The barracks stirred with the slow rhythm of a morning unlike the ones before it. Not silent—never truly silent—but measured, as if even sound had learned to tread softly in the wake of what had been left behind.

  Outside, the sun hadn’t quite cleared the outer walls of the training yard. Its light crept low across the floorboards, threading golden bars through the slats in the shutters. Dust hung suspended in that glow, weightless and undisturbed. Somewhere beyond the compound, the market bells began their distant toll, thin and irregular, carried more by habit than urgency.

  Inside, the air was still warm from the bodies that had stretched it through the night. It clung lightly to skin, to breath, to the faint ache that hadn’t quite faded from muscle and bone. Blankets were folded without comment. Tunics rewrapped. Bandages retied. The routine remained—sharp, efficient—but something beneath it had shifted.

  There was no spoken acknowledgment. Nothing formal. But the silence was different now. Thicker, not from weariness, but from a kind of new weight. Like the air carried more than just warmth—it carried awareness.

  Someone lit the brazier early, letting the scent of pine oil drift lazily through the room. A kettle sat half-filled, catching the first light. The water hadn’t boiled yet, but the promise of it was enough to keep anyone from rushing.

  Liu leaned back against one of the worn beams near the window, still in his undershirt, one leg drawn up beneath him. His hair was damp from a basin rinse, a clean line of steam trailing faintly from his collar where the morning’s chill met lingering body heat. He cradled his tea bowl with both hands—not for warmth, but for something to hold.

  Across from him, Xo sat on the edge of his cot, sharpening the edge of his guandao—not because it needed it, but because the rhythm helped him think. The rasp of the whetstone was slow, deliberate. Almost thoughtful.

  Liu watched him for a while, quiet, until a crooked smile tugged at his mouth.

  “I get it now,” he said suddenly.

  Xo didn’t look up. “Get what?”

  “The burn. The way it moves through the body when it wants to speak.” Liu tapped his chest lightly, fingers hovering near the center of his sternum. “For weeks, I thought I was doing something wrong. I kept waiting for control. For stillness. But it’s not about that. It’s motion. It’s… choice.”

  Xo paused mid-stroke, blade tilted just slightly to catch the light. “You figured all that out climbing a fire-beast?”

  Liu laughed under his breath. “Climbing a fire-beast and nearly getting thrown off. Yeah. Turns out fire doesn’t wait for you to understand it—it just asks if you’re ready to move.”

  The corner of Xo’s mouth twitched, almost a grin. “Sounds about right.”

  There was a beat of quiet between them—comfortable, settled.

  Liu glanced down at his tea. “What about you?” he asked, quieter now. “You looked… different after. Like something locked into place.”

  Xo set the whetstone aside with a soft scrape and leaned against the post behind him. His blade sat across his knees, untouched now. He didn’t say anything at first, just let the quiet stretch while the others finished eating.

  Nozomi broke it, her voice low but calm. “I’ve been thinking... maybe it’s not just about affinity.”

  Liu looked up from where he sat cross-legged near the table. “You mean fire, water, all that?”

  She nodded. “That’s the surface. But I think there’s something underneath it. A concept, maybe. Something we tune into.”

  Lei tilted his head slightly, curious. “What kind of concept?”

  Nozomi shifted her weight, not quite fidgeting—just thinking aloud. “For me, it wasn’t shadow. It was... the absence of things. Gaps. Emptiness. That’s where I moved. That’s where I struck.”

  Xo frowned slightly. “So... you’re saying you broke through because of that?”

  “I think so.” She glanced around the room, then back to the center of the table. “It felt different after I realized it. Like the Qi responded more clearly when I wasn’t forcing it through a shape I didn’t understand.”

  Liu exhaled slowly. “That makes sense.” He tapped his fingers against his shin. “When I saw Xo go down, I didn’t think. I just moved. And it worked. That was the moment something clicked. Fire didn’t feel like destruction anymore. It felt like motion. Urgency.”

  “Change,” Lei said quietly, eyes still on his teacup.

  “Yeah,” Liu murmured. “Change.”

  Xo spoke next, his voice rough with thought. “Then mine was weight.” He didn’t elaborate at first, just let the word settle. “The moment that Ravager hit, it was like the world was trying to move through me. I didn’t have to stop it—I just had to stand.” He paused. “That’s when my core shifted.”

