A few days later,
a secret letter from the Holy City tore apart the brief calm of the City of White Horse.
After reading it, Fu Jian slammed the table and stood up.
On his usually steady, iron-like face,
there appeared—for the first time—a near fanatical excitement.
"Good! Good! Good!"
He burst into loud laughter,
as the long-suppressed gloom in his chest vanished in an instant.
"The lion of the Holy City… has finally awakened!"
Turning around, Fu Jian issued his command in a loud voice:
"Pass the order—inform all city-states. Stop hesitating and holding back. Since the Holy City has moved, then all of us… must move as well!"
The command fell like a hammer.
The great war machine that was the City of White Horse roared to life,
its gears locking into place,
killing intent humming beneath the surface.
At the same time, in the Kingdom of Moss, atop a palace terrace.
Rhea stood at the highest point,
his gaze crossing over the palace walls toward the rolling sea of clouds in the distance.
For a long time, he said nothing.
"Hong Chen…"
He murmured softly, almost inaudible.
"To think it has come to this…"
That sigh—
it was impossible to tell whether it carried relief,
or dread.
Rhea turned, and without hesitation, gave the order:
"Pass my decree—
the entire nation enters a state of war readiness."
"What we are about to face…
may be an entirely new era."
Deep within the Holy City, inside a silent palace.
Ning's room remained as it always had.
Nothing had changed,
yet it felt as though it had been forgotten by time.
Light and shadow slanted across the room—cold, without warmth.
Ning sat by the window, her back straight,
yet she resembled a delicate, hollow porcelain doll.
Farr stood behind her, his voice lowered, almost pleading:
"Your Highness… tell me, what exactly happened that day."
"The Holy City needs the truth."
He paused, his voice growing softer.
"I… also need a reason."
No response.
Ning did not even blink.
Farr's heart sank, inch by inch.
At last, he turned, preparing to leave this suffocating room—
At that very moment—
"…He will come back."
The voice was extremely soft,
yet so clear it felt as though it was spoken right beside his ear.
Farr froze mid-step and turned sharply.
Ning still had her head lowered.
Tears slid down silently,
falling along her pale cheeks.
Her gaze remained empty, cast toward the sky beyond the window—
as if she were looking at a future already decided.
"How… do you know?"
Farr's voice was hoarse with shock.
Ning did not answer.
The room fell into silence once more.
When Farr left the palace,
he felt as if something heavy was pressing tightly against his chest.
Back in his study,
the candlelight flickered, distorting his shadow on the wall.
Those words—
"He will come back."
echoed repeatedly in his mind,
like an invisible curse.
Farr closed his eyes, a faint pain spreading through his chest.
That was not a young girl's expectation.
It was something closer to a prophecy.
At last, he understood:
Hong Chen's return
was not a return—
It was a reckoning.
At this moment, outside the City of White Clouds, atop a high slope.
The setting sun burned like blood,
stretching Hong Chen's figure long and solitary.
Inside the city,
the orcs were still noisy,
their patrols disorganized and lax.
To Hong Chen,
it all sounded laughable—and temporary.
He looked down upon the city,
his gaze calm to the point of cruelty.
There was no anger.
Only the composure of someone carrying out judgment.
"After nightfall, we move in."
Hong Chen turned his head slightly, issuing his command to the Ten Attendants behind him.
"All the commanders' heads—"
"—nail them to the gates of the City of White Clouds."
"I want them to open their eyes… and see hell."
He paused for a moment.
His gaze drifted beyond the city, toward the distance—
toward the place where Qin Feng had fallen.
His voice suddenly softened, almost gentle:
"Bring me the city lord's head."
Hong Chen raised his hand,
as if catching the falling remnants of snow from the night sky.
"Qin Feng has been waiting there… for too long."
"This head—
will be used to honor him."
Hong Chen looked back at the city,
soon to be swallowed by night.
His tone returned to calm.
"Wait for dawn."
"When they see the 'gift' on their gates…
and let out their first trembling scream—"
The night wind surged, his cloak snapping loudly.
His figure stood alone, arrogant in the wind.
"Then we begin the slaughter."
