The temporary military encampment gradually settled into the familiar rhythm of midday.
The clang of hammers inside the field forges faded one by one as the blacksmiths banked their spirit flames beneath heavy iron covers. Patrols returning from the outer perimeter handed over their posts to fresh squads before disappearing toward the dining grounds, laughter carrying easily through the orderly rows of tents.
Supply wagons rolled along the packed roads, their wheels leaving shallow tracks in the sunbaked earth while quartermasters shouted inventory numbers over the steady movement of workers transporting grain, vegetables, and barrels of clean spring water toward the military kitchens.
Above everything, hundreds of crimson banners bearing the Black Iron Mercenary Group’s fluttered proudly beneath the afternoon breeze.
The cooking competition had ended.
Now came the command banquet.
Inside the temporary military kitchens, every stove had already been reignited.
Spirit flames danced beneath enormous iron cauldrons.
Rows of cooks hurried between preparation tables carrying baskets filled with freshly washed vegetables while assistants kneaded dough, stirred simmering broths, and arranged polished serving bowls upon long wooden racks.
The broad kitchen moved with practiced precision despite the loss of its head chef.
There was grief.
There was shock.
Yet military discipline left little room for mourning.
Meals still had to be prepared.
Eight hundred thousand soldiers would not stop eating because one man had fallen.
At the center of the kitchen, Auntie Muo tied a clean white cloth around her sleeves before washing her hands once more in a basin of cool spring water.
Several cooks lingered nearby.
Not because anyone had ordered them to.
Because curiosity refused to let them leave.
One young chef watched Auntie Muo sort through the ingredients before finally gathering enough courage to speak.
"Elder Muo..."
She looked up from the preparation table.
"Yes?"
He hesitated before pointing toward the neat rows of vegetables.
"When you competed yesterday..."
"...you never seemed rushed."
She smiled faintly.
"Should I have been?"
The young man scratched the back of his head.
"Our kitchens always race against time."
He gestured toward the enormous cauldrons surrounding them.
"If we slow down..."
"...the soldiers wait."
Auntie Muo nodded in understanding.
"They do."
Her fingers lightly brushed across a fresh spirit cabbage before she continued.
"But rushing your hands..."
"...doesn’t always make the meal arrive sooner."
Several nearby cooks exchanged puzzled glances.
She picked up a carrot and turned it slowly beneath the sunlight.
"If the person holding the knife becomes impatient..."
"...the knife follows."
She placed the carrot back into the basket.
"And once the knife becomes impatient..."
"...every ingredient knows."
Silence settled over the nearby worktables.
The young chef frowned thoughtfully.
"So..."
"...you aren’t only controlling the fire."
A gentle smile appeared on Auntie Muo’s face.
"I’m controlling myself."
The words lingered in the air.
One elderly cook quietly lowered his eyes.
After a long moment, he gave a slow nod to himself.
"I think..."
"...I finally understand why your food tastes different."
Auntie Muo only laughed softly before reaching for the next basket.
"Now let’s see whether all of you can keep up."
The nearby cooks immediately straightened.
"Yes, Elder Muo!"
Without another word, the kitchen returned to life.
A larger iron cauldron rested over the strongest spirit flame in the kitchen.
Unlike the smaller pan she had used during the competition, this vessel had been designed to prepare food for hundreds at a time.
Auntie Muo circled it once.
Her fingertips brushed lightly across the thick iron rim.
"Good heat retention."
One elderly cook standing beside her smiled proudly.
"This cauldron has followed the army through six campaigns."
"It has served well."
"It has."
She smiled back.
"Let’s treat it kindly."
The old cook laughed.
"I don’t think anyone has ever spoken to cookware before."
"You’d be surprised."
Another ripple of laughter spread through the kitchen.
The tense atmosphere that had lingered since the competition gradually loosened.
The vegetables entered the pan in carefully measured batches.
Nothing was rushed.
Nothing was wasted.
Nearby, rows of command servants arranged polished lacquered containers reserved for Commander Liu’s banquet.
