Wei was not running fast.
Not because he chose to slow down.
But because he discovered, with a creeping sense of dread, that he could not go any faster.
The forest floor rose and dipped without warning. Broken branches, loose stones, and exposed roots reached out from the darkness to catch at his feet. Every time he lifted a leg, he had to decide where it would land before his body followed. Even a half-second of hesitation was enough to throw him off balance.
He could hear the footsteps behind him.
They were not hurried.
They were not chaotic.
They kept a steady rhythm, always at the same distance, like a measured beat that refused to close in yet never fell away.
This was not a chase.
It was accompaniment.
The realization tightened Wei's throat.
If the thing behind him wanted him dead, he would already be dead.
The thought was like an icy hand clamping down on his lungs, squeezing the air out of his chest.
And then, in that exact moment, the footsteps stopped.
Wei's heart dropped.
He lurched forward on instinct, spine snapping tight, muscles braced for the rush of steel that never came. No blade cut the air. Only the night wind brushed past his ear.
He stood frozen for two full breaths before daring to turn.
The silver-armored warrior stood a dozen steps away.
He had not come closer.
He had not drawn a weapon.
He was simply there.
Moonlight slipped through the gaps in the canopy, carving cold, angular lines across the silver armor. His head was slightly lowered, as if studying the ground.
Or Wei's feet.
"You are afraid," the warrior said.
It was not a judgment.
It was a statement.
Wei clenched his jaw.
"You can't catch me," he snapped.
The words escaped before he could stop them.
The instant they were spoken, he understood the truth.
This was not bravado.
It was a test.
The silver warrior lifted his head.
In that moment, Wei felt as though he were being measured completely.
From shoulders to chest.
From hips to legs.
As if he were a tool being checked for size and balance.
"You talk too much," the warrior said, and stepped forward.
Just one step.
But the moment his foot touched the ground, Wei had already moved back.
Not because he wanted to.
Because his body had decided for him.
That single retreat drained the color from his face.
He realized then that he had begun moving to a rhythm that was no longer his own.
Laughter broke the silence.
Dry.
Openly contemptuous.
"My subordinate told me he captured a hundred slaves by himself," the silver warrior said. "I didn't believe him."
He tilted his head, as if recalling something trivial.
"After coming out here," he continued, "I see now that you were already broken long before we arrived."
The words burned.
When Wei had first stepped out of the forest, part of him had felt proud.
Now, standing alone at this distance, he understood how fragile that pride had been.
How thin.
Shame surged up his throat, sharp and hot.
"Damn you!" Wei shouted.
The silver warrior kept walking.
Each step compressed Wei's remaining space.
His heart sank.
If he ran, he would be admitting fear.
If he didn't, his life rested entirely in the enemy's hands.
There was no clean choice.
"Hey," Wei suddenly laughed, the sound rough and strained. "You really think you've won?"
The silver warrior stopped.
"Look behind you," Wei said, his laughter growing louder. "My partner already got the kid out."
Now it was Wei's turn to laugh freely.
Even if he died in the next breath, Chun and Little Butterfly had crossed the bridge.
That was enough.
The silver warrior did not react with anger.
He did not even look surprised.
"The ones on the other side of the bridge may live," he said calmly.
The sentence struck Wei like a nail driven straight through his feet.
As Wei turned, ready to run again—
A voice came from ahead.
Not from the silver warrior's position.
Low.
Controlled.
Carrying a resonance that did not belong to anything human.
"Is the bridge stable?"
Wei's entire body locked.
He lifted his head slowly.
"You stepped out," the silver warrior said again, but his voice had shifted direction, "only for those two children."
Wei swallowed.
"What are you trying to say—"
The silver warrior walked around him, completing half a circle. His footsteps were steady, deliberate, marking time in the dark.
He did not speak.
Yet the silence itself pressed down on Wei's throat like a hand.
"You believed that if I followed you," the warrior said, now behind him, "the others would live."
"You believed that buying time would change the outcome."
He stopped at Wei's back.
"You were wrong."
Cold sweat slid down Wei's temple.
He wanted to turn.
He couldn't.
"From the moment you stepped out," the silver warrior continued, "your value was reduced to one thing."
"How much effort you could save me."
Moonlight spilled across the far end of the suspension bridge.
Among the twisted silhouettes of trees, a figure lay hidden and still.
Only then did the silver warrior's voice rise again, now from the forest's edge.
"He did well," he said.
"He saved me a great deal of trouble."
"You think I was chasing you," he went on. "In truth, I was waiting for your companion."
Wei's throat tightened painfully.
"You… you were waiting the whole time?"
"For you to place yourself," the warrior replied, "in the most efficient position."
The silver warrior raised his hand.
Not to strike.
But to confirm.
"Encirclement complete."
In that instant, Wei finally understood.
Everything before this—
Had not been a mistake.
Had not been arrogance.
It had been the cleanest form of hunting.
"Now," the silver warrior said, "you have no path left."
The forest closed in.
And the rhythm resumed.