The carriage rocked gently as they travelled toward the imperial city. Atlas watched Layla carefully, his golden eyes filled with something between amusement and curiosity.
"Alright, I have to ask. How does a 17 year-old girl manage to hold her own in politics like that?"
Layla didn't flinch. "Years of learning from my father."
Atlas tilted his head.
"Really? Because you handle it better than most nobles twice your age. Doesn't seem like something you just picked up from listening at the dinner table."
Layla's gaze was steady. "Some people are simply fast learners."
Atlas smirked, but let it drop. "Alright, fine. Keep your secrets."
She arched a brow. "You're one to talk."
Layla lean forward with genuine curiosity
''So you and Meyu, I heard you and her pretty much founded the company from nothing and travelled together for years, do you see yourself with her? or is she just a business partner''
Atlas for all his worth, had his face unreadable but his cheek was slightly red,
''Well she's a long time partner so I don't really see how it would matter how I see her anyways. She knows me too much for her own good if we're being honest''
Layla genuinely looks surprised,''Huh, you actually..''
Atlas interrupting immediately
''Ahh so the winter is ending now huh, hopefully we can see a good harvest this year. Ha.Ha.Ha''
Suit yourself. Layla thought to herself.
Within the grand halls of the imperial palace, Emperor Jinhai sat alone in his study, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the wooden desk. Before him was a large chalkboard, covered in meticulous notes, strategies, and potential outcomes.
He wrote: Layla Wuye – unpredictable, intelligent, inexperienced but managed to make her survive from that Shen Mu. Atlas Ryland – businessman, his presence is dangerous, and a problem.
Jinhai's eyes narrowed.
"If Silver Lotus remains independent, they become a threat. If I take control, they become a tool. If I sever their ties to Ryl Trading, I weaken them."
He tapped the chalk against the board before writing a final line: Eliminate variables if necessary.
A knock at the door. "Your Majesty, the envoys are en route."
Jinhai smiled faintly. "Good. Let's see how they play their hand."
The night was thick with the stench of blood and burnt wood. The carriage lay in ruin—its once-polished frame now splintered, wheels half-buried in the dirt. The flickering glow of scattered torches painted long, shifting shadows over the bodies that littered the ground. Some still twitched, caught in their final moments. Others lay still, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the abyss.
Atlas stood in the center of the carnage, panting, his body drenched in sweat and blood from his and enemies. His legs trembled under the weight of exhaustion, his normally sharp eyes dulled with fatigue.
The Qi he absorbed, some released and some stay. He did not wield his life force like a sword or shield. His body is still passively absorbing Qi from the air, from the dead, from the very battlefield around him. And unlike masters who could store and control it, Atlas has no such luxury. Atlas even though trained under Master Daokan even if it was for a day, could still barely release it consciously.
The energy flooded him in relentless waves, an unceasing tide that refused to be contained. If he did not release it, he knew it would tear him apart from the inside, shredding muscle, bursting veins, breaking him down cell by cell. Right now, it was barely under control, his body straining as the Qi surged and twisted within him, screaming for an outlet.
Behind him, back to back, Layla remained standing, but just barely. Her sword, once steady, wavered in her grip. The faint whisper of her Qi Gale flickered at her feet, struggling to hold form. Rot, the second force she wielded, pulsed weakly, its corrosive nature faltering as her reserves bled dry. She was swaying, her body screaming for relief, but she would not fall. Not yet.
Before them, the remaining bandits gathered in a loose formation—eight men, each armed, each grinning with the sick thrill of victory just within reach. They had been waiting for this moment, watching as Atlas and Layla's strength burned out like a dying candle. They weren't foolish enough to charge head-on anymore. No, they were letting exhaustion do the work for them.
Atlas coughed, nearly dropping to one knee before forcing himself upright. His fingers twitched, the stolen Qi writhing beneath his skin. He needed to let it out. Soon.
He wiped the blood from his lips, glancing over his shoulder at Layla.
"Hey, Princess…" His voice was hoarse, dry. "You still breathing back there?"
Layla exhaled through her nose, her tone clipped but unwavering. "Barely."
Atlas let out a weak chuckle. "Good. Thought I was hallucinating for a second."
The bandits took a slow step forward. They were done waiting.
"Oi, fancy boy" one of them sneered. His teeth were yellowed, his armour stained with fresh blood.
"No more tricks left? No more clever words?"
Atlas's head tilted slightly. A tired smirk played at his lips.
"Plenty of tricks left" he murmured. "Just not sure if my body can keep up."
Layla shifted her stance, her sword raising an inch higher. "We can still fight."
Atlas sighed, rolling his shoulders. The unstable Qi inside him pulsed violently, coiling like a beast in his chest. He could feel his body reaching its limit.
"Yeah, yeah" he muttered.
"Just once, though, it'd be nice if someone came to save us instead."
The bandits lunged.
