The darkness of the palace had transformed into a living, breathing monster. Eunuch Tong stumbled through the corridors, his lungs burning and his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Every shadow seemed to sprout a spear, and every gust of wind sounded like Dzhambul's voice screaming for his head.
He found himself disoriented in the southern quadrant. To his right, the grim silhouette of the South Prison loomed; to the southwest lay Chinua's deserted courtyard, but it was too far across open ground. The torches of the searching guards moved through the gardens like predatory fireflies. He was cornered.
Then, a flicker of a memory surfaced—a rumor whispered among the palace servants about a forgotten "dog hole" near the southern wall. With shaking hands, he felt along the cold masonry until his fingers brushed against a gap hidden by overgrown ivy.
Without hesitation, the old man dropped to his hands and knees. He forced his fragile body into the narrow, fifty-yard tunnel. The air inside was stagnant and smelled of damp earth and rot. Every inch he crawled felt like a mile. The darkness was absolute, pressing against his eyes, but he kept moving, driven by the image of Batukhan's blood gushing onto the decree.
After what felt like an eternity, the muffled chattering of voices reached his ears. Hope flared in his chest—he was near the exit! He could smell the fresh, cool air of the outside world. He surged forward, but his head slammed into something solid and unyielding.
A heavy sack was wedged firmly into the mouth of the hole. In the cramped, lightless tunnel, Tong had no leverage. He pushed with all his remaining strength, his fingernails clawing at the rough fabric, but the weight was too great.
He was trapped in the throat of the wall. Behind him lay the palace and certain death; in front of him lay freedom, blocked by a few pounds of grain and sand.
"Please," he whimpered, his voice a broken rasp in the tiny space. "Not like this. Not here."
While Eunuch Tong struggled in the dirt, the water of the southeast river broke. Mönkhbat surfaced first, gasping for the freezing air, his hair plastered to his face. One by one, Dolgoon, Naksh, and finally Buqa—with the shivering Crown Prince still clinging to his back—emerged from the dark current.
They dragged themselves onto the muddy bank, hidden by the reeds. They were outside the palace walls, but they were far from safe.
"We need to move," Mönkhbat whispered, his eyes scanning the battlements above and found that outside of the city. "Just like we planned. We are leaving to Txoo Village and waited for the others."
Dolgoon asked, "What about Yize?"
Mönkhbat said, "We are not going back for him. He know where to meet us." He walked to Buqa. "Thank you. I will carry His Highness from here."
Naksh said, "General, it still a long way to Txoo Village, let's me carry His Highness. You have rushed to help from the south, and you have little sleep within these eight days."
Buqa said, "Listen to him, we still need you, general."
"Alright," Mönkhbat accept and help Bastsaikhan onto Naksh's back.
Xin Yize had spent the night in a state of hyper-vigilance, disguised as a mundane rice merchant. His heart had nearly stopped every time a patrol passed, but now, the movement came from behind him.
When he felt the heavy stone-filled sacks shift, he expected the grim, mud-caked faces of the Southern General's elite. Instead, after heaving the rice bags aside, a frail, trembling old man spilled out into the dirt, gasping for air like a landed fish.
Yize didn't hesitate. He grabbed the man by the collar and pinned him against the wooden frame of his cart, his shadow looming over the intruder.
"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice a low, lethal hiss.
"I am..." Tong struggled to catch his breath, his chest heaving. "My name is Tong. I was the King's personal eunuch. Young man, please... take me away from here quickly. I cannot be seen."
Yize's eyes narrowed, his expression remaining indifferent and cold. "Why? If you are the King's personal servant, why are you scurrying through the dirt like a rat? Why are you afraid?"
"I told you," Tong said, his voice firming with a sudden, desperate gravity even as it choked with fear. "I was His Majesty's personal eunuch..."
Yize's grip tightened as the past tense hit him like a physical blow. "Was? What happened to the King?"
Tears finally spilled from Tong's eyes, carving tracks through the dust on his face. "The King was murdered by the Second Prince, Dzhambul. I saw it with my own eyes... I am the only witness to his crime."
The world seemed to go silent for Yize. The mission had changed in an instant. "What about General Mönkhbat and the others?"
"General Mönkhbat is here in the city?" Tong asked, his voice cracking in surprise. "He was prohibited from ever entering Ntsua-Ntu unless the King himself ordered it!"
"The General came to rescue the Crown Prince and Chinua," Yize explained curtly, his mind racing.
"What?" Tong gasped, taken aback by the scale of the night's rebellion.
"Did you see them?" Yize pressed.