Military physicians personally inspected every dish before it left the kitchen, confirming ingredient quality according to standard wartime regulations.
Everything proceeded exactly as it always had.
Nothing appeared unusual.
Outside the kitchens, footsteps approached.
Commander Liu Tong entered beneath the simple wooden gate accompanied by several officers.
Conversation immediately quieted.
The cooks bowed.
Liu Tong acknowledged them with a casual wave before his eyes settled upon Auntie Muo.
"It seems my kitchens haven’t frightened you away."
She wiped her hands upon a clean cloth before offering the proper greeting.
"This humble woman is only doing what she promised."
His gaze wandered across the orderly preparation tables.
"My chefs appear unusually obedient today."
One young cook scratched the back of his neck.
"We’re taking notes."
Another quickly added,
"...As many as possible."
Liu Tong laughed.
"Good."
His attention lingered on the simmering dishes for another moment before drifting toward the entrance.
"Elder Xu."
Shaurya stepped forward from where he had quietly waited beside several supply ledgers.
He cupped both fists.
"Commander."
Liu Tong studied the elderly logistics elder with the same amused expression he had worn since the competition.
"You’ve acquired quite an impressive cook."
Shaurya smiled modestly.
"This humble one merely enjoys eating."
Several nearby cooks laughed.
Liu Tong shook his head.
"I almost believe you."
His eyes briefly swept across the busy kitchen.
"The command banquet should be memorable."
Shaurya inclined his head.
"Elder Muo never prepares meals carelessly."
"I noticed."
Liu Tong adjusted the cuff of his crimson sleeve before turning toward the exit.
As he reached the doorway, he paused without looking back.
"Enjoy today’s meal with your people, Elder Xu."
His voice remained relaxed.
"The campaign accelerates tomorrow."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"You may not find another peaceful afternoon for quite some time."
Silence lingered for a heartbeat.
Shaurya bowed once more.
"This humble elder was thinking something rather similar."
Liu Tong looked over one shoulder.
"Oh?"
Shaurya’s weathered face remained perfectly sincere.
"I hope the Commander also enjoys today’s banquet."
His smile never changed.
"After all..."
He lowered his head respectfully.
"...none of us can know how many such meals Heaven has prepared for us."
For the briefest instant, curiosity flickered across Liu Tong’s face.
Then he chuckled.
"You logistics elders speak like wandering philosophers."
"This humble one simply appreciates good food."
Liu Tong laughed again.
"Very well."
Without another word, he departed with his officers.
The kitchen gradually returned to its usual rhythm.
Only after the last glimpse of crimson robes disappeared beyond the rows of temporary tents did Shaurya allow his gaze to leave the entrance. He remained where he stood for another heartbeat before quietly turning back toward Auntie Muo.
"Our preparations are complete."
She met his eyes and gave a slight nod.
Nothing else needed to be said.
The real work had already begun.
Fresh flatbread disappeared beneath thick linen cloth.
Clay jars filled with chilled lemonade were sealed with waxed lids.
Several cooks hurried toward the storage tents to collect additional serving bowls while others counted portions one final time.
"North Battalion first."
"Second Battalion after that."
"Command Pavilion has priority."
"Careful with those jars!"
The broad kitchen filled once again with the familiar rhythm of organized movement.
No one stood still.
No one looked in Auntie Muo’s direction.
She remained beside the largest cauldron, one hand resting lightly upon the long wooden paddle.
Steam curled lazily into the afternoon sunlight.
Her eyes followed the bustling kitchen for several quiet moments.
One cook disappeared through the eastern entrance carrying stacked trays.
Another crossed toward the bakery.
Two assistants argued cheerfully over whether the lemonade should be served before or after the meal.
A veteran chef barked at both of them to stop talking and start walking.
The distance around her gradually emptied.
Exactly as expected.
Auntie Muo lowered the paddle into the rice one final time.
The colorful grains folded gently over one another.
Perfect.
Without the slightest change in expression...
Her left hand slipped quietly beneath the sleeve of her robe.
