearing in his other hand, aimed at the femoral artery in Meng Tian's thigh. It was a killer's move, designed to end a fight in seconds.
But Meng Tian's instincts, honed by two millennia of combat experience, were faster. He anticipated the low attack. He did not try to block the stiletto. He simply took a slight step back, letting the needle-point glance off the hard leather of his boot, and brought his own leg up in a vicious, stomping kick. The blow caught Kaelan squarely in the chest, lifting the smaller man off his feet and sending him crashing backward to land hard on the stony ground, the breath driven from his body.
The Shepherd was a true warrior. He rolled with the impact, coming up on one knee, gasping for air but already reaching for another hidden weapon. He was a cornered viper, still dangerous, still ready to strike.
The final confrontation took place at the very edge of the precipice where the path had crumbled away. Kaelan, knowing he was outmatched in strength, made a final, desperate lunge, his main sword now flashing in a complex, dazzling arc aimed at Meng Tian's head.
This time, Meng Tian did not evade. He met the attack head-on. As the sword descended, he lunged forward, moving inside the arc of the blade. With a move of calculated and terrifying risk, he allowed the flat of the blade to strike his shoulder—a numbing, bruising blow that would have shattered the collarbone of a normal man—in order to get close.
The move gave him the opening he needed. His right hand shot out and clamped around Kaelan's sword wrist. The assassin's eyes widened in shock at the sheer, crushing power of the grip. Meng Tian's other hand shot to Kaelan's free elbow. With a single, sharp, wrenching motion, he applied an arm-bar that no human joint could withstand.
There was a loud, sickening snap.
Kaelan screamed, a raw, animal sound of pure agony as his arm broke at the elbow. His sword clattered uselessly to the ground. Meng Tian released him, and the Shepherd collapsed, clutching his ruined arm, his body convulsing in pain. His will to fight was gone, extinguished by the excruciating pain and the horrifying realization that he had been nothing more than a toy to this monster.
The battle was over. Meng Tian stood over his final, broken captive, his breathing deep and even, his own minor bruises already beginning to fade. He had single-handedly defeated the elite of the Silent Orchid, capturing them all alive as ordered. He was not just a general anymore. He was a force of nature.