The western plains stretched wide beneath a gray sky.
Cold wind swept across the grasslands as Qin Wang Shan and his cavalry advanced at full speed.
The refugees' fear still lingered in his mind.
Burned homes.
Broken fences.
Blood on the ground.
This was not a simple raid.
It was a message.
Commander Han raised his hand.
"Tracks," he said.
The riders slowed.
Hoofprints. Drag marks. Livestock driven west.
The enemy had not retreated far.
"They're confident," Han muttered.
Qin Wangshan's eyes narrowed.
"Or testing us."
Soon, smoke rose faintly in the distance.
A temporary camp.
Nomadic warriors moved between tents, unaware they were being watched.
Their numbers were not large.
But they were disciplined.
This was not random banditry.
Han whispered, "We can retreat and call reinforcements."
Qin Wangshan shook his head.
"If we retreat now, they return tomorrow."
His gaze hardened.
"Divide into two flanks. Elite unit with me."
The soldiers moved without hesitation.
Weeks of hidden training showed in their coordination.
Silent.
Efficient.
Focused.
The attack began at dusk.
Arrows flew first.
Precise.
Fast.
Several nomadic warriors fell before they could react.
Shouts erupted across the camp.
Horses panicked.
Warriors grabbed weapons.
Qin Wang Shan charged.
Steel met steel.
The clash was louder than he imagined.
Fiercer.
A nomadic warrior lunged at him with a curved blade.
Faster than training drills.
Instinct screamed.
He parried—barely.
The impact numbed his arm.
The warrior struck again.
Qin Wangshan stepped sideways, remembering Han's lessons.
Don't meet force with force.
Redirect it.
He twisted his blade.
The enemy stumbled.
And fell.
Breathing hard, Qin Wang Shan steadied himself.
This was not practice.
This was survival.
Around him, Shen City's soldiers fought with discipline.
Not reckless.
Not afraid.
The elite unit moved like a single body.
Years of poor reputation had hidden their transformation well.
Within an hour, the enemy began to retreat.
They were skilled—but surprised.
This was not the weak border city they expected.
Commander Han rode up.
"They're pulling back."
Qin Wang Shan looked toward the retreating figures.
"Let them."
Han frowned. "We don't pursue?"
The prince shook his head.
"They came to test us."
His eyes remained sharp.
"Now they've learned."
The battlefield grew quiet.
Bodies lay scattered.
Smoke drifted into the darkening sky.
Qin Wang Shan dismounted and walked among his soldiers.
There were injuries.
But fewer than expected.
The training had worked.
For the first time, Shen City had struck back.
Far away on a distant ridge, a single rider watched the battle's end.
He turned his horse slowly.
"So," he murmured.
"The Seventh Prince fights differently than expected."
The rider disappeared into the plains.
And the news would soon travel far beyond the western border.
That night, under the cold stars, Qin Wang Shan stood silently.
His first real battle was over.
And he had survived.
But something in his heart told him—
This was only the beginning.