The battlefield was gone.
What remained was silence—broken walls, scorched trees, and the faint hum of fading Qi.
Li Ming stood among the ruins, hair messy, robes singed. The wind carried the smell of smoke and burnt stone. He sighed. "So much for a quiet day."
Bai Guo perched on a broken pillar, wings drooping. "Quiet? You split a mountain again."
Li Ming groaned. "Can we not make that a habit?"
Lan Yue passed by, sword sheathed, expression calm but eyes tired. "You fought well. But you should rest. The Sect Healers have their hands full."
He nodded and glanced at the horizon. Crimson clouds still hung faintly above the mountains—remnants of the battle. "We won… but at a cost."
Around them, disciples hurried to rebuild. Broken platforms were lifted by Qi. Cracked walls mended themselves under glowing formation lines. The Sect Master moved from group to group, his presence steadying the chaos.
