The morning sun climbed steadily above the temporary military encampment, bathing the competition grounds in warm golden light. The spirit flames beneath both cooking stations had long since died away, leaving only gentle wisps of fragrant steam drifting lazily through the open square.
The two completed meals rested upon polished wooden tables.
One represented the military kitchens of the Black Iron Mercenary Group.
The other...
A quiet challenge from a single woman.
Rows of Death Riders surrounded the arena, their dark armor glimmering beneath the sunlight. More soldiers continued arriving from every direction, squeezing themselves between supply wagons and temporary tents in hopes of catching a glimpse of the contest everyone had been discussing since dawn.
Even workers carrying sacks of grain had conveniently discovered reasons to slow their pace.
Nobody wanted to miss the result.
Commander Liu Tong remained seated beneath a temporary pavilion overlooking the arena. One elbow rested lazily against the carved wooden armrest while a cup of spirit wine rotated slowly between his fingers.
His expression carried effortless confidence.
Beside him, Elder Hang stood with both hands clasped behind his back, his calm gaze sweeping across the two dishes waiting to be judged.
The broad-shouldered head chef stepped forward first.
He adjusted the sleeves of his robes before respectfully cupping both fists toward Liu Tong.
"Commander."
Liu Tong gave a small nod.
The chef turned toward the judges.
"If everyone is ready..."
His voice echoed clearly across the square.
"...please begin."
Nine judges stepped into the arena together, drawing every eye toward the center of the square.
Three senior military physicians walked at the front, their white robes embroidered with the insignia of the Black Iron Medical Corps. Beside them came three veteran chefs borrowed from neighboring battalions, each carrying decades of battlefield experience inside the kitchens. Two formation appraisers followed with jade measuring artifacts hanging from their waists, while the final member—a logistics quartermaster—held a rolled jade scroll already prepared for recording the results.
Conversation throughout the arena gradually faded.
Even the soldiers who had been joking moments earlier lowered their voices as the judges took their places between the two cooking stations.
The oldest physician swept his gaze across both competitors before speaking.
"Both dishes will be examined under the same standards."
The logistics quartermaster unrolled the jade scroll.
"The evaluation will consider aroma, ingredient preservation, texture, spiritual essence, and battlefield recovery value."
No one raised an objection.
The broad-shouldered Head Chef stepped aside and extended an open palm toward the military table.
"My lords."
"Please."
The judges approached.
A kitchen assistant lifted the heavy bronze lid from the stew pot.
A cloud of fragrant steam billowed upward, carrying the mellow scent of slow-simmered vegetables, medicinal herbs, and freshly baked bread across the arena. The familiar aroma drifted through the gathered Death Riders, drawing satisfied smiles from many of the veterans.
One soldier nudged the companion beside him.
"I’d know that smell anywhere."
His companion chuckled.
"It reminds me of every campaign we’ve survived."
The senior physician accepted a wooden spoon and sampled the broth first.
He rolled the liquid across his tongue before giving a faint nod.
"The herbs support one another well."
The physician beside him tasted next.
"The medicinal properties remain intact."
"The broth is clean."
A veteran chef tore a piece from the warm flatbread and dipped it into the stew.
The crust cracked softly beneath his fingers while the inside remained light and tender.
He chewed slowly before nodding toward the Head Chef.
"The fermentation was timed well."
Another chef inspected the stir-fried vegetables more closely.
He lifted several slices with his chopsticks, studying the uniform cuts before tasting them.
"Consistent thickness."
"No ingredient dominates another."
"The cooking remained even throughout."
The two formation appraisers stepped forward together.
Soft emerald light flowed from their fingertips as they guided spiritual perception through the dishes. Thin streams of qi shimmered above the food before gathering naturally inside the jade measuring artifact resting upon the table.
The crystal glowed with a steady green radiance.
One appraiser glanced at the reading before recording it on his jade slip.
"Stable spiritual retention."
His companion examined the dish from another angle before nodding in agreement.
"Very little spiritual leakage."
Throughout the inspection, the Head Chef stood quietly with his arms folded across his chest.
Nothing the judges said surprised him.
He had prepared these meals alongside the same cooks for years.
