The convoy departed at dawn on the seventh day.
Thirty youths from the White Ash Martial Dominion gathered on the outer esplanade, forming an uneven group in both strength and status. Some wore robes of the main clans, with visible emblems and carefully wrapped spiritual weapons. Others, by contrast, wore simple clothing, without markings or protections worth mentioning. The difference between them was not merely material; it showed in how they walked, how they looked around, and in the tense silence they carried.
Lin Ye was among the last.
No one spoke to him. No one assigned him a specific position. He simply followed the group when the imperial guards gave the order to move out. Inspector Zhao Wen was not traveling with them; he had delegated the initial escort to an imperial captain with a severe face, a man whose aura clearly indicated he had surpassed the Internal Pulse Realm long ago.
The imperial carriage advanced while floating at low altitude, setting the pace. The recruits were required to follow it on foot.
"Maintain formation," the captain ordered without looking back. "The Southern Front is not an excursion. Anyone who falls behind will not be waited for."
Those words were not an empty threat.
The road south passed through areas not fully under imperial control. Though officially pacified, the routes were infested with rogue cultivator bandits, wandering spiritual beasts, and at times remnants of rebel forces that had never been completely eradicated. The Empire called these regions "territories in transition." The dominions called them "open graves."
For the first two days, the journey passed without major incidents. Some of the youths began to group themselves according to origin, forming small cooperative circles. Lin Hao of the Lin Clan walked near the front with other recognized talents, speaking quietly about the Southern Front and the possible rewards. For them, the expedition was dangerous, yes—but also an opportunity to distinguish themselves before the Empire.
Lin Ye walked alone.
It was not pride, nor voluntary isolation. Simply put, no one considered it useful to approach someone without cultivation. As for him, he observed. He listened. He measured distances, tensions, silences. Every step was calculated so as not to stand out, not to become an unnecessary target.
On the third night, they camped in a narrow valley flanked by rocky hills. The imperial captain ordered guard rotations and erected a basic defensive formation. The youths split into groups, lighting small campfires.
Lin Ye sat on the edge of the camp, leaning against a cold rock. He closed his eyes—not to rest, but to sense.
Since the journey had begun, the fragmented clock had reacted subtly yet constantly. Every time the group passed through an area where the land seemed too quiet or the air too still, the gear that had begun pulsing did so more intensely. It was not a clear warning, but a sign that the world in those places was slightly out of balance.
That night, the pulse intensified.
Lin Ye slowly opened his eyes.
The wind had changed direction.
It was not something an ordinary cultivator would immediately notice, but he did. Not through martial experience, but through the way time itself seemed to tighten—like a rope stretched too far. In the distance, on the opposite slope of the valley, something moved.
Not a beast.
Not exactly.
Lin Ye rose without a sound and walked toward the imperial captain, who was surveying the surroundings with a stern expression.
"There's something out there," Lin Ye said quietly.
The captain looked at him with evident disdain.
"And how would you know that?" he replied. "Go back to your place."
Lin Ye did not insist. He returned to the rock and sat down, but kept his attention fixed on the darkness. Minutes later, a scream shattered the silence.
"Contact!"
Figures descended from the hillside—human shapes wrapped in dark robes. They were not simple bandits. Their movements were coordinated, precise. Cultivators. The imperial captain reacted immediately, issuing rapid orders as the defensive formation activated.
"Protect the carriage! Do not break ranks!"
The clash was immediate.
The stronger youths threw themselves into battle, unleashing brilliant techniques that lit the valley with flashes of spiritual energy. Shouts, the clash of weapons, and explosions echoed through the night. Yet the attackers were not seeking a frontal victory. They moved swiftly, striking the flanks, targeting the weakest.
Lin Ye instinctively retreated when a dark figure appeared in front of him.
It was a thin man with sunken eyes and a twisted smile.
"Bad luck, kid," he said, raising a spiritual dagger. "The Empire doesn't pay well, but the dead don't complain."
Lin Ye felt time around him tighten violently.
The fragmented clock appeared in his consciousness, vibrating with an intensity he had never experienced. The pulsing gear emitted a clear, almost urgent sensation.
"Dead instant accessible."
There was no time to think.
When the dagger came down, Lin Ye stepped sideways. It was not fast. It was not elegant. But for a fraction of a second, something impossible happened. The attacker's movement desynchronized, as if he had lost a heartbeat of time. The dagger passed mere centimeters from Lin Ye's neck—far too slow for a trained cultivator.
Lin Ye did not strike back.
He simply pushed.
The man lost his balance, his feet failing on a patch of ground that looked solid—but wasn't, not quite. He fell backward, rolling down the rocky slope, vanishing into the darkness with a muffled scream.
Lin Ye stood motionless, breathing hard.
The world returned to its normal rhythm.
No one had seen exactly what happened. To the others, it looked as though the attacker had made a mistake. In the chaos of battle, such things happened.
The fight ended as quickly as it had begun. The attackers withdrew when they realized the imperial captain had entered the fray directly. The valley fell silent, broken only by the groans of the wounded.
The captain walked through the camp with a grim expression.
"Three dead," he said at last. "Two critically injured."
His eyes paused briefly on Lin Ye, who sat covered in dust, without a single visible wound.
"You," he said. "What did you do?"
Lin Ye looked up.
"Nothing," he replied honestly. "I was just lucky."
The captain studied him for a long moment, as if deciding whether to believe those words. Finally, he snorted.
"Luck is also a resource," he said. "Don't separate from the group."
When the captain walked away, Lin Ye closed his eyes for a moment.
Within his consciousness, the clock's gear had stopped pulsing once more. The eye remained slightly open, watching him without emotion.
He had used his power.
Only a fraction.
And even so, he had felt something unsettling.
Not exhaustion.
Not pain.
But the clear certainty that if he abused that "dead instant," the price would be something he could not easily pay.
He looked up at the night sky, where the stars shone with indifferent brilliance.
"Slowly…" he whispered. "It will have to be slowly."
The Southern Front was still far away.
And the real danger was only just beginning.