The sun dipped low, casting golden hues over the estate of the Jun Clan. From the horizon, a caravan of silence advanced—a river of ragged figures marching in formation. Ten thousand men, once forgotten by society, now moved as one.
Jun Mo Xie rode at the front, his black cloak fluttering behind him, his eyes fixed on the gates ahead. Behind him walked Mo Yan, quiet and watchful, and his childhood friend—no longer the fool he once appeared to be.
On the estate's balcony, the old patriarch squinted toward the approaching tide.
"Who are they?" he asked.
His now-recovered son, once confined to a wheelchair, stood beside him. "They don't look like soldiers… yet they don't look like beggars either."
Jun Mo Xie halted before the gates and raised his voice, calm but commanding.
"These men were once the shadows of this empire—orphans, beggars, forgotten laborers. But I gave them names. Purpose. Discipline. Today, they are the first wall that will never fall."
He looked up at his grandfather. "This is my promise, fulfilled. The Jun Clan will no longer cower in its own city."
An older man stepped forward from the crowd.
"My name is Han Lin. Once a thief, a coward, a traitor. Today, I stand not to steal, but to guard. My loyalty is yours, Jun Mo Xie."
The courtyard was silent, but the weight of the moment was deafening.
The Cost of Power
That night, in a candlelit chamber, Jun tossed an empty coin pouch onto the desk.
"Everything's gone," he muttered. "All the gold we made from the gambling dens… spent on training, food, and transportation."
Mo Yan spoke quietly, "We can't arm them."
He stared at the inventory scrolls. "Not even ten percent."
His friend leaned forward. "Do we ask the merchants?"
"They want stakes. Secrets. I won't hand them the soul of my shadow army."
Then, his eyes narrowed.
"But there's another way. The Liu Clan—our oldest enemies—await a shipment of spiritual weapons, imported from the Eastern Beast Territories. It will pass through Black Eagle Gorge in two nights."
He stood up, the flame in his eyes brighter than the candlelight.
"If we lack coin, then we take value in steel."
The Plan
Inside a secret chamber, Jun unfurled a detailed map.
"The gorge is narrow and prone to rockslides. Perfect for an ambush."
He marked key spots.
"We'll block the front, trigger a landslide behind them, then strike from above. Silence and precision."
One of his lieutenants voiced concern. "The Liu Clan will have elite guards."
Jun didn't flinch. "If you fear their strength, then you're not ready for war."
He selected fifty elite soldiers—those with nothing to lose and everything to prove.
"You are now the Ghost Blades," he declared. "You don't fight for gold. You fight for the right to never be forgotten again."
Mo Yan stepped forward. "Let me lead the first strike. I know how they think. I've watched the Liu Clan's guards before."
Jun paused. "Fine. But you don't engage directly until my signal."
They began preparing gear made from scavenged materials: leather armor stitched from scraps, blades sharpened from farming tools, and explosives crafted from leftover alchemy ingredients. Jun taught them the timing of shadows, the silence of movement, the rhythm of killing with one blow.
The Ambush
Under moonlight, Black Eagle Gorge was a tomb of shadows.
The Liu convoy advanced cautiously, unaware of eyes watching from above.
Mo Yan's squad set the rock charges in silence. Jun stood behind a cliff edge, watching the convoy move into place.
Suddenly—crash! A rockslide roared behind them, sealing escape.
Before panic could rise, Jun's forces descended. Black masks. Silent steps. Blades flashing in the moonlight.
Jun himself confronted the convoy's captain, who wielded a shimmering spirit glaive.
"Who dares attack the Liu Clan?!"
Jun's response was simple. "A man you should've killed before you had the chance."
They clashed. The captain was a master of spirit techniques, unleashing waves of energy with every swing, but Jun's movements were erratic, ghost-like. He fought with precision, evasion, and timing.
Finally, with a flick of his wrist, Jun disarmed the man and ended him with a clean stab to the heart.
The rest of the guards surrendered. The convoy was theirs.
The Spoils
At dawn, crates were opened beneath the Jun Clan's watchful eyes.
Spiritual spears, scaled armor, blades that pulsed with essence—each a masterpiece of spirit beast crafting.
Jun nodded. "Distribute the weapons among our best. This… this is how we build a future."
He selected the finest items: a pair of shadow-steel daggers, armor with resistance to fire, a longbow carved from the horns of a storm elk.
He assigned them to his new commanders. "No rank without loyalty. No weapon without worth."
A captain whispered, "These would cost a fortune."
Jun smiled faintly. "They just cost timing and silence."
A Moment Interrupted
As the sun bathed the training yard in amber, Mo Yan approached Jun quietly.
"You took a risk last night," she said.
He nodded. "Every war begins with a theft."
She stepped closer. "I feared for you."
Jun looked into her eyes, voice low. "Fear means something matters. You matter."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. She touched his arm gently, words caught in her throat.
Then—
"Commander," a voice called out, sharp and cold.
Li Ling stepped forward, eyes narrowing at the sight before her.
"Perhaps we should focus on military matters. Or have the shadows turned to poetry now?"
Mo Yan withdrew slightly, her cheeks burning.
Jun's tone cooled. "This moment wasn't yours to interrupt."
Li Ling's jealousy flared. "I fight. I kill. I serve. But she gets your words?"
"You both serve. But only one of you understands silence."
Li Ling turned on her heel, vanishing into the ranks.
Jun stood still for a moment, then whispered to himself:
"Emotions are the last battlefield."
End of Chapter 7