The Ten Attendants' breathing halted almost at the same time.
"…Understood."
Shadows scattered.
What they felt was not anger—
but something far more terrifying.
It was the moment
when the existence known as Hong Chen
began to settle old debts.
数日后,一道来自圣城的密信,撕开了白马城短暂的宁静.
傅坚读罢,猛地拍案而起.
那张一向沉稳如铁的脸上,竟罕见地浮现出近乎狂热的激动.
"好!好!好!"
他放声大笑,胸中积压已久的阴霾一扫而空,
"圣城这头雄狮,终于醒了!"
傅坚转身,高声下令:
"传令下去,通告所有城邦别再畏首畏尾.既然圣城动了,我们所有人,都必须动起来!"
命令如铁锤落下.
白马城这台庞大的战争机器,随之轰然启动,齿轮咬合,杀意低鸣.
与此同时,青苔国,深宫露台.
瑞亚伫立在最高处,目光越过宫墙,望向远方翻涌的云海,良久无言.
"红辰..."
他低声呢喃,声音几不可闻,
"竟然逼到了这一步."
那一声叹息,说不清是欣慰,还是寒意.
瑞亚转身,毫不犹豫地下令:
"传我旨意!全国进入战备状态."
"我们要面对的,恐怕是一个全新的时代."
圣城最深处,静谧的宫殿内.
宁的房间一如往昔,陈设未变,却仿佛被时间遗忘.
光影斜落,冷得没有温度.
宁坐在窗前,脊背笔直,却像一具精致而空洞的瓷偶.
法尔站在她身后,语气放得极低,近乎哀求:
"小公主...告诉我,那天究竟发生了什么."
"圣城需要真相."
他停顿了一下,声音更轻,
"我,也需要一个理由."
没有回应.
宁甚至没有眨眼.
法尔的心,一寸寸沉了下去.
他终于转身,准备离开这令人窒息的房间...就在那一刻.
"...他会回来的..."
声音极轻,却清晰得仿佛贴在耳畔.
法尔脚下一僵,猛然回头.
宁依旧低着头.
泪水无声地滑落,沿着苍白的脸颊滴下.
她的目光,空空地投向窗外的天空,像是在看一个早已注定的未来.
"你...怎么知道?"
法尔的声音,因震惊而微微发哑.
宁没有回答.
房间,再次陷入死寂.
法尔离开宫殿时,只觉得胸口被什么重物死死压住.
回到书房,烛火摇曳,将他的影子拉得扭曲变形.
那句话...
"他会回来."
如同无形的诅咒,在脑海中反复回响.
法尔闭上眼,胸口隐隐作痛.
那不是少女的期待.
那是一种近乎神谕的预判.
他终于意识到:
红辰的归来,不是回归...
而是清算.
此时,白云城外,高坡之上.
残阳如血,将红辰的身影拉得修长而孤绝.
城内,兽人们依旧喧闹,巡逻的脚步杂乱而松散.
那一切,在红辰耳中,显得可笑而短暂.
他俯视着这座城池,眼神冷静得近乎残酷.
没有怒火,只有执行裁决时的平静.
"入夜后,潜进去."
红辰侧过脸,对身后的十待下达命令.
"把所有将领的头"
"全部钉在白云城的城门上."
"我要他们睁开眼,就看到地狱."
他停顿了一瞬,目光越过城池,投向远方.
那是琴风倒下的方向.
语气忽然变得低缓,甚至温柔:
"城主的头拿来给我."
红辰伸出手,仿佛在接住夜空中坠落的残雪.
"琴风在那里,等得太久了."
"这颗头,用来祭他."
红辰重新看向那座即将被黑夜吞没的城池,语气平静如常:
"等天亮."
"等他们看清城门上的'礼物',发出第一声颤抖的嘶吼."
夜风骤起,披风猎猎作响.
他的身影,在风中显得孤独而狂妄.
"再大开杀戒."
十待的呼吸,几乎同时一滞.
"领命."
阴影散开.
他们感受到的,不是愤怒,
而是比愤怒更可怕的东西.
那是名为红辰的存在,开始清点旧账.