Standing Firm

Thud

Yuehui's fist crashed against the table, rattling the cups and hologram projection.

"What did you just say?!" he growled, stepping forward, his eyes sharp with fury and disbelief.

His glare locked onto Lian—the source of his rising ire.

But Lian didn't so much as blink. His tone was cool, detached, almost indifferent.

"I won't cross the red line," he said flatly. "I am not here to save your soldiers."

"Remember," Lian reminded, his voice quiet, direct—and non-negotiable. "I've only taken the contract to defend what's behind this line—not beyond it."

His tone wasn't cruel—just matter-of-fact, like a courier stating the weather.

"You—" Yuehui began, fury rising, but Jiyan cut him off with a raised hand.

"Stand down, Yuehui." Jiyan ordered.

"But General—!" Yuehui's voice cracked with disbelief. Jiyan didn't look at him. His gaze was fixed on the map.

"I will march into the field myself," he said quietly.

Yuehui stepped back, stunned. "It's dangerous out there—alone!"

Jiyan finally turned, his voice steely. "I don't need to worry about the base being overrun. Not while the Maverick stands guard."

He gave Lian a brief nod, then added, "Hold the line."

Lian shrugged slightly. "It's my job. For another thirteen hours, at least. Unless your Councillor extends the contract."

Jiyan gave a faint smile—one part weariness, one part trust.

He turned to the assembled soldiers. "Stay sharp. I'm going to retrieve those who vanished beyond the Barrier."

He paused at the tent's edge, eyes narrowing as they swept toward the horizon. The Barrier before pulsed in the distance like a dying star—distorting space, swallowing sound.

Communication fails inside the Barrier. Coordinates blur. Time distorts. Soldiers vanish—without sound, without trace.

Jiyan's eyes narrowed, he could feel it—deep in the barrens, among shifting ruins… something still watches.

It blinks.

And it waits.

Jiyan's jaw clenched. There was no room for hesitation. Not now.

He stepped out into the sun—trusting Lian's skill, and leaving him with the responsibility of safeguarding the base.

***

Away from the frontlines, the Rearguard Battalion Camp simmered with tension—quieter than the battlefield, but no less strained.

Orders snapped through the air. Crates thudded onto the ground. Data pads flickered with shifting manifests.

"Have you confirmed the inventory?" a stern voice sliced through the din. "What about the spare list?"

A Rearguard Battalion officer gave commands on the fly. "Sort out the consumables as soon as possible. Check our communication lines while you're at it—"

Just then, he heard footsteps approaching. The officer spun. "Yue, take this to Ase." He paused as he looked up—and saw an unfamiliar face. "Wait—you're not Yue. Where is she?"

His gaze narrowed, locking onto the newcomers. "State your business."

The new arrivals were Yangyang and Rover—and beside them, a young woman who drew subtle stares.

Her long black hair, streaked with white, was braided into twin tails, a single tuft rising defiantly from her crown. Teal eyes with blue pupils swept the camp, calm and alert.

She wore a black dress—Yin-Yang patterned, a fusion of qipao and hanfu—slit to reveal a glowing Tacet Mark on her left clavicle.

Wind-like yellow and teal patterns rippled across her outfit, echoed in mismatched green and black boots and matching earrings. She looked like a breeze given form—strange, yet perfectly fitting.

Yangyang stepped forward, her tone measured and polite. "Outrider, Midnight Rangers. This is Rover, and Master Jianxin. We need to speak with someone stationed here."

The officer sized them up, before his gaze wondered to the crates again, and the wounded soldiers.

Rover glanced around, brow creased at the endless crates and exhausted aides. "You look overwhelmed…"

The officer shook his head with a sigh. "Jinzhou is the gateway to Huanglong," he said, his words clipped and edged with fatigue. "And the Desorock Highlands are the gateway to Jinzhou. One breach, and the whole region falls."

"The Tacet Discords don't parley." He slightly vented with a exhale, frustration evident in his demeanor, "They don't retreat. No truces, no ceasefires. As long as they exist, this war grinds on."

At last, he met their eyes—red-rimmed and sleepless. "Supplies are our lifeblood. I keep them moving. But now…" He gestured toward a half-empty crate of shattered resonance cartridges. "Now we're bleeding out."

"Master Jianxin," Rover asked, glancing towards the young woman, "do you want to look for Zhiyuan first?"

Jianxin nodded, "Sure. Please excuse me. I'll join you soon."

Rover gave a reassuring nod. "We'll meet up with you."

