Chapter 31 – Clashing Echoes

A cascade of rocks clattered down the ravine walls, echoing the alarm raised by unseen combatants below. Lan Zhuoran's heartbeat thundered in his ears as he pressed himself against the jagged stone, trying to keep the mule still. Yin Feiyan clutched the relic tight under her cloak, hissing through clenched teeth at the pain in her arm.

"Up there! On the ledges!" a voice shouted once more, nearer this time.

Gao Tianrong nudged Lan Zhuoran, then pointed to a precarious path continuing along the ravine's edge. Although battered and narrow, it looked like their best option to avoid a direct confrontation. The alternative—turning around—risked colliding headlong with the Syndicate or whoever was already engaging them in the gorge below.

Yin Feiyan drew a ragged breath. "We keep going?"

Lan Zhuoran nodded. "We have no choice. Just be ready to move fast."

They inched forward on the narrow shelf, boots sliding over loose gravel. The mule snorted, ears pinned back, sensing danger in the air. Below, the clash of weapons continued, punctuated by yells and the clang of steel. A few scattered glimpses revealed figures locked in combat: black-cloaked fighters with the telltale wolf emblem, plus a ragged band of unknown defenders. Smoke wafted up from some kind of burning debris.

Suddenly, a crossbow bolt whizzed overhead, lodging itself in the rocky wall with a sharp crack. Lan Zhuoran flattened himself, instincts from the Five-Winds Form urging him to stay low. Gao Tianrong quickly readied an arrow, scanning the lower ground for whoever might have fired.

A flicker of movement caught Lan Zhuoran's eye. A Syndicate crossbowman had scaled part of the ravine wall, perched on a rocky outcrop about twenty feet down. He locked eyes with Lan Zhuoran, raising his weapon.

"Look out!" Lan Zhuoran shouted, gripping the mule's lead and forcing it down behind a boulder. Yin Feiyan crouched, protecting her injured arm as best she could.

Gao Tianrong loosed an arrow in a swift, controlled motion. It arced downward with a hiss, striking the crossbowman's shoulder. The man cried out, staggering backward. His crossbow discharged into empty air, sending a bolt spiraling harmlessly away.

Another mercenary, this one brandishing a curved blade, yelled from below, pointing up toward them. Footsteps echoed as more fighters scrambled to reach higher ground. The entire ravine felt like a living battleground, with dust and debris swirling amid cries of anger and pain.

Lan Zhuoran drew a steadying breath, focusing on the subtle qi he'd nurtured through repeated practice of the Five-Winds Form. Though he wasn't at full strength—his shoulder still stung—he summoned enough calm to guide Yin Feiyan and the mule along the ledge.

"Move!" Gao Tianrong barked, retaking point. He shot another arrow toward a shadow creeping up the rocks, forcing the would-be attacker to retreat.

Step by precarious step, they advanced. Loose stones tumbled beneath their feet, bouncing down the cliffs. Feiyan trembled from exertion, but her eyes glinted with fierce determination. They'd endured too much to surrender now. The sky above glowed a hazy gold, evening light filtering into the gorge.

Out of nowhere, a second crossbow bolt whizzed past, narrowly missing the mule's flank. Lan Zhuoran spun, spotting yet another Syndicate fighter crouched on a higher ledge to their right. This time, Lan Zhuoran refused to be passive. He released the mule's tether momentarily and lunged forward, channeling the fluid motion of his martial form. With a quick leap and a kick-off from the wall, he slammed the fighter's crossbow aside before the man could reload.

Gao Tianrong seized the opportunity, lining up a shot and firing cleanly. The mercenary stumbled back with a choked gasp, tumbling into the depths below. Lan Zhuoran's stomach twisted at the realization of how close death hovered for both sides in this treacherous environment.

"Zhuoran!" Feiyan shouted, pointing to the path ahead.

He pivoted—just in time to see the ledge crumble beneath the mule's weight. With a terrified bray, the animal scrabbled for purchase. Lan Zhuoran lunged, grabbing the lead rope, struggling to steady the beast. Feiyan tried to help, but her bandaged arm couldn't handle the strain. Rocks tumbled away, clattering down the ravine. At last, the mule found stable ground and froze, trembling.

Gao Tianrong hurried back to them, breathing hard. "We don't have much time. They're regrouping."

With silent agreement, the trio pressed onward, painfully aware that more Syndicate scouts might appear at any moment. The path gradually widened, leading to a twisting incline that climbed toward the gorge's upper rim. Though exhaustion gnawed at them, each step felt like an inch closer to salvation.

The battle below remained partially hidden by rock formations, but the metallic clang echoed ceaselessly. Occasionally, screams ricocheted off the walls—clear evidence that the skirmish had turned bloody. Lan Zhuoran realized with grim finality that, once again, they were escaping destruction by the narrowest margin.

As they neared the top, sunlight splashed across the cliff edge, revealing a ridge of jagged stone silhouetted against the sky. Gao Tianrong reached it first, scanning the horizon. "It's clear," he called back.

Feiyan exhaled a shaky breath. Lan Zhuoran guided the mule the final few steps, then all three emerged onto a rough plateau bathed in the evening sun. The ravine behind them still crackled with conflict, but at least they were no longer trapped in the crossfire.

They paused to catch their breath, hearts pounding from the desperate climb. Yin Feiyan clung to the relic, her face pale from pain and relief. Gao Tianrong's hand trembled slightly as he lowered his bow. Lan Zhuoran, chest heaving, offered silent thanks to whatever forces had preserved them yet again.

But the Syndicate was close—too close. Each confrontation brought them closer to an inevitable showdown. We can't keep running forever, Lan Zhuoran thought, gazing at the sun dipping toward the horizon. But we have no choice right now.

He turned to his companions. "Let's move," he said quietly, voice hoarse. "Before they realize where we've gone."

Nodding, they trudged across the plateau. The trek toward the capital continued under a sky tinted with dusk, their lungs burning and limbs aching. Somewhere behind them, the clash of swords and the cry of wounded mercenaries echoed in memory. Another brutal day was ending, yet they could not rest—the future beckoned, fraught with still more trials to come.