He already knew every strength hidden within them.
When the final judge set down his spoon, the senior physician turned toward him with an approving smile.
"As expected."
The Head Chef returned the gesture with a respectful nod.
"You honor our kitchens."
A wave of satisfied murmurs spread through the surrounding soldiers.
"Our chefs never disappoint."
"That’s why Commander Liu trusts them."
"I’d be shocked if anyone could beat them."
Behind the Head Chef, several younger cooks exchanged confident smiles.
One leaned toward his companion.
"I almost feel sorry for Elder Muo."
The other folded his arms with a grin.
"The judges have barely begun."
"The outcome already feels decided."
A third glanced toward the opposite cooking station where Auntie Muo stood quietly beside her meal.
"I wonder whether she’ll still look this calm after they taste ours."
The three cooks shared a quiet laugh.
None of it carried malice.
Only the easy confidence of craftsmen who had never known defeat.
Across the arena, Auntie Muo stood quietly beside her preparation table.
The sleeves of her robe remained neatly tied above her wrists, revealing hands that had already finished their work long before the judges arrived. Every utensil had been washed clean and returned to its original place. The chopping board bore no scraps of vegetables. The knife rested perfectly straight beside it, its polished edge catching the morning sunlight. Even the worktable appeared untouched, as though no cooking had taken place there at all.
The senior physician approached first.
His gaze swept over the spotless station before settling upon the dishes waiting patiently at its center.
"Elder Muo."
She inclined her head with a warm smile.
"Please."
Before him rested not the colorful fried rice everyone expected...
...but a simple clay pitcher.
Tiny beads of condensation clung to its smooth surface, glistening beneath the sunlight. Thin slices of fresh spirit lemon floated lazily within the pale golden liquid, releasing delicate threads of citrus fragrance that drifted gently through the air.
The judges exchanged puzzled glances.
One of the veteran chefs studied the pitcher for a moment before looking back at Auntie Muo.
"...A drink?"
"It is."
She reached for several clean clay cups and filled them with slow, unhurried movements. The pale liquid caught the sunlight as it flowed from the pitcher, while faint strands of spiritual qi curled naturally around the floating lemon slices before dissolving into the surface.
The physician accepted the first cup with both hands.
Instead of drinking immediately, he lifted it toward his face.
A crisp citrus aroma greeted him, carrying none of the sharp bitterness he expected. It smelled clean and vibrant, with a subtle sweetness lingering beneath the bright fragrance.
His brows lifted almost imperceptibly.
"What an unusual scent..."
Another physician stepped closer, curiosity replacing his earlier composure.
"I’ve never encountered anything quite like it."
The senior physician finally brought the cup to his lips.
The cool liquid spread smoothly across his tongue.
A gentle sweetness arrived first.
Bright citrus followed an instant later, washing away the lingering richness of the previous tasting before a delicate trace of salt quietly balanced every flavor. None of the ingredients overwhelmed the others. Instead, they blended together so naturally that the drink seemed to refresh both body and mind with every swallow.
His eyes widened.
Without realizing it, he lowered the cup and stared into the remaining liquid as though searching for the secret hidden inside it.
Then he raised it again.
The second sip lingered much longer than the first.
The physician beside him watched the entire exchange with growing confusion.
"What did you taste?"
Instead of answering, the older man silently extended the cup toward him.
No explanation.
No recommendation.
Only an invitation.
The second physician accepted it without another word.
By then, the soldiers surrounding the arena had unconsciously leaned forward, their attention fixed entirely upon the judges.
The physician took a careful sip.
His footsteps stopped where they were.
Nine wooden spoons descended together.
Each judge gathered an equal portion before tasting the dish at precisely the same moment.
Silence settled over the arena.
The surrounding soldiers leaned forward almost unconsciously.
The youngest physician stopped chewing first.
His brows lifted.
Then his eyes widened ever so slightly.
Beside him, the veteran chef slowed noticeably, turning the food across his tongue as though trying to unravel every ingredient hidden inside it.
The logistics quartermaster lowered his spoon halfway toward the table.
Instead of setting it down, his hand quietly changed direction.
The spoon returned to the serving platter.