Tong shook his head frantically. "No. But I saw waves of soldiers racing toward Chinua's old courtyard. If His Highness is with the General, they must have escaped that way."
"Alright," Yize said, his heart heavy with the weight of the King's death. "We leave now. We were supposed to meet at Txoo Village at dawn. It is already predawn—we have no time."
With practiced efficiency, Yize drew a knife and sliced the bottoms of the three rock-filled sacks, letting the heavy stones spill out to permanently plug the dog hole from the outside. He hoisted the exhausted Tong into the small carriage—the one originally intended for a rescued Prince—and snapped the reins. The single-horse carriage rattled forward, heading toward the main gates before the news of the King's death could lock the city down forever.
The air shifted from a standoff to a dance of death. Despite the blood soaking her shoulder, Chinua stood at the center of the ring, her presence commanding and lethal. She didn't look at Yi; her eyes were locked onto the soldiers she had once called her own.
"Just like we practiced," she murmured.
Hye didn't hesitate. He moved from her side to her back, pressing his spine against hers. The non-combatant's fear was still there, but it was overridden by a rhythmic, rehearsed synchronicity.
"Okay, just like we practiced," Hye echoed, his voice trembling but determined. He reached down, snatched a small, concealed dagger from his boot, and unsheathed it with a metallic hiss. "I'm ready, Chinua."
Yi took a step back, his face pale. "Your Highness," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "Does it really have to end like this? Against your own men?"
"The gate is where I am headed," Chinua said, her voice dropping to a temperature that felt like ice. "Anyone who stands in my way, dies."
Then, they moved.
It was a whirlwind of coordinated motion. Chinua rushed forward with explosive power, and Hye moved in perfect harmony, back-stepping to stay anchored to her. A soldier lunged at Chinua's front with a spear; she knocked the shaft aside with a bone-jarring parry and swung her body to the right.
As she rotated, Hye was delivered right into the soldier's guard. With a panicked but precise strike, Hye drove his dagger into the man's face. In that same heartbeat, Chinua's blade had already completed its arc, cutting clean through the abdomen of a second attacker.
As the second soldier fell, Chinua snatched his falling sword out of mid-air with her left hand—ignoring the white-hot flare of agony in her shoulder. Now wielding twin blades, she rolled forward through the dirt, a low, sweeping strike that took the legs out from under two more guards who had been closing in on Hye.
The formation was unbreakable. Chinua provided the iron defense and the heavy strikes, while Hye acted as her secondary set of eyes, striking at the openings she created.
Yi watched in horror as his unit—the finest in the camp—was being dismantled by a wounded woman and a man who couldn't even throw a punch.
The atmosphere shifted from a desperate last stand to a scene of primal terror. The reinforcements that had arrived to bolster Yi froze in their tracks. They had come expecting to subdue a wounded traitor; instead, they found a blood-soaked goddess of war standing amidst the fallen.
Chinua stood firm, her silhouette sharp against the torchlight, but beneath her the thin layer of clothing, her body was screaming. Her left hand, slick with her own warm blood, began to tremble uncontrollably. The sword felt ten times heavier than it had moments ago.
"If one of us must get out of here, that person must be you. Understand?" she whispered, her voice barely audibles over the crackle of nearby fires.
"Chinua..." Hye started, his heart sinking.
"That's my order," she snapped, the steel returning to her tone.
"Got it," Hye replied, tightening his grip on his dagger.
Yi, sensing her physical limit, steeled his heart. "Soldiers! Take down the Eastern General and her strategist!"
The soldiers began their advance, but before the first spear could reach her, a blood-curdling scream tore through the night. A soldier at the rear was yanked violently backward behind a tent, his cry cut short by a sickening crunch. Seconds later, another man vanished into the darkness with a frantic yelp.
The unit spun around, their formation breaking in panic. In the heavy shadows by the front gate, five pairs of piercing, bioluminescent yellow eyes ignited like demonic fire.
Slowly, two massive, striped Tigers stepped into the light, their low, guttural growls vibrating in the very chests of the men standing there.
"Captain Hibo," Hye muttered, his eyes wide with relief.
Through the gate strode Hibo, looking like a goddess of the wilderness. Two of the largest tigers walked at her heels like loyal hounds, their shoulders rippling with lethal power. Behind her marched the rest of the unit's elite: Khawn, Azad, and Behrouz, weapons drawn and eyes cold.
Chinua didn't collapse. She didn't even flinch. She stared directly into Yi's terrified eyes and sneered, the blood on her face making her look truly feral.
"If you still want to live, you better run now," she warned, her voice a low predator's rasp. "Or else, you will face the true power of the Eastern Military Camp."