Han Yu reerged from the treeline about a hundred ters away from the glowing periter wards, his steps deliberately uneven. He dragged his halberd against the dirt, letting it scrape loudly enough to draw attention.
His robes were sared with mud, his hair disheveled, and streaks of blood; half from the serpent, half from himself painted across his sleeves. It was a calculated sight, a crafted image of a disciple who had narrowly survived a desperate struggle.
The protective barrier surrounding the camp shimred faintly, its glow a wavering veil against the darkness of the forest. The runes etched into the ground pulsed with a steady rhythm, evidence of the defensive arrays the elders had activated before nightfall.
Behind the wards, the disciples were gathering in clusters, so tending to wounds, others sitting in dazed silence, their weapons still clutched tightly in trembling hands. The sll of burned beast flesh hung in the night air, sharp and acrid, carried on the faint breeze.
Two figures broke away from a search party, their light talismans flickering across the trees.
"There! Over here!"
It was a senior disciple, a man in his late twenties, his expression tight with exhaustion. Another rushed beside him, their relief evident when they recognized Han Yu.
"You were pushed back far," the first one said, scanning him from head to toe. "We thought we'd lost you."
Han Yu lifted his halberd weakly, letting its crimson-stained edge catch the faint light. "Serpent," he muttered hoarsely, his breath coming out uneven. He gestured back toward the dark treeline. "Fast one. Pulled off my footing. Had to chase it before it circled back."
The senior disciple's eyes narrowed briefly, but the story fit well enough. The chaotic nature of the beast tide had scattered dozens of disciples across the battlefield. It wasn't unusual for soone to end up isolated against a particularly persistent foe. And Han Yu's current state: muddy, bloody, exhausted gave weight to his words.
"Good. You're alive. That's all that matters," the other senior said firmly. "Co, the elders need everyone accounted for. Rest will follow soon."
Han Yu inclined his head, careful to keep the relief on his face subtle, controlled.
In truth, he felt no relief, only satisfaction. His gamble had paid off. The Undying Life Charm's anchor was hidden, his materials stored safely beneath the ancient trunk. He had slipped away and returned without drawing suspicion.
The seniors escorted him back through the shimring barrier, then left to resu their search. Han Yu stepped back into the heart of the camp, where disciples and elders alike moved with strained efficiency. He blended into the chaos seamlessly, his presence unremarkable among the many who bore dirt, blood, and fatigue.
Over the next hour, search teams returned one by one, each bringing with them stragglers who had been separated in the tide.
Every disciple was accounted for.
So were unconscious, carried back on stretchers; others limped heavily, supported by comrades. Many bore fresh bandages, hastily wrapped around cuts and gashes, while a few had burns or broken bones from clashing with beasts empowered by strange qi.
But despite the injuries, despite the exhaustion that weighed on them all, there had been no deaths. That fact alone seed almost miraculous. Against the tide they had faced, the second in weeks, many had expected losses. Instead, the defensive arrays, the elders' preparation, and the disciples' determination had held the line.
For once, the atmosphere was not one of despair but of cautious triumph.
The elders gathered them near the central formation, a great stone platform inscribed with complex runes that glowed faintly in the dark. Disciples sat or stood in a wide semicircle, faces illuminated by the dim light of talismans and formation lines.
The silence was heavy, filled with the sound of labored breathing and the distant cries of wounded beasts still being finished off by patrolling elders.
Peak Head Jian Wuhen stepped forward first.
His tall fra cast a long shadow over the assembly, his presence commanding even in the dim light. His eyes swept over the disciples, his gaze sharp, weighing each of them in turn. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but carried the weight of iron.
"You have done well tonight. What we faced was no ordinary tide. These beasts were not acting on instinct, they were driven, directed. Whoever commands them sought to bleed us, to test our strength. And yet, you stood firm. You fought not only with your blades but with your will. For that, I comnd you."
His words were asured, restrained, but in them was a rare note of approval. For disciples who had been on the brink of breaking monts earlier, it was enough. Heads lifted, eyes brightened. Even the most battered among them straightened their backs slightly.
Then Elder Qing stepped forward. His expression was harder, his tone sharper, devoid of Peah Head Jian's subtle encouragent.
"Do not mistake this for victory," he said flatly, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. "We held the line tonight because we were prepared, because the arrays were ready, because we had numbers and the elders' guidance. But make no mistake... the enemy now knows where we are. They will not stop here. They will strike again, and next ti, they may strike harder."
A ripple of unease spread among the disciples. So clenched their fists, others lowered their heads.
"That is why we cannot remain," Elder Qing continued. "This ground is no longer safe. Dawn will not find us here. Rest while you can, tend to your wounds, but be ready to march at first light. We move deeper into the forest. Further risks await us there, but staying here invites death."
Silence followed his words.
The disciples understood well enough. What they had faced tonight was beyond them. Without the elders' decisive action, without the wards holding the tide at bay, they would have been annihilated. The thought of facing another such attack without preparation was enough to silence any thought of complaint.
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