The wind changed without warning.
It crept in like an icy hand climbing up from the abyss beneath the broken bridge, brushing cold fingers across their faces.
This was not a natural wind.
Chun's back went rigid as if plunged into freezing water. She stared into the distance.
Darkness curled between the trees, piling shadows upon shadows. She could no longer tell whether the darkness ahead was nothing more than swaying branches—or something undead, waiting.
Her heart sank.
"This is bad—"
Her arms felt heavier by the second, as though some unseen force were pressing down on them.
If they kept waiting, they would die.
If she cut the bridge now, Wei would die.
It was a judgment even the gods could not make.
Hesitating, Chun let the edge of her hunting knife slide lightly against the vine rope.
"Pssh."
A fiber thinner than a strand of hair snapped.
In the night, the sound stabbed at her heart like a steel needle.
Little Butterfly leaned against her and whispered,
"Sister… once we go down the mountain, we'll be safe, right?"
Her voice was so light it sounded like it came from a dream.
Chun reached out and stroked the girl's hair, forcing a smile.
"Yes. Once we're down… we'll find a place with trees, and water."
Little Butterfly blinked.
"It's just a shame… Daddy can't go there."
Chun's breath caught.
Tears welled in the child's eyes, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall.
In that moment, Chun's vision blurred.
This child had already lost her father. She could not let her lose a second anchor.
But the mountain wind swept over them again.
Colder.
Sharper.
Like a warning.
"Why hasn't Wei come back yet…"
Little Butterfly's voice began to tremble.
Chun tightened her grip on the knife.
"I… I'll cut it now—"
The blade lifted.
Then stopped.
"No."
Her knuckles turned white. "If Wei… if he comes back later, he'll be trapped on the other side."
She knew she was lying.
A boy facing an undead silver warrior at close range had little chance of survival.
But she could not say it aloud.
She could not let the child despair.
On the far bank—
A heavy, dull impact sounded.
Wei was kicked away like a rag doll, tumbling across the ground. His chest felt as though it were being torn in half.
The silver warrior stood in the darkness. Black blood seeped from cracks in his armor, gleaming coldly under the moonlight. He did not breathe. He did not pity.
There was only killing intent.
Wei knew—
If he had released the blade even a fraction of a second later, his heart would have burst like an overfilled waterskin.
So he let go.
The sword flew.
He flew.
He staggered, but still forced himself upright.
His body was wrecked. His breathing shattered.
And yet he planted his feet where he stood and assumed that near-suicidal opening—
A stance meant for mutual destruction.
"What is Wei doing? Why isn't he coming back? He can't beat that thing!"
Little Butterfly's voice shook as she clutched Chun's sleeve, on the verge of tears.
Chun did not answer at once.
In truth, she understood just as well as the child did.
But she understood Wei, too.
"Maybe…" she said softly, "…that's what a warrior's pride looks like."
She swallowed. "Better to fall facing forward than turn and run."
"That monster looks serious now…"
"Yes." Chun's throat tightened. "This is probably the highest respect… one warrior can give another."
But inside, her thoughts were in chaos.
She knew that stance too well.
It was the move village youths loved to show off—the one they boasted about endlessly.
They called it mutual annihilation.
A technique used only when one had decided to wager their life for a final blow.
"This idiot…" she cursed silently. "That thing isn't even on the same level as you. Even if you gamble your life, you'll barely scratch him."
And yet Wei still stood there.
Still holding that pose.
The pose village boys practiced in secret—
The pose they loved to strike whenever girls were watching—
The pose they could later brag about, proof that they were "real men."
He knew the outcome.
And still, he chose it.
Then—
He spun around and bolted.
Low to the ground, fast as if someone had set his back on fire.
The earth blurred beneath his feet. He skimmed over the ground, cloak snapping wildly in the night wind. He did not look back. He did not hesitate.
There was only one thought left—
Run.
He sprinted toward the narrow hanging bridge.
"So long… sucker!"
He shouted as he ran.
Whether the words were meant for the monster behind him—
Or for the version of himself that had just chosen death—
Even he could not tell.
Behind him, the silver warrior had already assumed the most disciplined, most lethal defensive stance.
Sword steady.
Steps grounded.
Killing intent condensed into something almost tangible.
But in the next instant—
All he saw was a battered, fleeing back.
The silver warrior froze.
For a full ten breaths.
Ten breaths in which the night wind blew, torches crackled, and the air itself seemed to catch in its throat.
It was a void that should never exist between warriors.
Then—
Rage detonated.
"Despicable coward—!"
The roar tore through the night, shaking distant tree shadows.
This was not the fury of being deceived.
It was the fury of being desecrated.
A duel meant to be wagered with life itself—
Trampled underfoot by a turn and a sprint for survival.
Wei did not stop.
He hurled himself toward the bridge, heart hammering wildly, a smile tugging at his mouth—so close to tears it hurt.
Warrior's honor?
To hell with it.
You had to live first—
If you wanted a next round.
Mist rose thick over the narrow bridge, swallowing Chun's view.
The bridge beneath her feet trembled.
"Creeeak—"
As if something heavy had just stepped onto the far end.