  “Precision,” Lei added after a beat. “That’s what did it for me. Just the right action at the right time, I think. I just… found the spots where something should go and made sure it did.”

  Nozomi quirked a brow. “Sounds like you’re calling yourself the most important piece on the board.”

  “You’re terrible at Go, there is no most important piece on the board.” Lei shrugged.

  There was a pause—comfortable, for once.

  “Maybe that’s the key,” Nozomi said, leaning forward slightly. “Not the element itself. But what it means to us. The shape it takes when we stop trying to fight it.”

  Lei looked thoughtful. “So the breakthrough isn’t power. It’s understanding.”

  “You talk about a revelation.” Xo smirked.

  Nozomi leaned back again, arms folded loosely. “If that’s true, maybe the path forward isn’t climbing upward. It’s digging inward, I think that...”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The door creaked open without warning, interrupting her.

  Not a slam. Not a barked command. Just the long groan of wood and hinge—and that was enough.

  Every breath in the room seemed to hold.

  Instructor Huo stepped inside, his coat still dusted with grit from the training fields, boots silent despite their weight. His presence didn’t fill the room, not exactly—but it changed it. Like someone shifting the blade on a whetstone one final time.

  He didn’t speak at first. Just crossed the room and stopped by the central table where half-empty bowls and cooling tea sat in quiet evidence of the morning’s peace. His eyes swept across them—Xo, Nozomi, Liu, Lei—then dropped something onto the wood.

  Two letters.

  One sealed in thick red wax stamped with the Imperial crest. The other simpler, cleaner—Captain Shen’s personal seal etched in deep charcoal grey.

  Nozomi straightened slightly.

  Lei didn’t blink—but his hand curled slightly against his thigh.

  Even Liu’s easy posture lost some of its looseness, tension rising between breaths.

  “This came in an hour ago,” Huo said. “Delivered by hand. Captain Shen sends his regards.”

  His tone was flat, but there was something beneath it. A subtle shift. A faint pressure.

  Xo’s eyes stayed on the red seal. “It’s official.”

  “Yes.” Huo glanced at each of them. “Both are for you. One from Shen. The other from High Command.”

  Silence.

  Then he stepped back from the table, giving the letters one last look—as if they might shift on their own—before turning for the door.

  “Read them when you’re ready. Eat first. Think after. And when you open them—don’t just look at the words. Understand what they mean. Again, congratulations.”

  He didn’t wait for a reply. Just left, coat trailing behind him like a second shadow.

  The door clicked shut.

  And just like that, the air was different again.

  The warmth of the morning gone. The stillness now tight with possibility.

  Nozomi reached forward, not to take either letter—just to nudge one slightly with the back of her finger. The seal didn’t crack. Not yet.

  “Guess that’s breakfast over,” Liu said, too quiet to smile but close.

  The tension hadn’t faded, not even with Huo gone. It lingered in the steam curling above the tea, in the half-eaten bowls cooling on the table. No one touched them now.

  Lei reached for the first letter—the one with the personal seal. Shen’s mark. He opened it without flourish, broke the wax with the edge of his thumb, and unfolded the parchment. He read aloud. His voice was steady.

  “346th ‘Panda’ Strike Force,

  If you read this letter, it means that you have prevailed.

  You may not have realized it, but the battle you just fought was your graduation test. It was not meant to happen this soon, but orders from HQ have forced my hand. The higher-ups have requested a strike force for an urgent assignment, and I chose to present you.

  The beast you faced was classed two ranks above you. By all logic, you should not have won. And yet, you did. Strength alone does not define a cultivator—resolve, adaptability, and trust in your squad matter just as much. I saw all of those during your training. That is why, from this moment on, you are no longer recruits.

  You are now the 346th ‘Panda’ Strike Force—a proper unit, recognized and tasked with real missions.

  Every squad graduating is supposed to receive a gift from their instructor depending on how they performed. Thus, I attached to this letter the proper katas and techniques for you to train in order to develop your Aura Suppression. Now that you are proper cultivators, you must control your power.

  This technique is supposed to be taught during your training, hence, is not a proper gift. Your real gift is two elemental skill stones that you may choose at your leisure by visiting the quartermaster. I highly recommend you to pick them before going to your first assignment.