Without thinking.
The first formation appraiser still held his jade slip suspended in midair. He had forgotten to write a single word.
The oldest physician closed his eyes.
A long, quiet breath escaped him.
The tightness that had lingered between his brows since sunrise gradually disappeared.
Several nearby Death Riders exchanged puzzled glances.
"...Why isn’t anyone speaking?"
"I don’t know."
"Is it bad?"
"If it were bad, they’d already be criticizing it."
Another moment passed.
The silence became stranger.
Then the youngest physician calmly reached toward the platter again.
The veteran chef noticed immediately.
He frowned.
"Doctor Chen."
The younger man looked up innocently.
"Yes?"
"Weren’t you supposed to be judging?"
"I am."
His spoon continued moving without the slightest hesitation.
"I’m confirming my first impression."
The veteran chef stared at him for a heartbeat.
Then glanced at the rice.
"...Fair enough."
His own spoon quietly followed.
Across the table, the logistics quartermaster coughed into his fist.
"I should probably confirm mine as well."
One of the formation appraisers nodded with complete seriousness.
"Spiritual fluctuations occasionally require repeated observation."
The second appraiser looked thoughtful.
"I suppose I should verify your conclusion."
Within moments, every judge had somehow discovered a perfectly reasonable professional excuse to take another serving.
Laughter rippled through the gathered soldiers.
One Death Rider slapped both hands against his helmet.
"They’re not judging anymore."
"They’ve started eating lunch."
His companion laughed so hard he nearly lost his footing.
"Someone save Elder Muo’s food before they finish the evidence!"
Even several military chefs couldn’t suppress their smiles.
A young cook scratched his cheek.
"...Should we remind them they’re judges?"
The broad-shouldered Head Chef never looked away from the table.
"No."
His expression remained strangely solemn.
"You’ll only embarrass them."
Across the arena, Liu Tong slowly shifted his gaze toward Elder Hang.
"...Is this normal?"
Elder Hang watched the increasingly enthusiastic judges in silence before answering.
"Not once..."
"...in all the competitions I’ve witnessed."
At the judging table, Doctor Chen accepted a third helping with complete confidence.
The senior physician finally opened one eye.
"Doctor Chen."
The younger man straightened immediately.
"Yes, Senior?"
"How many confirmations does your profession normally require?"
Doctor Chen looked thoughtfully at the spoon in his hand.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"How delicious the patient is."
The arena became utterly silent.
Doctor Chen blinked.
"...I meant the food."
Roaring laughter exploded from every direction.
Even several stern officers lowered their heads to hide their smiles.
The senior physician pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I’ve worked beside you for eighteen years."
"And somehow..."
"...today is the first time you’ve embarrassed me."
Doctor Chen coughed awkwardly.
"My apologies."
He reluctantly placed the spoon back on the table.
Three breaths later...
His fingers quietly drifted toward it again.
A sharp smack landed across the back of his hand.
The veteran chef glared at him.
"Enough."
Doctor Chen rubbed his reddening hand with genuine grievance.
"I still haven’t completed the nutritional assessment."
"You’ve completed four nutritional assessments."
"The fifth one was going to be statistical validation."
Fresh laughter swept through the temporary arena.
Even Auntie Muo lowered her head, pressing her lips together as her shoulders trembled with restrained amusement.
Behind the weathered face of Elder Xu Ren, Shaurya watched the scene unfold with quiet satisfaction.
He had expected exactly this.
Good food had a peculiar way of dismantling invisible walls.
Rank disappeared.
Titles faded.
For a few fleeting moments, commanders, physicians, quartermasters, and ordinary soldiers became nothing more than people sharing a meal.
The broad-shouldered Head Chef finally stepped forward.
"My lords."
His deep voice carried effortlessly across the laughter.
Every judge looked up.
He glanced toward the serving platter.
Only a modest portion of fried rice remained.
"...May I remind everyone..."
"...that a verdict usually comes before the leftovers disappear?"
Doctor Chen instinctively placed one hand protectively over the platter.
"...We’re almost finished."
The Head Chef looked at the nearly empty dish.
"...I can see that."
Doctor Chen followed his gaze.
