————————
The wind arrives, bringing a chill; the light dissipates, leaving a faint softness.
Beneath the Wang River Wall, the boundless expanse of sky and ocean.
All gazed upon it in silence, observing a desolation—not a desolation of the environment, nor of others.
It was their own desolation.
Looking at Wei Rui and her companions, once lofty and untouchable, their every command resonated with reputation and authority.
Looking at the three of Wuque, who had been surrounded by enemies on all sides, constrained at every turn, their every attack met with retaliation from foes.
One battle ended, but it was not yet over; it merely shed light on the conclusion of the previous radiance.
The light faded, and the people stood exposed.
Xuan Linchuan's arm hung limp, half severed, with the other half lying on the ground. Blood gushed forth, his face pale as paper, his breath fragile as that of a newborn.
But he did not die.
