The horizon bled red as the sun rose over the Desolate Plains. Huan jo stood alone in front of his exhausted battalion. Across the field, the heavy cavalry of the Desolate Kingdom parted. A single man rode forward. He did not wear common steel. His armor was white jade, and his spear hummed with a light that made the air tremble.
Huan jo gripped his oak shaft. His knuckles were white.
(I have fought thousands. I have killed masters of every blade. But this man... he is not breathing like a soldier. The air around him is moving on its own. What is this?)
The Desolate Commander dismounted. He pulled a spear from his back that seemed to be made of captured lightning. He stopped ten feet away and pushed back his visor. He stared at Huan jo with genuine shock.
"You?" the Commander asked, his voice echoing unnaturally. "The Spear King who slaughtered my vanguard is nothing but a boy? You have no Qi. You have no foundation. How are you still standing?"
Huan jo did not answer. He stepped into his reach.
(He is open. He is talking. In the trenches, if you talk, you die.)
Huan jo thrust. It was the fastest strike of his life, a blur aimed straight for the Commander's throat. But the Commander didn't move his weapon. He simply exhaled, and a wave of invisible force slammed into Huan jo like a falling mountain.
(My ribs... they didn't just break. They turned to dust. I didn't even see him move. Is this what the world hides from us?)
Huan jo spat blood and lunged again. He used the "math" of the trenches, aiming for the pivot of the Commander's ankle. The Commander flicked his wrist. A blade of pure blue energy detached from his spear and arched through the air.
There was no pain at first. Only a sudden lightness. Huan jo looked down and saw his left arm falling into the mud.
(I still have one. I only need one to kill.)
He adjusted his grip, balancing the heavy oak with his remaining hand. He screamed, a raw sound of a scavenger who refused to let go, and drove the spear forward with his entire soul. The tip actually grazed the jade armor, leaving a thin scratch.
The Commander's eyes widened. "To touch me without cultivation... you are a monster of talent."
The Commander moved. He was no longer playing. His spear blurred in a series of light-speed strikes.
Huan jo felt the world tilt. His right arm was gone. Then his legs gave way as the tendons were severed. He collapsed into the dirt, a ruined heap of meat and bone. His oak spear lay snapped in the mud beside him.
(It is cold. It is so cold. I kept the distance for fourteen years... and he closed it in a second.)
The Commander stood over him, his spear tip glowing at Huan jo's throat. "If you had been born in a Sect instead of a gutter, you would have pierced the Heavens. What a waste of a soul."
Huan jo looked up at the gray sky. He saw the crows circling, waiting for the feast. He felt the life leaking out of him, soaking into the dirt he had lived in since he was four. He didn't feel anger. He only felt an immense, crushing weight lifting off his chest.
(No more hunger. No more sharpening steel. No more sleeping with one eye open.)
A ragged, wet laugh bubbled up through the blood in his throat.
"Haha... shit," Huan jo whispered, his vision fading to black. "In my next life... may peace finally come."
The Commander thrust.
(Everything was quiet. For the first time, the screaming stopped. There was no wind. There was no copper smell of blood. There was only the dark.)