She offered a brief salute before slipping into the shadows between tents, her footsteps swallowed by the hush of the camp.

Left alone, Rover's gaze lingered on the Rearguard Battalion Camp—crates stacked like barricades, soldiers moving with weary urgency, tension thick as fog. The word supply echoed in his mind, heavy with unspoken worry.

He recalled Yangyang's words from yesterday—how mangosteens were rare, imported from distant lands, a taste of sweetness in a world gone bitter.

He reached into his Terminal, producing a mangosteen. His fingers brushed the smooth, cool skin of the fruit. Its deep purple shell catching the dim light.

Caught off guard, mistaking the mangosteen for something else, the officer snapped, "What… what are you doing?" His voice was sharp, suspicion flickering in his narrowed eyes.

Rover froze, the fruit still on his hand. The officer's hand hovered near his weapon, body tense.

Rover raised his hands. "What's going on?"

The officer's gaze lingered on the mangosteen, suspicion flickering into embarrassment. "Oh… sorry. For a second, I thought it was a grenade." His voice softened, a weary chuckle escaping. "Is that… a mangosteen?"

"A grenade?" Rover echoed, the word feeling unfamiliar on his tongue.

The officer let out a long, tired breath. "Yeah. Old-fashioned explosives. Before the Lament, before everything changed. We lost so much—technology, knowledge, even food. Back then, we made do with whatever we had."

His eyes darkened, memories surfacing. "Tacetite Weapons took over, but people still mixed old tech with new. Hand grenades were crude, dangerous. Eventually, we moved on."

Rover mulled over the officer's words—and this grenade and its history. 'Practical,' he thought. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Curious, he held out the mangosteen toward the officer, politely asking. "What do you know about these?"

The officer shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Its not local. We import them when we can. But with the Tacet Discord outbreaks, priorities changed."

"Only essentials get through. Mangosteens…" He had a hopeful smile before saying, "they'll have to wait until General Jiyan brings us victory."

He gestured toward the guarded perimeter, voice trailing off. "Only one waterway's open now—Port Gunchao, south of the city. Rearguards escort shipments when it's safe."

A bitter laugh slipped out. "Military won't waste rations on fruit. Too short a shelf life, and it looks too much like a grenade. More trouble than it's worth."

Rover managed a small, understanding smile. "Thank you."

The officer gave a weary nod. Though the tension eased slightly, the camp's restless energy lingered.

In the distance, crates were still being hauled, boots thudded through gravel, and orders were barked in low, grim tones. The quiet urgency of war never truly faded.

Rover and Yangyang offered a polite salute before turning away. Outside, the air was brisk, carrying the chill of distant gunfire and the constant hum of Tacet activity. Ahead, they spotted Jianxin emerging from another tent.

She appeared calm as always, but her eyes betrayed the weight of a difficult conversation.

"I heard you two still have other matters to attend to," she said, brushing a strand of wind-blown hair behind her ear. "When you're free, let's catch up at Liuxian Teahouse—it's quiet there."

Clasping her hands in farewell, she added gently, "It's been a pleasure."

"I see. Farewell, Master Jianxin." Rover bowed slightly, his voice respectful.

Yangyang nodded. "Take care."

They stood in silence, watching her silhouette fade into the haze of the Rearguard Camp. The calm in her stride seemed almost unreal amid such tension.

Yangyang broke the silence, her voice thoughtful. " Us running into Master Jianxin was a one-off incident, wasn't it?"

She glanced at Rover, curiosity in her eyes. "And if the mangosteen was meant to mean something... what exactly is Madam Magistrate trying to say?"

Rover squinted into the sun-dappled distance, brow furrowed. "Maybe she wants me to meet someone. But…" His tone dropped low. "The moment hasn't come yet."

A new weight entered his voice, making Yangyang more alert. "You've thought of something, haven't you?" she asked.

Rover didn't answer right away. His mind sifted through the pieces: the token, the vision, Jianxin's timing, the strange gift of fruit in wartime.

Finally, he spoke, "I think… the outbreak of Tacet Discords wasn't random. And neither was the timing."

Yangyang's expression turned grim. "If another outbreak happens in Desorock… it won't just be Huanglong. All of us will bleed."

But Rover continued, outlining what he knew—the port lockdowns, disrupted trade routes, and, most of all, the mangosteen's curious origin.

Yangyang's eyes widened in realization. "The officer said it was brought in from the south. By boat."

Rover nodded quietly.