A faint ripple passed through the surrounding space.
Something no larger than two fingers appeared silently within her palm.
A smooth black jade bottle.
Ordinary.
Unremarkable.
She didn’t look at it.
She already knew what rested inside.
Her fingers wrapped naturally around the bottle while her right hand continued stirring the enormous cauldron with calm, practiced movements.
Anyone watching would have seen nothing unusual.
One elderly cook walked past carrying a stack of serving bowls.
He smiled.
"Elder Muo."
She returned the smile without pausing.
"Everything ready?"
He nodded proudly.
"Just waiting for your signal."
"It won’t be long."
"Excellent."
He continued toward the serving carts.
His footsteps gradually faded.
Silence settled around the great cauldron once more.
Auntie Muo calmly removed the small jade stopper.
No sound followed.
No fragrance escaped.
No colored mist drifted into the air.
The bottle might as well have been empty.
She lifted it above the steaming rice.
The afternoon sunlight reflected softly across the polished black jade.
Then...
She tilted it.
Nothing emerged.
Nothing visible.
No liquid.
No powder.
No smoke.
Yet the invisible Emperor Grade Soul Dissolution Poison flowed silently into the freshly prepared meal, vanishing the instant it touched the fragrant rice.
The surface didn’t change.
The vegetables retained their brilliant colors.
The paneer still gleamed with a delicate golden crust.
The warm aroma continued drifting naturally through the kitchen.
Not even the nearest spiritual flame reacted.
Auntie Muo returned the bottle upright.
She replaced the stopper with the same steady movements she used while seasoning a meal.
The bottle disappeared back into her storage ring.
Without missing a beat...
She placed both hands upon the long wooden paddle.
The enormous cauldron answered with a quiet rustle as she folded the rice from the bottom upward in slow, even strokes.
Left.
Right.
Forward.
Back.
Every movement mirrored the technique she had used throughout the competition.
The invisible poison dispersed through the entire cauldron without leaving the slightest trace.
A young assistant hurried back carrying another stack of serving containers.
"Elder Muo!"
She looked over.
"Yes?"
"We’re ready!"
She gave the rice one final turn before withdrawing the paddle.
A satisfied smile touched her lips.
"So am I."
The young assistant grinned.
"I’ve never seen the soldiers this excited for lunch."
She stepped away from the cauldron and wiped her hands clean with a folded cloth.
"Begin serving."
The assistant’s face brightened.
"You heard Elder Muo!"
His voice rang across the kitchen.
"Load every cart!"
Immediately, dozens of cooks surged forward.
Heavy ladles plunged into the fragrant rice.
Serving containers filled one after another.
Fresh bread followed.
Clay jars of lemonade were lifted onto waiting wagons.
Within minutes, long lines of food carts rolled away from the kitchens in every direction, carrying the banquet across the sprawling temporary encampment.
Auntie Muo stood quietly beneath the kitchen canopy, watching the final cart disappear between the endless rows of tents.
Only after the last wagon vanished from sight did she turn toward the remaining cooks.
A gentle smile returned to her face.
"Let’s clean the kitchen."
Around her, the cooks laughed and began washing utensils, completely unaware that the banquet they had just prepared with such pride had already begun its silent journey toward every corner of the Black Iron Mercenary Group’s camp.
By the time they returned to the temporary residence assigned to the Celestial Sword Sect, the afternoon sun had climbed noticeably higher.
Shaurya lifted the canvas curtain and stepped inside first. The others followed one after another before Elder Hua lowered the entrance flap behind them, shutting out the noise of the bustling encampment.
Silence settled over the tent.
Not an uneasy silence.
A purposeful one.
Lu Fang was the first to move. He crossed to the corner where their belongings had been stored and opened his travel pack, checking its contents with practiced efficiency before fastening the straps again. Nearby, Elder Hua spread several rolled maps across the table, her fingers moving steadily as he compared routes and quietly committed every landmark to memory one final time.