Only then did he notice how little remained.
A faint flush crept onto his face.
He slowly withdrew his hand and cleared his throat.
"It appears..."
"...our investigation became unexpectedly thorough."
The Head Chef let out a long sigh before shaking his head with helpless amusement.
"I noticed."
Another wave of laughter rolled through the camp, louder than before.
The Head Chef looked toward Auntie Muo before slowly cupping both fists.
"Elder Muo."
She immediately returned the salute with a gentle smile.
"Head Chef."
"I have one request."
"Please."
His eyes drifted toward the colorful fried rice resting upon the serving platter.
"...May I taste it myself?"
Auntie Muo stepped aside without the slightest hesitation.
"It would be my honor."
Silence gradually settled over the arena.
Even the soldiers who had been laughing moments earlier instinctively quieted as the broad-shouldered chef crossed the open space. Decades spent commanding the military kitchens had earned him unquestionable respect. Whether he accepted defeat or not, everyone wanted to witness his judgment.
He stopped before the platter.
A simple wooden spoon rested beside it.
His rough fingers closed around the handle before hesitating for the briefest instant.
Then he scooped a modest portion.
Every gaze followed the spoon as it rose.
The fragrant rice glistened beneath the morning sunlight.
Emerald peas.
Golden corn.
Crimson peppers.
Snow-white grains.
Golden cubes of toasted paneer.
Each ingredient remained distinct, yet together they formed a single harmonious dish.
The spoon reached his lips.
He took the first bite.
His eyes closed.
Years of habit immediately took over.
The paneer yielded first, its lightly crisp exterior giving way to a soft, creamy center without losing its own character. Sweet kernels of corn followed, releasing their natural fragrance before crisp peppers and tender vegetables layered fresh notes across his palate. Finally came the rice itself, every grain separate, light, and perfectly coated, carrying the flavors without becoming oily or heavy.
Nothing dominated.
Nothing disappeared.
Every ingredient supported the next.
His chewing slowed almost unconsciously.
The voices surrounding him faded into the distance.
The cheering soldiers vanished.
The fluttering banners disappeared.
Even the crackling spirit stoves seemed to fall silent.
For a fleeting moment, he no longer stood inside a temporary military camp.
Instead...
He found himself standing inside the old kitchen where he had first learned to cook.
A wooden ladle struck the back of his head.
His master’s rough voice echoed through the memory.
"You’re feeding soldiers."
"Not pigs."
The scene shifted.
Towering cauldrons.
Roaring spirit flames.
A battlefield only a few miles away.
Exhausted cultivators accepted bowls of hot food with trembling hands before marching back toward the front.
Another memory followed.
A young recruit smiled after tasting his meal for the first time in days.
The smile had lasted only a heartbeat.
Yet it had remained with him for decades.
His grip around the spoon tightened.
Cooking...
Had never been about filling empty stomachs.
It had always been about giving weary people enough strength to stand again.
The realization lingered quietly within his heart.
He opened his eyes.
Without a word, he reached for another spoonful.
"...Master?"
One of the younger chefs stared in disbelief.
The Head Chef didn’t answer.
He tasted another bite.
Then another.
Soft laughter spread through the spectators.
"I’ve worked under Master for twelve years."
A young assistant scratched his head helplessly.
"I’ve never seen him ask for a second taste."
The veteran cook standing beside him glanced toward the rapidly shrinking platter before quietly correcting him.
"Second?"
He shook his head.
"That’s the fourth."
"...Fourth?"
The younger man blinked.
"...Already?"
More laughter rippled through the crowd.
The Head Chef finally set the spoon down.
A slow breath escaped him.
His gaze rose toward Auntie Muo.
For several moments, neither of them spoke.
Finally, he asked,
"...Who taught you?"
Auntie Muo smiled.
"Our Sect Master."
His brows lifted.
"Elder Xu?"
She nodded.
"He introduced our sect to many wonderful recipes."
Almost involuntarily, the Head Chef looked toward Shaurya.
The elderly logistics elder still leaned upon his weathered walking stick with the same humble smile resting across his wrinkled face.
Nothing about him resembled someone capable of creating entirely new cuisine.
