The ground still bore the chaos from before—ripped earth, scattered debris, and splattered gore that had long dried into ugly smears. The corpses left behind, twisted and broken, told a story of violence that had come and gone in a storm.
Linglong lay among it all, her body unmoving, unconscious but still breathing. Her face was pale, her robes torn in places, blood seeping into the fabric like ink spilled on paper.
Just a few meters away, Yun stood.
She wasn't moving. Her gaze was fixed upward, searching the skies as if they might offer answers. The weight on her chest was suffocating, and yet her eyes refused to close. Her expression was etched with worry, that quiet, brittle kind of fear that comes after the danger passes—when the silence is no longer peace, but uncertainty.
Even now, even with her body tensed and her mind exhausted, she couldn't bring herself to look away.
Something was still wrong.
She finally exhaled, a long, drawn-out sigh that carried all her bottled-up anxiety. Her body shifted slightly, preparing to settle back into meditation—if only to keep herself from unraveling completely.
But then—
"Why do you look so worried?"
The voice was cold. Crisp. Familiar.
Her eyes snapped open.
There, not far from her, stood Yanwei.
Dust clung to his clothes, his hair was slightly disheveled, and exhaustion lingered in the lines beneath his eyes—but he was alive. Standing. Smirking like he always did.
He stepped forward, his smile carrying a quiet arrogance.
"Don't forget it's me," he said, voice low, calm. "I won't just die in some barren place like this."
Yun's eyes trembled for only a heartbeat before softening. Relief crashed over her like a wave, and before her mind could catch up to her body, she moved.
She ran.
And when she reached him, she didn't hold back—throwing her arms around his tired frame, burying her face into his shoulder.
"I know," she whispered, her voice small. "I'm sorry, my lord."
Yanwei didn't return the embrace.
He stood still, gaze unfazed, eyes as cold as ever.
"Remove the 'my lord' thing," he said flatly. "I'm a demon, not into formality."
Her arms loosened.
There was a pause, a flicker of hesitation.
"…Yes," she finally replied, her voice quieter than before.
Yun gently stepped away, her arms falling to her sides as she turned toward Linglong's still form. The ground was darkened with dried blood, and the coppery stench still hung heavy in the air. Linglong hadn't moved an inch. Her chest rose and fell, shallow, but at least she was breathing.
"She hasn't woken up at all," Yun said, voice barely above a whisper. "There was even a moment… I really thought she was gone."
Yanwei didn't respond at first. His expression was distant, almost unreadable, like his mind was walking far ahead of his body.
Then, slowly, he stepped forward—his boots crunching against scattered debris as he walked past Yun, eyes fixed on Linglong. His robes were dirty, bloodstained, heavy with fatigue, but he carried himself with the same spine-straight authority as always. He stood above Linglong, quiet for a heartbeat too long, then sighed.
"I'll alter her memory."
The words came low, as if torn from his throat.
He didn't wait for Yun to react.
"Guard me. If I'm interrupted mid-process, I might die." His voice was clipped, sharp. "And after I'm done… I'll be injured. Maybe worse. So stay sharp. I won't be at my peak."
He crouched down beside Linglong and stared at her face—not with affection, but with a kind of cold detachment. He tilted his head slightly, like he was measuring how much of her memory needed to be scraped clean.
"To be exposed now, after everything…" he muttered to himself. "I'm vulnerable during the process. And injured after it."
He clenched his fist and let out a bitter laugh under his breath. "Fuck! Whatever. So long as no one ever finds out who I am…"
Yun, already moving, didn't speak. Her eyes burned with focus as she positioned herself several meters away, keeping him in her peripheral view while scanning for threats.
Yanwei glanced toward her, just slightly—just enough.
His exterior was tense, lips pressed into a line, breath slow and strained. But inside? Inside he was ice.
Yun… oh Yun, he thought quietly, this is your test. Don't fail me now.
Without turning his head, he sent a silent command. The corpse puppet hidden outside Yun's perception twitched subtly in the shadows—silent, patient, and ready.
And Yun? Still unaware it even existed.
Yanwei looked back down at Linglong, eyes narrowing.
This wasn't just about covering his tracks.
"This was also a way to gauge just how much control he truly had over Yun's loyalty."
And he would not let that slip.
Yanwei was already kneeling before Linglong, his shadow cast over her pale, unconscious form. The battlefield's stench still clung to the air, but his focus was elsewhere—on the delicate, dangerous task ahead.
Tsk, he thought, narrowing his eyes. Even though everything I stated wasn't true, getting injured after the process is indeed right. To alter someone's memory as a Rank 1… that's a death wish. Of course, it's not impossible if your soul is superior… but injury? Injury is inevitable.
He let out a quiet breath as his fingers hovered above Linglong's temple.
Three years at minimum… ten years at worst, just to fully recover.
Still, he didn't hesitate.
And then, without further pause, Yanwei placed his hand gently atop Linglong's head.
In an instant, her eyes flew open—wild, unfocused, and brimming with sheer panic.
A scream tore from her throat, sharp and bloodcurdling, as if her soul itself was being wrenched apart. It echoed across the broken battlefield, cutting through the lingering silence like a blade through flesh.
The agony in her voice wasn't just physical—it was deeper, something more primal, more raw. Like her very sense of reality was shattering.
Yanwei's expression didn't shift. He didn't flinch. His gaze remained cold, unshaken, even as the force of her cry threatened to shake the skies themselves. His mind, steady as a blade, had long braced for this.
A thin trail of blood slipped from the corner of Yanwei's lips, vivid against the pale stillness of his face. He didn't bother wiping it away. His hand remained on Linglong's forehead, fingers steady, the glow at his fingertips dimming slowly.
Minutes dragged on like hours.
Linglong's screams finally quieted—fading into whimpers, then into silence. Her body went limp once more, unconscious again.
Yanwei exhaled—not out of relief, but with finality. The process was done.
His voice came low, nearly inaudible, laced with strain but still controlled.
"…It's over."
He didn't move yet. His shoulders were rigid, his spine stiff from the toll. But his eyes remained sharp, never once losing their edge.