Lee Bie crouched beside a wooden crate, inspecting the weapons concealed beneath bundles of ordinary logistics supplies. Satisfied that everything remained exactly where it should, he closed the lid and secured it with fresh rope.
Across the tent, Cheng Fang carefully folded spare robes before placing them inside his storage ring, making certain nothing had been left behind.
No one rushed.
No one wasted movement.
Every task had been rehearsed long before they entered the Black Iron camp.
Shaurya watched them for a moment before speaking.
"The moment the operation begins, we leave immediately."
Several heads lifted.
"There will be no unnecessary delays, no sightseeing, and no heroes trying to create their own opportunities."
Lu Fang grinned as he tightened the strap around his travel pack.
"You make it sound like one of us would actually do that."
Shaurya’s eyes shifted toward Chang Fang.
The swordsman looked genuinely confused.
"...Why are you looking at me?"
Lu Fang didn’t even hesitate.
"Because if someone insulted our sect while we were escaping, you’d probably stop to challenge him."
Cheng Fang frowned as though seriously considering the accusation.
"If he insulted our banner..."
"...it would be difficult to ignore."
"There."
Lu Fang pointed triumphantly.
"I rest my case."
Cheng Fang looked toward Shaurya with complete sincerity.
"I would make it quick."
Shaurya folded his arms.
"How quick?"
Cheng Fang thought for several moments before answering honestly.
"...Perhaps half a duel."
For a heartbeat, the tent fell completely silent.
Then Lu Fang doubled over laughing.
"Half a duel?"
He wiped the corner of one eye before looking back at the swordsman.
"I’ve heard of half a meal."
"I’ve even heard of half a promise."
"But what exactly is half a duel?"
Cheng Fang looked mildly offended.
"You stop before deciding the winner."
Lu Fang stared.
"...That’s called not fighting."
"It is?"
"It is."
Cheng Fang lowered his head thoughtfully.
"...I may need to reconsider my definition."
Even Elder Hua quietly chuckled while rolling up the last map.
"I never imagined sword philosophy would become this complicated."
Auntie Muo shook her head with helpless amusement.
"The poor person who insults our banner might escape simply because Cheng Fang is still deciding whether the duel has officially started."
The entire tent erupted with laughter.
Cheng Fang opened his mouth as though preparing a defense, only to realize he couldn’t actually argue with that.
Instead, he sighed.
"...That seems unfair."
Shaurya smiled before his attention shifted toward the youngest disciple.
"And you, Lee Bie."
The young man immediately straightened so quickly he nearly knocked over his own travel pack.
"Yes, Sect Master!"
"You won’t create trouble either."
Lee Bie nodded with absolute seriousness.
"I won’t fight."
"Good."
"I won’t argue."
"Better."
"I won’t even look suspicious."
Shaurya raised an eyebrow.
"And how exactly do you plan to accomplish that?"
Lee Bie hesitated.
"...I’ll try not to blink too much."
Another burst of laughter rolled through the tent.
Even Shaurya couldn’t keep the smile from reaching his eyes as he slowly shook his head.
"For everyone’s sake..."
"...just behave normally."
"I’ll do my best."
"That’s the answer that worries me the most."
Fresh laughter echoed beneath the canvas roof, chasing away the tension that had quietly followed them since entering the enemy camp.
For a little while, surrounded by familiar faces and carefree voices, it almost became possible to forget that beyond the thin canvas walls waited eight hundred thousand soldiers... all unknowingly counting down the final minutes before fate caught up with them.
The first serving carts rolled steadily through the temporary military encampment, their wooden wheels creaking softly over the packed earth as kitchen assistants guided them toward every division of the Black Iron Mercenary Group.
Each cart carried towering stacks of lacquered food containers.
Fresh flatbread rested beneath thick cloth to preserve its warmth.
Large clay jars filled with chilled spirit lemonade swayed gently with every turn of the wheels.
The aroma drifted through the camp long before the carts reached their destinations.
Soldiers finishing patrol looked over instinctively.
One Death Rider laughed.
"They actually let the competition winner cook."
His companion grinned.
