Shu Mingye, still half-drenched in blood, did not even glance up. He carved another puppet in half with a single sweep of his sword. "What now," he muttered, as if tired of the world's endless stupidity.
Linyue stayed perfectly calm. She crouched lower, her sharp eyes continued scanning the courtyard carefully. Then she tugged lightly at Shen Zhenyu's sleeve.
"Look," she murmured.
Her finger pointed toward a soldier in the far corner. Unlike the others, this one had not moved at all. His head tilted slightly, his gaze locked not on them but on Shu Mingye. He had not so much as shifted his stance in all the chaos. Not even breathing hard despite the chaos around him.
"Doesn't that soldier look strange?" Linyue asked.
Shen Zhenyu followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing. "...You're right."
At that moment, the soldier slowly lifted his head. The helmet hid his face. The full armor gave nothing away. He held his sword loosely in one hand, too casual for a battlefield drenched in screams. And his build—slimmer, lighter—wasn't quite right for an ordinary soldier.
Song Meiyu jabbed her finger so hard she nearly toppled forward. "It must be that one!"
He Yuying stepped to the edge of the roof. "The puppets are charging at us. That one's not. Definitely not a puppet."
Shen Zhenyu's eyes narrowed. "Don't waste energy on the puppets. Focus on catching the culprit."
No more words were needed. In perfect unspoken agreement, Shen Zhenyu, Song Meiyu, and He Yuying leapt from the rooftop. Their robes flared behind them as they cut through the air, landing in perfect rhythm before dashing straight for the suspicious figure.
Linyue didn't follow. Her eyes flicked to Shu Mingye.
Down in the courtyard, Shu Mingye split another puppet in half with one brutal swing. A crawling one lunged for his ankle. He didn't even bother looking at it, he just kicked it mid-air and sent it flying into a wall. His movements, sharp as they were, had begun to slow. His shoulders sagged between blows. His steps dragged heavier with each strike. The wound at his chest had turned his robes darker, and his back looked bent not from the weight of enemies but from blood leaving him too fast. Definitely blood loss. Not that the Demon King would ever admit it if asked.
Linyue leapt off the roof, not toward the culprit, but straight for him. She landed softly on the stone, and she sprinted forward.
Another puppet lunged at Shu Mingye, its arms outstretched like a child demanding the world's most violent hug. He was too busy trying to stay upright to notice.
Linyue noticed. Her hand slipped into her robes. With a sharp snap, her flute extended into a long, slender spear. Spiritual energy rushed to her palm and surged into the weapon. Blue flames leapt along the shaft, stealing the very air from the courtyard. Then she threw hard.
The spear cut through the chaos with a sharp whistle, faster than breath. A heartbeat later, it pierced the puppet's chest dead center. The blue flames roared to life, devouring the puppet in one violent blaze. The puppet didn't even get the chance to squeal before it crumbled into black ash and collapsed in a heap.
Shu Mingye caught the flash of blue in the corner of his eye. That flame. Her flame.
His whole body screamed. His legs trembled. His arms moved only because instinct forced them—swing, block, cut, repeat. He didn't dare turn around. He wanted to. He wanted to more than he wanted to breathe. But the puppets kept coming. Another wave closed in, dragging shattered limbs and snarling with empty eyes that somehow burned with hunger. So he kept fighting. Because if he stopped for even a moment, he would not be standing when she reached him.
Pain throbbed through the wound in his chest with every movement, every breath. His ears rang. Blood filled his mouth, bitter and metallic. And still, in that storm of agony, his lips curved. Just a little. Just enough.
And then—whoosh.
The world around him lit up in brilliant blue.
A tidal wave of blue flame swept across the courtyard. This flame was colder and sharper somehow. It crashed down on the puppets, curling around them, eating their bodies, leaving nothing behind but black ash swirling in the air.
Shu Mingye froze for half a breath, his vision drowned in blue. Sweat and blood blurred his eyes, but through the storm he caught a glimpse of a figure moving with unshaken purpose. Her robes snapped in the wind, her hair shone as the light caught, and she looked like something carved out of fire and resolve.