  I do not have the luxury of staying to celebrate. Duty calls me elsewhere. However, your first orders have already arrived. You will find them enclosed with this letter. Read them carefully, prepare accordingly, and make sure you are at the docks by dusk today.

  This mission will test you. More than the beast you just faced, more than any training you've endured.

  But I did not recommend you for this lightly. You are ready.

  Now prove it.

  — Captain Shen Kaizen”

  The room held still.

  The words Strike Force hung longer than the rest, like they didn’t quite know how to land. Lei didn’t speak for a moment. No one did. He set Shen’s letter down gently on the table, as if it might still be hot from the truth it carried.

  Then he reached for the second—thicker, stamped in the crimson-black wax of the Imperial Crest. He broke it cleanly and read.

  “Official Dispatch – Chengtan Command Authority

  To: 346th “Panda” Strike Force

  From: Commander Tu Ji, Strategic Logistics Division

  Seal No. 1114-AB

  Date: 24th Flavos 1425

  Agents of the 346th “Panda” Strike Force,

  A remote island, Baojing, known for its peaceful fishing community, has gone eerily silent. No ships have returned from the island, and attempts to contact the villagers have failed.

  Reports of aggressive beasts seen on the shore and ominous smoke rising from the island have raised concerns.

  You are expected at the dock A6 for departure to Baojing at dusk. Your mission is simple: Investigate the situation on Baojing Island, ensure the safety of any surviving villagers, neutralize any threats and restore order.

  Beware—early reports suggest something unnatural may be at play. Stay sharp, trust your squad, and prepare for the unexpected. The Empire is counting on you.

  Long Live the Emperor.”

  The last words echoed slightly. Not because they were spoken with volume—because they landed with weight.

  A real mission. A departure time. And no safety net.

  Nozomi sat straighter, eyes scanning the lines long after they’d been spoken. Liu leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since Huo walked in. Xo didn’t speak. But he shifted his weight, eyes already sliding toward the corner of the room where his gear was stacked.

  “School is over, I guess.” Lei said.

  He folded the letters. Neatly. Precisely. Then placed them side by side in the center of the table.

  For a moment, no one moved.

  Then Liu leaned forward, brows furrowed. “Wait—two ranks above us?” He tapped the parchment gently. “What does that even mean, exactly? I remember the classes talking about beast ranks, but—two above?”

  Xo gave him a look that might’ve been amusement. Or disbelief. “Seriously?”

  Nozomi shook her head, half-smiling. “Did you sleep through half the theory blocks?”

  Liu scratched the back of his neck. “I listened. Mostly. Just... didn’t memorize every symbol the Empire ever put on a chart.”

  “It’s not just symbols,” Lei said, tapping the table once for emphasis. “Monster ranks are how the Empire gauges threat level. Based on their Qi density and behavior. The rank is supposed to line up with how many Qi layers it would take for a cultivator to have a fifty-fifty shot.”

  Liu blinked. “So wait—we each had one layer…”

  “That beast,” Nozomi said quietly, “was ranked as if it would take a third-layer cultivator to stand a fair chance.”

  Liu sat back a little. “So it really should’ve eaten us.”

  “Yeah,” Xo said. “It should’ve.”

  There was a short pause, heavy with the weight of hindsight. The memory of heat. Of roaring flame. Of almost falling apart.

  Then Liu exhaled, slow and low, and let a crooked smile tug at one corner of his mouth.

  “…We’re kind of amazing, actually.”

  Xo snorted.

  Lei raised a brow without looking up. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

  “I’m serious,” Liu said, sitting back with the easy confidence of someone who’d nearly died and decided it was impressive. “We shouldn’t have won. But we did. That wasn’t luck.”

  “It wasn’t grace either,” Xo muttered, reaching for his blade and testing its edge. “We bled for it.”

  “I’m not saying we didn’t,” Liu said, grin dimming.

  Nozomi rose, stretching the stiffness from her limbs. “Well, better be prepared for the next one then.” She said. “Let’s prepare and head to the quartermaster for these stones.”

  Lei gathered the letters and slid them into a fold of his tunic like folded steel. Xo stood, one hand on his guandao. Liu drained the last of his tea, the heat long gone—but the warmth still lingering.

  No one said it aloud, but they all felt it.

  They weren’t a squad anymore.

  They were a unit. And they were on the move.