Chapter 17: Ashes and Oaths
The night sky was a canvas of smoke and dying stars. The forest, once the shield of the Qing, lay blackened and charred, its skeletal trees jutting upward like the bones of a slain giant. Yet even in ruin, the land whispered with defiance. From the ashes, the people gathered—scattered villagers, weary soldiers, and chieftains from distant tribes who had seen the fire and come to stand beside Khan.
The air reeked of soot, but it carried another scent too—hope, fragile but unyielding.
Khan stood before the gathering, his figure illuminated by the crackling fire at the center of the camp. Shadows stretched across the faces of his people, etched with exhaustion and grief. Men clutched spears with trembling hands. Women, hardened by survival, carried blades at their belts. Even children, their innocence stolen, huddled close, listening to the man who now bore the weight of their future.
"They would burn the earth to break us," Khan began, his voice steady but raw. "Shen Tai believes the wolf cannot be hunted, that fear will drive us into silence. But look around you. Do you see silence? Do you see surrender?"
A murmur rippled through the crowd, anger flaring in tired eyes.
"No!" a villager cried. Another raised a clenched fist. "Never!"
Khan's voice thundered, carried by the grief of the land itself. "The forest has been turned to ash, but from ash rises fire! From fire rises steel! And from steel rises an empire they cannot kill!"
The crowd roared, voices uniting in a wave that shook the night. Mei Lan watched from the edge of the gathering, her expression torn between sorrow and pride. She knew these words cost him—every promise made meant another burden chained to his soul.
When the cries quieted, Khan turned to the war council. Ragna leaned on her axe, her hair wild with soot and blood. Han Long's jaw was tight as stone, his fingers tracing the map spread before them. Mei Lan, robes singed at the hem, stood with arms folded, her eyes sharp as daggers.
"The Wei burn their own campfires brighter than ours," Han Long said. "Their numbers are still greater. Even starving, they remain dangerous. If we meet them in the open, we are finished."
Ragna smirked, her voice rough. "Then we don't meet them in the open. We bleed them where they least expect it. Like wolves, we strike the weak and leave the strong to rot."
Khan's gaze swept across the map. "Their strength is Shen Tai. He is not merely a general—he is the spirit of their army. Break him, and the Wei will falter."
Han Long frowned. "You mean to face him directly."
Mei Lan's eyes narrowed. "This again? Khan, I warned you—Shen Tai wants you. He will not rest until he drags your name into the dirt. Walking into his jaws is folly."
Khan shook his head. "Not folly. Necessity. If I remain in shadow, he will burn every village until nothing remains but smoke. But if I stand where he can see me, if I draw him into the battlefield I choose—then he will bleed."
Silence lingered before Mei Lan spoke, her tone sharp but trembling. "Then swear to me, Khan. Swear that you will not throw yourself away for pride. Swear you will return."
Khan met her gaze, his own fierce and unyielding. "I swear this: I will not return as ashes. I will return as fire."
The plan was set. At dawn, the Qing scattered through the ridges, their movements hidden by the smoke that still clung to the land. Camps of decoys were erected with blazing torches to draw Wei scouts astray. Hunters moved silently, cutting down patrols before their cries could echo. And at the center of it all, Khan prepared his trap.
Shen Tai was not blind to the shifting tides. In his war pavilion, the black wolf banner loomed over him, its silver eyes gleaming in the torchlight. Reports flooded in—supply lines broken, soldiers deserting, whispers of Khan spreading like wildfire through the ranks.
"They call him a spirit," one officer muttered. "The Spirit of the Ashes. Men say he cannot die."
Shen Tai's blade sang as it slid from its scabbard. He leveled it at the trembling officer. "He is no spirit. He is flesh, and flesh bleeds."
Another general bowed low. "Then give the order, my lord. Let us march and crush them before more rot spreads."
Shen Tai's eyes gleamed with cold fire. "We march at dawn. And I will tear the spirit from his body myself."
The dawn of battle came not with the clash of armies, but with silence. The Wei advanced into the blackened ruins of the forest, their banners stark against the gray sky. Smoke curled around them like ghosts. Their scouts reported signs of movement, but never the enemy himself.
Then, the first strike came.
Arrows whistled from the ridges, cutting down the vanguard before shields could rise. Rocks tumbled from hidden ledges, crushing men and beasts alike. The Wei roared in fury, shields locking as they advanced, but every step forward brought death from above.
Khan stood upon a ridge, his cloak snapping in the wind, his presence unmistakable. He raised his blade high, the sunlight catching its steel.
"There!" a Wei soldier shouted. "The spirit! Kill him!"
Shen Tai's eyes fixed on Khan, burning with hunger. At last, the prey had revealed himself. With a roar, he spurred his horse forward, his elite guard thundering at his side.
Khan watched them come, calm as the storm before the strike.
"Now," he whispered.
From the ridges, the Qing unleashed their fury. Spears rained down. Hidden trenches collapsed, swallowing riders whole. Flames burst from oil-soaked brush, turning the ground into an inferno. Shen Tai's guard was torn apart, but the wolf himself charged through, his blade a streak of silver.
At last, the two stood within striking distance, fire and smoke swirling around them.
Khan raised his sword. Shen Tai bared his fangs in a snarl.
The Spirit of the Ashes met the Wolf of the Empire.
And the world held its breath.