The Head Chef slowly looked back at the dish.
"...Extraordinary."
His voice was little more than a whisper.
"I’ve cooked for thirty-six years."
His fingers rested gently against the edge of the serving platter.
"...Yet today..."
"...I discovered there are still mountains beyond the ones I’ve climbed."
No excuses followed.
No attempts to defend his pride.
Only sincere admiration.
Behind him, the military chefs lowered their heads one after another.
Their earlier confidence had quietly disappeared.
The senior physician waited until the silence settled before setting his spoon aside.
"Gentlemen."
The judges immediately straightened.
Business came first.
One of the formation appraisers stepped forward and raised both hands above the military dishes.
Soft green spiritual light flowed from his fingertips before gathering inside a jade measuring crystal.
The emerald glow rose steadily before settling.
He glanced at the reading and recorded it.
"Seventy-two percent spiritual preservation."
Several physicians nodded with approval.
An excellent result.
The second appraiser moved to Auntie Muo’s table.
The same examination began.
The jade crystal brightened.
Seventy.
Seventy-five.
Eighty.
The spectators watched as the emerald light continued climbing.
Eighty-five.
Ninety.
The glow finally stopped.
The appraiser stared at the crystal for several breaths.
His companion frowned.
"...Well?"
He swallowed once.
"...Ninety-three percent."
A wave of astonishment swept across the arena.
"The same ingredients..."
"...How?"
Several military physicians immediately gathered around the measuring artifact.
After verifying the reading themselves, the eldest among them slowly nodded.
"The result is correct."
A younger physician stepped forward, respectfully asking,
"May I explain?"
The elder gestured for him to continue.
The young physician picked up a few remaining vegetables from Auntie Muo’s pan before holding them where everyone could see.
"People often believe ingredients lose spiritual essence because they are ordinary."
He smiled faintly.
"The truth is far simpler."
He pointed toward the vegetables.
"Excessive heat."
"Uncontrolled moisture."
"Constant stirring."
"Overcooking."
"Each one tears apart the spiritual veins hidden within fresh ingredients."
Several veteran chefs unconsciously nodded.
Everything he described matched traditional culinary knowledge.
The physician looked toward Auntie Muo.
"She respected the ingredients instead of forcing them."
He picked up another grain of rice.
"Even this."
"It never finished cooking over direct flame."
"The remaining heat completed the process naturally."
Another physician lifted the clay pitcher that still contained a little lemonade.
"And this wasn’t merely a drink."
"The citrus awakened the appetite."
"The sugar restored energy."
"The salt replenished minerals consumed during cultivation."
"The spring water carried spiritual qi without interference."
He smiled.
"Before the meal even began..."
"...she had already prepared the body to receive it."
Quiet admiration spread through the arena.
A Death Rider scratched his head.
"So..."
"...she planned all of that?"
The Head Chef answered before anyone else could.
"From the moment she picked up the first lemon."
His deep voice echoed through the silent square.
"There wasn’t a single wasted movement."
He stepped into the center of the arena.
Without the slightest hesitation, he cupped both fists and bowed deeply toward Auntie Muo.
"I concede."
A collective gasp swept through the crowd.
The judges hadn’t spoken.
Yet the Head Chef had already accepted defeat.
He slowly straightened and turned toward the younger chefs standing behind him.
"Remember this."
His calm gaze swept across every face.
"A chef doesn’t lose when someone cooks better."
"He loses the moment pride prevents him from learning."
No one answered.
Every chef silently lowered his head.
Only then did the senior physician step forward with the completed jade slips in his hands.
Every eye in the arena followed him.
The senior physician stepped into the center of the arena with the completed jade slips held carefully between both hands. Every conversation around the competition grounds gradually faded as thousands of eyes settled upon him.
He unfolded the first slip and spoke in a clear, steady voice.
"After evaluating flavor, ingredient preservation, nutritional balance, and spiritual nourishment, the judging panel has reached a unanimous decision."
His gaze lifted toward Auntie Muo before he respectfully cupped his fists.
"The victor of today’s competition..."
"...is Elder Muo of the Celestial Sword Sect."
For the briefest instant, the temporary camp fell completely silent.