Then, slowly, he added one last piece: the image he'd seen—the General standing tall in a vision of burning skies and shattered ground.

Yangyang blinked. "So... is Madam Magistrate trying to tell us about General Jiyan? Or the war itself?"

Rover said nothing. He neither confirmed nor denied it. There were too few pieces, too many shadows.

Yangyang exhaled softly. "We haven't even reached the frontlines yet, but…" She looked up, eyes narrowing toward the looming Desorock Highlands. The clouds hung low. The winds howled.

"I can already smell the iron in the air," she murmured. "Something's coming."

A pause.

"Our soldiers stationed beyond those hills…" Her voice softened to a whisper. " I hope they are okay."

"Food... Food..."

Just then, a tremor surged through Rover's Tacet Mark.

He froze.

A soft glow pulsed at the back of his hand as a resonance stirred—not from the world around him, but from deep within. His breath caught as his vision shifted, overtaken by a blooming, unfamiliar frequency.

Static

And then it struck—like a tuning fork resonating with his Mark—he was seeing through someone else's eyes

Raindrops shimmered before his eyes—but instead of falling, they rose.

Gravity reversed in his vision, droplets ascending from earth to sky, as if the laws of nature had unraveled. Before him unfolded a strange place—a liminal realm that didn't quite exist in this world.

The air shimmered like heat haze over mirrored water. Ripples stirred, and something beneath the surface began to move.

From that glimmering boundary, they emerged—Tacet Discords. Crawling, leaping, howling through the rift, their forms twisted and unfinished, their cries laced with static and discord.

A lone soldier ran, bloodied and limping, desperate to escape the onslaught. One Discord lunged, maw open—when suddenly—

ROAR

A thunderous roar split the chaos.

The earth quaked beneath a colossal Jade Loong, formed of holographic light, descending in a blur of brilliance.

It coiled and dove, tearing through the Tacet Discords in an emerald spiral. The soldier stumbled, awestruck, as a figure emerged from the Loong's core—it was Jiyan.

His long teal hair whipped in the wind, and in his grip gleamed a jade spear—ancient in shape, yet humming with resonance.

"General…" the soldier gasped, hope flickering in his voice.

Jiyan's eyes swept the battlefield—sharp, relentless. In a flash, he moved. His spear danced like a ribbon of light, each thrust a lethal stroke, guiding the Jade Loong's strikes as if tethered to his will.

Tacet Discords were torn apart in droves, their shrieks drowned by the unyielding fury of spear and spectral beast.

More soldiers surged behind him—each wielding a resonator's rapier, their formation fanning out like an unfurling banner.

Jiyan raised his spear high.

And then—as if witnessing a scene from legend—

Thousands of radiant arrows manifested in the sky, each burning with the brilliance of a newborn sun. They rained down in perfect formation, divine and devastating, striking the land with solar finality.

Jiyan's voice thundered across the battlefield.

"Follow the Qingloong. To war!"

***

"You know..." a voice whispered, low and almost in disbelief, "I'm on a battlefield, but it feels like I'm on vacation."

A frontline soldier muttered the words with a yawn, slouched against a ruined barricade, his rifle resting across his lap as if forgotten.

"Same here," another replied, tearing open a ration pack and chewing idly as he gazed out over the killing field. "Never thought I'd see the day."

They weren't hiding. They didn't need to.

Not with him out there.

A third soldier squinted into the distance. "How much do you think Jinzhou paid to hire that guy?"

"Probably a fortune," the fourth answered, half-joking, half in awe.

All eyes were fixed on a single figure.

Out on the scorched plain, where the Tacet Discords should have overwhelmed them, stood a lone archer—Da Lian.

His bow, despite its unremarkable appearance, was wielded with the grace of a god. Each arrow released was more than a projectile—it was a proclamation.

A flash of Spectro light, a ripple in the air, and then silence... as another Tacet Discord fell, its form dissolving into harmless frequency.

No enemy crossed the red line—not a single one.

They came in waves, howling and charging with all the chaos their combined might could muster.

But Lian stood firm.

Every shot carved the air like a symphony—elegant, unerring. His movements were so precise they seemed unreal, each gesture fluid and exact.

Yet, what impressed most was his endurance—and the way he held himself. No sweat. No words. Just an eerie calm—like Hou Yi reborn, standing alone beneath the sky.

A soldier exhaled, barely a whisper. "Nine hours left on the clock. We better pray he doesn't leave a second early."

To be continued...