"Good."
"If it tastes anything like the rumors, today might be the best meal of the campaign."
Another adjusted the spear resting against his shoulder.
"I heard even the judges forgot they were judging."
The group burst into laughter.
One younger cultivator scratched his head.
"Do you think the lemonade story is true?"
"It has to be."
"My cousin works in the medical tents."
"He said one physician tried to steal a second cup."
"No."
"He succeeded."
More laughter followed as the serving cart finally reached them.
The kitchen assistants moved with practiced efficiency.
Bowls were filled.
Fresh bread distributed.
Clay cups passed from hand to hand.
Within minutes...
Rows of soldiers sat together beneath temporary awnings enjoying the rare opportunity to eat while the afternoon remained peaceful.
The same scene unfolded throughout the enormous encampment.
Near the cavalry enclosure, mounted cultivators removed their helmets before accepting steaming bowls.
Along the eastern defenses, archers leaned their bows against the wooden barricades while sharing jokes over lunch.
Formation masters gathered around unfolded maps spread across empty supply crates.
Medical teams ate beside their treatment tents.
Quartermasters balanced ledgers on one knee while chewing absentmindedly.
Servants carefully arranged polished dishes upon the long wooden table before stepping back.
Commander Liu Tong entered without ceremony.
Several senior officers followed.
Elder Hang quietly accepted the seat prepared beside the tactical map.
The rich fragrance rising from the table immediately caught everyone’s attention.
One officer blinked.
"...That smells different."
Another leaned closer toward the colorful rice.
"The vegetables actually kept their color."
A third picked up the clay pitcher.
"So this is the famous lemonade."
Liu Tong chuckled.
"It seems today’s banquet has already become more famous than yesterday’s battle."
Several officers laughed before taking their seats.
No one hurried.
Meals inside military headquarters always began only after the commander lifted his chopsticks.
Liu Tong looked briefly across the table.
"Eat."
Wooden chopsticks immediately reached toward the dishes.
Conversation resumed naturally.
One officer tasted the rice before stopping mid-sentence.
He quietly looked down at his bowl.
"...Interesting."
Another took a bite.
Then another.
Soon...
Discussion around the table shifted almost entirely toward the food.
Not far away...
Hundreds of voices drifted through the afternoon breeze.
Beyond the tent, the camp enjoyed one final peaceful afternoon.
A pair of Death Riders argued over whether the fried rice or the flatbread deserved more praise.
An elderly logistics officer quietly refilled his cup with lemonade before anyone noticed.
Several military physicians discussed cooking techniques between mouthfuls.
One cavalry captain laughed loudly.
"When this campaign ends..."
"...I’m stealing Elder Muo."
His companions roared with laughter.
"You’ll have to defeat her sect first."
"I’d rather fight a dragon."
The table exploded with another wave of amusement.
Nearby...
Kitchen assistants proudly watched empty bowls returning one after another.
One young cook couldn’t stop smiling.
"They’re eating everything."
His older companion nodded proudly.
"Elder Muo said food should come back with empty bowls."
He pointed toward a stack beside the washing station.
"I don’t think we’ll have leftovers today."
Inside the command pavilion, Liu Tong leaned comfortably against his chair while setting aside an empty cup.
He glanced briefly toward the colorful rice.
"I’ll admit..."
His voice carried quiet amusement.
"...that old woman earned today’s victory."
One officer nodded enthusiastically.
"This subordinate agrees."
"The flavors are remarkable."
Another lifted his bowl.
"The rice alone deserves another serving."
Even Elder Hang quietly reached toward the platter again.
Within the Celestial Sword Sect’s tent...
The final grain of golden sand slipped into the lower chamber of the hourglass.
The soft hiss of falling sand disappeared.
Silence settled inside the tent.
Shaurya lowered his gaze toward the hourglass for a long moment before reaching forward. His fingers closed gently around the polished wooden frame, and with a smooth motion, he turned it over.
Fresh grains immediately began their slow descent.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t celebrate.
A faint curve appeared at the corner of his lips before disappearing just as quietly.
