Zhou's cannons opened at first light.
Not probing fire.
Not ranging shots.
A full, synchronized barrage.
The Northern Causeway vanished beneath smoke and thunder as iron shot tore into the stone embankments. The earth convulsed. The river below boiled as shattered masonry plunged into it. Grenadiers followed close behind, hurling black-powder pots that burst into sheets of flame along the barricades.
Wu Jin stood atop the inner rampart, cloak snapping in the shockwaves.
"Hold the line!" he shouted. "Reload and return fire!"
Swivel guns answered, barking iron scrap into the advancing Zhou formations. Musketeers fired from prepared embrasures, volley after volley, smoke layering the battlefield into choking strata.
Below, Wu An moved through it.
Not charging.
Not retreating.
Advancing at an angle no one else saw.
The Black Tigers emerged from hidden pits and half-collapsed drains, striking Zhou's flanks with knives and short muskets before dissolving back into cover. The Golden Dragons held their fire until Wu An raised a single hand — then unleashed a perfectly timed volley that dropped an entire grenadier line mid-throw.
For a brief, impossible stretch of time—
The brothers' commands aligned.
Wu Jin signaled artillery repositioning.
Wu An redirected skirmish pressure.
Their movements interlocked like gears forced into cooperation.
Zhou stalled.
Only for a moment.
Then the sabotage struck.
A sudden explosion ripped through the western swivel gun nest — not from enemy fire, but from within. Powder barrels ignited prematurely, killing the crew instantly. A second blast followed further down the line.
Wu Jin spun.
"That position was sealed!" he shouted. "No enemy line of sight!"
Another explosion erupted behind him — a supply cache gone up in fire and screaming.
"Sabotage!" General Han yelled. "Someone's inside our lines!"
Wu Jin's gaze snapped instinctively toward Wu An.
Wu An felt it.
The shift.
Not accusation — suspicion.
At the same time, one of the Black Tiger units failed to emerge from their flank route. Moments later, Zhou troops poured through the alley they were meant to hold, as if guided there.
Liao Yun cursed. "Someone diverted our signal fires!"
Wu An turned sharply.
His eyes locked on Wu Jin.
The being inside him tightened — not speaking, not judging — simply aligning toward threat.
Wu Jin saw it happen.
Saw the calculation flicker.
"Don't," Wu Jin said sharply. "This isn't me."
"Then who?" Wu An asked.
Neither answered.
Because another blast tore through the causeway.
Zhou surged forward again, exploiting the sudden gaps with ruthless precision. Their general had not panicked at the stall — he had expected collapse.
This wasn't a breach.
It was a test.
And someone inside Ling An was helping Zhou administer it.
The brothers fought on, but the rhythm was broken now. Orders overlapped. Signals conflicted. A volley meant for Zhou clipped a Black Tiger unit. A countercharge stalled because a gate that should have been open was sealed.
Too many mistakes.
Too deliberate.
By midmorning, the Causeway still held — but barely.
Wu Jin ordered a controlled withdrawal.
Wu An did not argue.
That silence frightened everyone more than a shout would have.
They separated again, each returning to their respective command zones with the same thought gnawing at them:
He could be the one doing this.
Deep beneath the tower, Wu Shuang walked alone.
No guards followed her.
No one stopped her.
The corridors parted for her as if the stone recognized her weight. She reached a secondary chamber long sealed, its doors etched with an older version of the lotus sigil — one less clenched, more ambiguous.
She placed her hand against it.
The stone warmed instantly.
Inside the chamber, something shifted — not awakening, but repositioning.
She did not smile.
She did not frown.
She simply adjusted one element of the pattern.
Not enough to stop the ritual.
Not enough to accelerate it.
Enough to change who would survive it.
Above, the tower's pulse altered slightly — so subtly that only the Lord Protector noticed.
He paused mid-movement, blade hovering above the basin.
"Oh?" he murmured. "Clever girl."
Back in the city, Wu Jin slammed his gauntlet against the map table.
"Someone is bleeding us from the inside," he said. "And Zhou knows exactly where to press."
General Han nodded grimly. "If this continues, the alliance won't last another day."
Across the city, Wu An stood in a ruined courtyard, blood drying on his armor, staring at his own hands.
They were steady.
Too steady.
Shen Yue approached cautiously. "An… you didn't even flinch when Jin looked at you."
"I noticed," Wu An replied.
"Do you think he's responsible?"
Wu An didn't answer immediately.
The being inside him adjusted — threat, probability, advantage.
"I think," he said slowly, "someone wants us to believe it's him."
Shen Yue exhaled, relief and dread intertwined.
"Then we're being played."
"Yes."
Above them, Zhou's banners advanced another measured line.
Inside Ling An, the alliance cracked under pressure.
And in the tower, something patient smiled — not because the brothers were failing…
…but because they were learning exactly how fragile trust becomes when survival is the currency.