The girl stepped out as if to taste the wind, then drifted back into the wooden hut like a leaf returning to its branch.

After a longer look, Cerqin circled back to link up with Silver Luan, a scout sliding into the treeline’s shadow.

“How is it? What’s the situation?” Silver Luan asked, her voice low as dusk under the pines.

“Weaker than I thought, like a thin fire under wet wood. I didn’t see any Fourth Ranks…” Cerqin’s words fell like light rain.

“Likely out of camp, like wolves ranging from their den,” Qiqi said, her brow tight as a drawn bow.

Hurt as she was, their quarry had slipped away like a fish because the stronger hands weren’t at the campfire.

From the hit-and-run and the ones who entered the rooms, Qiqi judged at least ten Fourth Ranks in all, like iron stakes ringed around a field.

“Qiqi, have you seen the leader?” Silver Luan asked, her gaze steady as a lantern flame.

“The leader? No…” Qiqi answered, her tone flat as still water.

“What is it?” Silver Luan pressed, watching Cerqin’s frown knit like threads on a loom.

“Did you see a woman leader?” Cerqin asked, her eyes keen as a hawk over snow.

“Not sure she’s the leader, but it’s strange,” Cerqin said, a chill like mist on stone in her voice. “She isn’t strong, yet they treat her with deep respect.”

Silver Luan and Qiqi traded a look, both faces clouded like a sky before rain.

“I haven’t seen anyone like that…” Qiqi said, her words falling like dry leaves.

“Either way, their stronger ones aren’t here,” Cerqin said, voice clean as a bell. “If we break in now, their resistance won’t hit like a mountain.”

Those Fourth Ranks who went out would likely be caught by our Guard squads, like fish swept into a net; even if a few slipped free, most wouldn’t.

“We can seize that strange girl first,” Cerqin added, a knife-edge glint behind calm water. “Feels like a lever to pry the rest into stopping.”

Meanwhile, in a small hut at the camp, a girl sat with a knot of worry on her face, like a storm cloud snagged on a peak.

“Why the funeral face? What’s done is done. This life’s loose as wind and grass, isn’t it?” The door banged open like a gust, and a short-haired woman with a stark scar stepped in.

Resignation softened her sharp eyes for a breath, a shard of warmth melting on winter steel.

“My lady, be at ease. I’ll protect you,” she said, voice firm as a stone step.

The girl bit her lip, looking at the guard who’d suffered with her, at the cold-edged woman who’d carved a way out for her like a blade through thorn.

That scar, fierce across a once-fair face, lay on the woman like a red river, mirroring the oath burning in the girl’s eyes.

“With your strength, you could make it out alone…” the girl whispered, fear tight as a knotted cord.

“Don’t say that, my lady,” the woman cut in, words hard as hammered iron. “Even if I die, I won’t leave you. The family head showed me grace. We clawed our way free; I won’t let harm touch you. Once we gather enough supplies, we’ll…”

“If we keep this up, they’ll encircle us,” the girl said, dread creeping like frost.

“Rest easy, my lady,” the woman said, her voice a banked fire. “We haven’t gone too far, and we haven’t killed. For a time, their hands will be too full to swat us.”

The girl fell silent, her quiet deep as a covered well.

Seeing her lady’s face, the scarred woman said no more. She bowed, a blade sheathing, then slipped out of the room like a shadow.

“Boss!” men called, voices snapping like twigs in the cold.

“Mm,” she answered, a brief rumble like distant thunder.

The others greeted her with respect, and she answered with a curt nod, her face settling into iron.

She patrolled the perimeter like a wolf circling its den, found no ripple out of place, then returned to the central cluster of timber huts.

This was where they kept the ransom captives taken in the raids, people penned like deer in a snare; soft sounds drifted through the thin door like silk drawn over wood.

She didn’t knock; she pushed in, the door sighing like an old tree, and several heads snapped toward her like birds.

“Boss,” they said, their voices turning smooth as oil when they saw her.

“Mm.” She gave them a glance, cool as frost, then swept the room.

A few girls in the room put on fawning smiles like painted fans, while a hostage hung from the beam by bound wrists, her beauty stained with fear and a dash of hate, like frost on a blossom.