"Well," he muttered, voice low and hoarse, lips twitching upward. "Guess she got tired of watching."
He forced his back straighter, just enough to remind his legs he was still their boss. His body hated him for it, but he wasn't ready to fall. Not yet. Not when she had finally stepped in.
The blue flame raged on, a merciless wall of light and heat that painted the courtyard in shades of blinding blue. It didn't flicker. It didn't falter. It simply devoured. Puppets foolish enough to stagger forward simply came apart, their bodies burning into nothing before they even had the chance to scream.
For the first time since the fight began, Shu Mingye let out a low laugh. Relief bled into the sound, even as blood still trickled down his chin. Maybe he wouldn't have to bleed himself dry just to win. Not when she was finally standing beside him.
Linyue stood at the center of it all. Calm, cold, perfectly still. Like she wasn't even breaking a sweat. Inside, however, her spiritual energy meter was screaming in the back of her mind. The blue flames were hungry, draining her faster than she liked. If Shen Zhenyu and the others didn't catch that puppeteer soon, she was going to collapse and end up as a feast for the puppets.
The fire curled protectively around her and Shu Mingye, a circle of living blue that snapped and hissed whenever a puppet twitched too close. They lingered at the edges, their ruined torsos jerking, unwilling to test the blaze.
At last, for the first time in what felt like hours, Shu Mingye turned.
The sight nearly stole what little breath he had left. The flames rose behind her, framing her like a goddess sculpted out of stormlight. Her back was straight, her sleeves fluttered in the searing air, and her face, pale and sharpened by the glow, looked as if it belonged to the fire itself.
He stared, blood still dripping in slow, lazy trails down his arms. His chest rose and fell shallowly, each breath a fight. Then, against all reason, against every stubborn instinct to keep standing guard, he let go of his spiritual energy. The tension in his limbs melted. He took a step forward. Then another. His boots crunched over cracked stone, leaving faint prints of blood.
Without a word, Shu Mingye slipped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Not tightly. Just enough so he could feel her, solid and alive. His chin hovered near her shoulder, and his bloodstained chest pressed faintly against her back.
She stiffened. A flinch, sharp and instinctive. But his arms didn't budge.
"Are you hurt?" His voice was low, hoarse, rough from smoke and blood and whatever emotion was caught in his throat.
Linyue's eyes lowered to the hands at her waist—his hands. Scraped, red, trembling faintly, yet stubbornly steady.
What… what was he doing? This was the same man who, this very morning, had insisted she keep a polite three-step distance. She hadn't even brushed his sleeve then. And now he was bleeding on her back like she was his favorite pillow.
She let out a slow, deliberate sigh, caught between irritation and the urge to laugh at the absurdity. "I was betrayed by my shoe," she said dryly. "It hurt a bit."
Shu Mingye's chest rumbled with a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan. A chuckle slipped out, low and rough, cut short when his wound protested viciously, stabbing him for daring to find humor in this nightmare of ash and limbs. Still, he couldn't help it.
Shoe? Betrayed? What was she even talking about?
He wanted to demand an explanation. But instead, his head lowered until his chin brushed lightly against her shoulder. Her scent curled up to meet him, sweet and oddly refreshing for someone standing in the middle of blood-soaked mess. It made him dizzy. Or maybe that was just the blood loss. Either way, he didn't move. Then his eyes drifted down. She was only wearing one shoe. Her other foot, clad in a dirt-smudged sock, was very much exposed to the cruel, unroyal elements of the courtyard.
His brow furrowed. His voice came out hoarse and rough. "What happened?"
Linyue didn't bother turning around. "It was probably happily cuddling a dead body," she said flatly. "I decided to give them my blessing."
There was a pause.
"…They're possibly being cremated together by now."
Shu Mingye stared at her socked foot. Then at her. Then back at the foot again. Absolutely baffled. His tired brain struggled to process. "…What?" he croaked.
What nonsense was this now? Cuddling? Blessing? Cremated??