"The eyes!" Gu Fan called, almost lazily, "Not the heads."
Song Yan adapted instantly.
Her next cut skipped the neck and carved the glowing tear-track out of a socket. The light died. The skeleton dropped and stayed down.
The Black Moon assassins took the flanks with short, ugly knife work, stabbing sockets, twisting, moving on.
They were good.
But Song Yan was better to watch.
One skeleton ignored all of them.
It came straight at Gu Fan's throat, weeping fire trailing behind it, rusted blade raised. It did not care about the assassins. It did not care about Song Yan. It cared about the man the dungeon had named.
Song Yan stepped in front of him, smashed its jaw sideways with the flat of her sword, and drove the tip through the carved tear-track in its skull.
The light extinguished from his hollow sockets in no time.