In their caravan raids, aside from rare exceptions, they chose marks who wore rich cloth or carried faces like porcelain, hunting coin like crows hunt gleam.

They’d already released a few, shifted camps a few times like moving shadows, and these remaining captives were near the date for the planned ransom trades.

“Where are the others?” the scarred woman asked, gaze skimming the room like a knife over ice, ignoring the naked hostage in the center.

“And you—show some restraint. Don’t damage the goods,” she said, her frown casting cold like winter wind.

The Fourth Rank lieutenants shivered, reeds in a gust, and bobbed their heads in quick assent.

“Don’t worry, Boss, we know the line,” one said, sweat beading like dew. “The others took men to find new targets… and to hunt the one who ran.”

“Just an ordinary cultivator, not worth it,” she said, voice flat as a stepped stone. “I don’t want that happening again. Moving too often won’t erase every track.”

“Yes!” they answered, a chorus like pebbles striking a drum.

She didn’t care about their indulgences, only about the ledger. With enough supplies and silver, she could grease small-city clans and petty powers, like oil in a hinge.

Then she’d buy a few fixed assets, plant roots like a sheltering tree, and secure the young lady’s future. That was the heart she guarded.

After warning them not to break the hostages, she stepped out, ready to return to her room and steal a breath like a tired hunter under eaves.

Then, from a hut across the way, facing her door, a violent surge of magic flared like lightning under a stormcloud.

“My lady!” she cried, the words a bell in the wind.

For a Fifth Rank, the distance was nothing; in a blink she was there, and the blast of mana blew the roof skyward like leaves in a gale.

She kicked the door in, and her pupils knifed down to points, rage flashing like a struck flint.

The young lady she valued beyond her own life was held at blade-point by a pink-haired girl, a sliver of steel kissing her throat like winter.

Beside her stood a horned, white-haired beastkin with a massive silver-scaled tail, watching in silence like an abyss that chilled the skin by sight alone.

That bottomless sense pressed her like deep water; it stung her flesh and cleared her head in a breath.

“Hooked a big fish. Fifth Rank, huh,” Silver Luan murmured, eyes narrowed like crescents, a small smile curving like a knife.

Only a Fifth Rank; in pure duel strength, she likely lagged behind the Holy Maiden’s elite knights, shining like tempered steel, but Silver Luan’s blood still ran hot as firewood catching.

“So this is the real head? Looks like that girl matters to her,” Cerqin said, studying the shifts in the scarred woman’s face, curiosity glimmering like a firefly between them.

“Who are you…” the scarred woman asked, voice dark as stormstone, clinging to a sliver of hope like a twig in flood.

“We’re here to bring you down, oh~” Cerqin sang, sugar over a hidden hook.

“…,” the woman breathed, her silence tight as a strung bow.

“I’d advise you not to twitch,” Cerqin said, smile crooked as a crescent blade. “You can’t beat us. Don’t think of running, or this beautiful lady might bleed.”

Silver Luan shot her a look, distaste flicking like a lash, but said nothing. She held her focus on the scarred woman, gaze steady as a spear.

“…” The scarred woman weighed it all, thoughts spinning like crows over a field. If it were only the camp under attack, she could have carried the lady and cut a path even against a strong foe.

But they had struck this hut like a knife to the heart. The game board had turned to a dead end, stones locked like ice.

“Surrender, and you’ll bleed fewer men, oh~” Cerqin reminded her, words dropping like beads into a bowl.

The Sanctuary was sweeping this region for escaped prisoners, not least because your band held a lot of Fourth Ranks, many of them women, a thorny grove to burn.

They’d hit caravans and taken hostages for coin, but hadn’t butchered for sport, like wolves who hunt to eat. If she could force a yield and spare waste, that was best.

“We broke out,” the woman said, bitter as bark. “In your hands, our end won’t be good…”

“Our people have ringed this area,” Cerqin said, hand steady on the girl before her, the other at her neck like a winter blade. “You can’t escape. Criminals pay a price.”

She tilted her head, and Cerqin’s face showed only calm, a placid pond with a blade’s reflection.

“But you can rest easy on one thing,” Cerqin added, voice soft as falling snow. “Caught by our Sanctuary, at least your life is safe.”

“You’re from the Sanctuary…” the scarred woman said, the words heavy as rain.