Everything had unfolded exactly as he had calculated.
Outside, the temporary military encampment remained filled with life.
Rows of Death Riders sat together beneath canvas awnings, laughing between mouthfuls of food as bowls passed from hand to hand.
Several captains compared the competition while tearing apart warm flatbread.
"I’ll admit it."
One officer scooped another spoonful of fried rice into his mouth before nodding appreciatively.
"That old woman earned her victory."
Across the table, another laughed.
"Our kitchens are going to hear about this defeat for years."
The men burst into another round of laughter.
Not far away, several physicians continued discussing the unusual cooking techniques while slowly finishing the last of their lemonade.
One absentmindedly reached toward the clay pitcher for another cup.
His hand stopped halfway.
A slight frown creased his forehead.
"...Strange."
The physician beside him looked up.
"What happened?"
"My fingers..."
He flexed them once.
Then again.
"They suddenly feel... numb."
His companion barely looked away from his bowl.
"You’ve spent the entire morning examining formation arrays."
"Probably spiritual fatigue."
"...Perhaps."
The physician nodded before reaching for his cup once more.
Several rows away, another officer slowly rubbed the side of his neck.
His shoulders felt unusually stiff.
Across the avenue, a veteran cultivator rolled his wrists before quietly rotating his shoulders.
Nearby, someone stretched.
Another yawned.
One logistics officer blamed the afternoon heat.
Another blamed poor sleep after the previous night’s patrol.
No one connected the symptoms.
Why would they?
Nothing appeared serious.
Not yet.
The camp remained lively.
Laughter still drifted between the tents.
Kitchen assistants continued collecting empty bowls.
The aroma of fresh food still lingered upon the afternoon breeze.
Everything appeared perfectly ordinary.
Then...
A ceramic bowl slipped from someone’s hands.
It struck the packed earth.
Crack.
Several nearby soldiers looked over.
The Death Rider who had dropped it remained seated exactly where he was.
His brows drew together.
He raised one hand toward his chest.
"...What..."
The word never finished.
His entire body suddenly stiffened.
Every muscle locked at once.
The veins across his neck bulged violently beneath his skin.
The soldier beside him immediately stood.
"Brother?"
No answer came.
The seated cultivator’s pupils rapidly lost focus.
His breathing stopped.
For one terrifying heartbeat...
He simply remained frozen.
Then his body collapsed sideways onto the ground.
Thud.
The surrounding laughter faded.
Several soldiers hurried forward.
"Medic!"
One knelt beside the fallen man before pressing two fingers against his neck.
"...His pulse..."
Confusion appeared across his face.
"...Where’s his pulse?"
Before anyone could answer—
Another cry echoed from the neighboring row.
A second cultivator had fallen.
Then another.
Wooden bowls struck the ground one after another.
Crack.
Crash.
Shatter.
A captain staggered backward, clutching desperately at his throat as though invisible hands had wrapped themselves around his neck.
His spiritual energy erupted instinctively.
The moment it surged through his meridians—
His expression twisted into unimaginable agony.
He screamed.
The sound tore across the encampment.
"AAGHHHHH—!"
The scream ended abruptly.
His body collapsed before the horrified soldiers surrounding him.
Panic spread faster than fire.
"What’s happening?"
"Physicians!"
"Call the physicians!"
"Someone collapsed over here!"
"No—!"
Another terrified voice interrupted.
"They’re collapsing everywhere!"
As if answering those words...
Cries erupted from every direction throughout the temporary military encampment.
One.
Then ten.
Then hundreds.
Soldiers stumbled out from beneath the dining shelters, clutching their chests, their throats, their heads.
Some managed only a few desperate steps before crashing lifelessly onto the ground.
Others convulsed violently as blood trickled from the corners of their mouths.
The peaceful military camp descended into chaos within moments.
And inside the quiet tent...
Shaurya slowly closed his eyes.
Without saying a single word...
He knew.
The Soul Dissolution Poison...
Had awakened.
To Be Continued...
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