Then the entire arena erupted.
Thunderous applause rolled across the open ground. Soldiers laughed as they clapped one another on the shoulders, whistles echoed from every direction, and even the cooks who had spent the morning competing couldn’t hide reluctant smiles.
One logistics officer tossed his hat high into the air.
"I knew that strange drink was the real weapon!"
His companion immediately pointed a finger at him.
"It wasn’t a weapon."
"It was genius."
Another Death Rider threw back his head and laughed.
"I don’t care what it was."
"I just want another cup."
The military chefs exchanged helpless glances.
One younger cook rubbed his forehead with an exaggerated sigh.
"We’re going to hear about this for the next ten years."
Another covered his face with both hands.
"I challenged her yesterday."
"Can everyone please forget that happened?"
More laughter swept through the crowd.
Auntie Muo answered it with nothing more than a warm smile. She folded her hands politely toward the judges before offering them a respectful bow.
"This humble woman thanks the honored judges."
There was no celebration.
No boast.
No trace of triumph.
Only quiet gratitude.
Standing several paces behind her, Shaurya watched the scene unfold beneath Elder Xu Ren’s weathered features.
The first step had succeeded.
Exactly as planned.
The broad-shouldered Head Chef walked toward Auntie Muo with slow, deliberate steps. Stopping before her, he brought both hands together and bowed deeply enough to surprise nearly everyone present.
"I lost."
His voice carried across the arena without hesitation.
"My skills were inferior."
"I thank Elder Muo for broadening my understanding of cooking."
A murmur of admiration spread through the surrounding soldiers.
Several younger chefs lowered their heads in embarrassment before following their master’s example.
One after another, they saluted her.
Respect flowed naturally from craftsmen who understood true skill.
Auntie Muo hurriedly returned every salute.
"There was never any need for this."
"We simply prepared different meals."
The Head Chef smiled and shook his head.
"No."
"We prepared food."
"You created something I had never imagined."
He extended one broad hand.
"If this campaign ends safely..."
"I hope we’ll have another opportunity to stand beside the same stove."
Auntie Muo accepted the handshake with both hands.
"I would like that very much."
The surrounding soldiers broke into applause once again.
For several moments, the temporary camp felt almost peaceful.
Even the tension between both sides seemed to dissolve beneath the simple language every chef understood.
Respect.
Learning.
Food.
Commander Liu Tong watched everything from beneath the command pavilion.
The same smile remained upon his face.
Not larger.
Not smaller.
Exactly the same smile he had worn since the judging began.
One officer quietly released a relieved breath.
"It ended well."
Another nodded.
"The Head Chef accepted defeat with dignity."
Liu Tong offered no reply.
His crimson eyes never left the broad-shouldered man.
They observed him quietly...
Patiently...
As though measuring something invisible.
The Head Chef finally released Auntie Muo’s hand before turning toward the pavilion. His footsteps remained steady as he crossed the arena. Reaching the foot of the platform, he lowered himself onto one knee without the slightest hesitation and pressed both fists together.
"This subordinate has disgraced the Commander."
Every lingering conversation disappeared.
The cheerful atmosphere dissolved almost instantly.
The kneeling chef kept his head lowered.
"I accepted the challenge."
"I carried the reputation of the Black Iron Mercenary Group."
"I failed."
"The fault belongs entirely to me."
"I ask the Commander to impose whatever punishment he deems appropriate."
Several younger cooks exchanged uneasy glances.
Someone swallowed audibly.
Most assumed the outcome had already been decided.
Perhaps suspension from the command kitchen.
Perhaps several months assigned to ordinary field rations.
The man had served faithfully for years.
Surely his loyalty counted for something.
Liu Tong rose from his seat.
A faint chuckle escaped him as he descended the wooden platform, immediately easing the tension gripping the crowd.
"I see."
His robes drifted softly around him as he stopped before the kneeling chef.
"You’ve served beneath my banner for eight years."
"Yes, Commander."
"You’ve prepared every command banquet."
"Yes, Commander."
"You’ve never disobeyed a single order."
"This subordinate would never dare."
A satisfied nod followed.
"I know."
Several cooks quietly smiled.
The Commander remembered.
Perhaps...
Everything would end here.
Liu Tong rested one hand lightly upon the chef’s shoulder.
"You truly are an exceptional cook."
The broad-shouldered man lowered his head even further.
"This subordinate is unworthy of such praise."
"I disagree."
Liu Tong’s smile remained gentle.
"You served faithfully."
"You represented me well."
"You gave everything you possessed."
Hope quietly returned to the faces surrounding them.
Then Liu Tong sighed.
A soft, almost regretful sound.
"Unfortunately..."
"...the moment you stood beneath my banner..."
"...your defeat stopped belonging to you alone."
Before anyone understood the meaning behind those words...
Liu Tong smiled.
His right hand rose lazily from his side.
No sword appeared.
No weapon emerged from his spatial ring.
Only two fingers slowly came together.
A thread of crimson spiritual qi gathered silently between them, so thin that it resembled a strand of silk drifting beneath the morning sunlight.
The kneeling Head Chef never noticed.
Neither did most of the soldiers watching.
Liu Tong flicked his fingers.
The crimson thread disappeared.
No sound followed.
No explosion.
No dazzling display of spiritual power.
For a single heartbeat...
Nothing happened.
The Head Chef remained kneeling exactly as before.
His expression still carried relief after receiving his Commander’s praise.
Then...
A faint crimson line quietly appeared across his neck.
His pupils contracted.
Confusion flickered across his face.
His lips parted slightly, as though trying to say something.
No words came.
The line widened.
A single bead of blood traced its way down his throat.
Before anyone could react...
His head slowly slipped from his shoulders.
It struck the packed earth with a dull thud before rolling once and coming to rest several paces away.
Only then did the headless body collapse forward.
Heavy armor crashed against the ground.
Dark blood spread quietly beneath the fallen corpse, staining the dust around Commander Liu’s boots.
Liu Tong casually lowered his hand.
The strand of crimson qi had already vanished without a trace.
He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve with the same calm expression one might wear after brushing away an insect.
Silence engulfed the arena.
The applause died without leaving an echo.
The laughter vanished as though it had never existed.
Hundreds...
Then thousands...
Of Death Riders stared at the motionless body, unable to believe what they had witnessed.
Even the morning breeze seemed to hesitate before passing through the bloodstained arena.
A young chef instinctively rushed forward.
"Master—"
His foot froze in mid-step.
Fear forced him back.
No one dared move again.
Liu Tong calmly straightened the sleeve of his crimson robe before looking across the kneeling cooks.
"The Black Iron Mercenary Group has never punished failure."
His voice remained calm.
Cold.
Measured.
"It punishes those who fail after accepting responsibility for everyone else."
His gaze swept across every kneeling chef.
"If you cook for yourselves..."
"...burn every meal."
"It concerns only your own stomach."
His eyes hardened.
"But the moment you cook beneath my banner..."
"...every mistake belongs to the Black Iron Mercenary Group."
One after another, every military chef lowered both knees to the ground.
Foreheads struck the earth almost simultaneously.
"This subordinate understands!"
The echo spread through the silent camp like a funeral bell.
The kneeling Death Riders remained motionless.
Rows of dark armor stretched across the packed earth as far as the eye could see, their foreheads pressed firmly against the ground. Not a single soldier dared lift his head after witnessing the fate of the Head Chef. The cheerful atmosphere that had filled the arena only moments earlier had vanished completely, leaving behind a silence so oppressive that even the banners fluttering overhead seemed strangely distant.
Only three groups remained standing.
The disciples of the Sanatan Flame Sect.
The elders of Cloud Peak Sect.
Commander Liu Tong.
Auntie Muo stared at the lifeless figure lying several paces away. The same man who had laughed with her, praised her cooking, and spoken hopefully of sharing another kitchen after the campaign now lay motionless upon the bloodstained earth. Her fingers tightened beneath her sleeves until her nails bit into her palms, yet she forced herself to remain still.
Beside her, Lu Fang’s jaw clenched hard enough for the muscles along his face to tremble. Lee Bie’s breathing had grown noticeably heavier, every instinct urging him to draw his sword despite knowing exactly what would follow. Elder Hua quietly lowered his eyes, silently reciting calming mantras within his heart before his expression finally returned to its usual composure.
Shaurya alone never moved.
The weathered face of Elder Xu Ren remained as gentle as ever, yet the worn walking stick beneath his hand emitted a quiet groan as his fingers tightened around it.
Only now did he fully understand the kind of ruler standing before him.
Liu Tong had never intended to punish failure.
He had intended to remind eight hundred thousand Death Riders that fear survived far longer than gratitude.
Without sparing another glance for the fallen chef, Liu Tong turned away as though nothing of consequence had occurred.
His crimson robes swayed gently behind him.
"The competition is over."
His voice carried across the silent arena with effortless calm.
"My kitchens have lost."
Not a single person answered.
The wager still lingered over the arena like an unsheathed blade, yet no one dared mention it.
Even the officers remained silent.
Shaurya stepped forward.
His walking stick tapped softly against the packed earth as he approached before stopping several paces away. Bringing his hands together in greeting, he lowered his head respectfully.
"This humble elder has witnessed today why Commander Liu commands the loyalty of eight hundred thousand Death Riders."
Liu Tong regarded him with mild curiosity.
"Oh?"
Shaurya’s voice remained calm, carrying neither flattery nor fear.
"Before arriving here, this humble one believed your reputation rested solely upon your cultivation."
A faint smile touched his aged face.
"I see now that I misunderstood."
Several officers instinctively glanced toward one another.
Liu Tong said nothing.
Shaurya slowly swept his gaze across the countless soldiers still kneeling upon the ground.
"A sword may force people to bow."
His eyes returned to Liu Tong.
"But fear alone cannot persuade hundreds of thousands to entrust their lives to one banner."
The Commander remained silent.
Shaurya continued with the same measured composure.
"Today’s punishment showed every soldier present that no individual stands above the Black Iron Mercenary Group—not even someone who served beside you faithfully for years."
His respectful gaze never wavered.
"Such discipline cannot exist unless the law binds everyone equally."
A faint smile gradually appeared upon Liu Tong’s face.
Shaurya inclined his head another fraction.
"That is why your banner inspires such unwavering loyalty."
"The soldiers know that the Commander demands from himself exactly what he demands from everyone else."
A subtle change passed through the gathered Death Riders.
Several slowly raised their heads.
Pride quietly returned to eyes that moments earlier had held only fear.
Liu Tong watched the reaction without interrupting.
Shaurya continued before the silence could settle.
"The wager made this morning was witnessed by every soldier gathered here."
He gestured gently toward the kneeling ranks surrounding the arena.
"They have now witnessed the Commander uphold military discipline without hesitation."
His smile remained humble.
"If they also witness the Commander honoring his own promise with equal resolve..."
"...then today’s lesson will be remembered long after this campaign ends."
No demand had been made.
No request had been spoken.
Yet every soldier present unconsciously looked toward Liu Tong.
The expectation no longer came from the elderly logistics elder.
It had quietly become their own.
Several heartbeats passed.
The Commander studied Shaurya’s weathered face before laughter finally escaped him.
"Hahaha..."
He shook his head with obvious amusement.
"Elder Xu, a man with a tongue like yours has no business hiding among warehouse ledgers."
Shaurya smiled awkwardly.
"This humble elder merely records what everyone has already witnessed."
Liu Tong laughed once more before turning toward Auntie Muo.
"The wager stands."
His voice remained steady.
"Beginning today, you may enter the military kitchens whenever your duties require it."
He paused briefly.
"Tonight’s command banquet will be yours."
Auntie Muo stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"This humble woman thanks Commander Liu."
Liu Tong acknowledged her with a slight nod before looking once more toward Shaurya.
For the briefest instant, neither man spoke.
No smiles remained between them.
No words were necessary.
One had built an invisible cage using nothing except praise.
The other had stepped into it willingly because every path leading away demanded a greater price.
No blades had been drawn.
No spiritual techniques had collided.
Yet the first contest between Shaurya and Liu Tong had already produced its victor.
Not upon the battlefield...
But across a battlefield of words.
To Be Continued....
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