The first bandit moved like a viper, blade flashing in the firelight as he struck for Atlas's throat. Atlas barely shifted in time, moving his body to let the blade graze past his cheek instead of slicing through his windpipe. The heat of his own blood spilling down his skin barely registered—his focus was on the bandit's overextended stance.
Before the attacker could recover, Atlas's knee drove into his gut with all the force he could muster. The man gasped, doubling over, but Atlas barely noticed—his entire body flared in agony as the stolen Qi surged unpredictably. His muscles burned, his veins screamed, his bones felt like they were being crushed from the inside. He had to release it.
Another bandit lunged.
Now.
Atlas exhaled sharply, forcing the unstable Qi outward. It wasn't elegant, wasn't refined like a true martial artist's technique. It was raw, volatile. A pulse of force erupted from his body, more akin to an explosion than a controlled release. The shockwave blasted outward, sending the second bandit flying several feet before his body slammed against the wreckage of the carriage with a sickening crack.
Atlas stumbled, the backlash from his own release forcing his limbs to seize up.
Too much at once.
He gritted his teeth, barely catching himself before he collapsed outright.
Ha, hah, hah, fuck me. I'm dying here from this Qi bullshit. My body can't even regulate it and here I am risking my life to help fight with Meilin.
Layla, meanwhile, moved like a specter in the dim torchlight, her blade flickering as she intercepted two attackers at once. One of them feinted to her left, forcing her to pivot, but her slowed reflexes almost cost her—his companion came from the right, aiming straight for her ribs.
She wasn't fast enough to dodge. But she didn't need to. The months of training with her father and Jiang has made her as strong as Jiang. She can do so much with so little energy used. She coated her body with her own Qi but with the Gale techniques. Creating a shield made from it with what little reserves she has left to her body.
At the last moment, Qi Gale roared weakly around her, a sputtering echo of its usual strength, but just enough to divert the attack's trajectory. The bandit's blade missed her by a fraction, cutting through the air instead of her flesh. Layla didn't hesitate—she drove her sword into his shoulder, twisting the hilt as she ripped it free. Blood sprayed against the dirt as he crumpled.
But the second bandit didn't let up. His club smashed, aiming towards her skull.
She couldn't block.
She couldn't dodge.
Atlas moved first. Forcing his body from sheer exhaustion, adrenaline was helping him fight longer.
His body responded before his mind could catch up. His fingers, still tingling from the excess Qi, clenched into a fist, and he punched straight through the air.
Another unstable blast erupted from his knuckles—wild, unfocused, barely within his control.
It didn't matter. It hit.
The bandit was flung backward, his ribs audibly shattering as he tumbled across the ground.
Atlas exhaled sharply, struggling to stabilize himself as his vision swam.
Too much.
If I keep burning through Qi like this, I wouldn't even make it to the end of the fight.
Layla coughed, her free hand clutching her ribs as she glared at him.
"You're going to burn yourself out before they even kill you."
Atlas wiped the blood from his mouth, grinning despite himself.
"Better than the alternative."
Four left. They hesitated now, eyeing the bodies of their fallen comrades.
Good. Fear meant hesitation. Hesitation meant an opening.
Atlas forced himself upright, despite the way his body screamed in protest.
"Come on" he taunted, his voice laced with exhaustion. "What happened to all that confidence?"
One of the remaining bandits—clearly the smartest among them—took a cautious step back.
"Tch. Not worth it."
He turned, ready to bolt.
A mistake.
Layla moved. Her experience as being a ruler once in her life is to never leave any loose ends.
With the last of her strength, she surged forward, her blade silent as death itself.
A single step, the first step of Gale, Whispering Breeze.
The retreating bandit barely had time to gasp before her sword ran him through. She yanked the blade free without a word, letting his body slump forward, his lifeblood soaking into the dirt.
The last three men panicked.
Atlas and Layla did not give them a chance to reconsider.
Atlas stepped forward, his body ablaze with stolen Qi, feeling like he might burst at any moment. But he didn't stop. His next attack wasn't calculated—wasn't even controlled—but he threw himself forward anyway, releasing another devastating blast that hurled two of them aside like ragdolls.
Layla dealt with the last one. A clean, decisive strike.
And then—
Silence.
Atlas swayed on his feet, the world around him spinning dangerously.
Falling to the ground with his arms stretched wide.
Layla barely had the strength to sheathe her blade. She turned to him, breath ragged.
"Is that… all of them?"
Atlas scanned the battlefield—limp bodies, the stench of iron thick in the air.
He let out a shaking breath. "Yeah."
Layla nodded, then promptly collapsed. The exhaustion caught to her and the adrenaline finally wore off.
Atlas stood up and barely caught her before she hit the ground.
"Hey, hey, no sleeping yet, Princess," he muttered, shaking her lightly.
No response. Her breathing was steady but weak.
Atlas let out a humourless chuckle. "Damn it. If only I could heal you"
His body still trembled from the usage of releasing Qi. His body was slowly catching up to the exhaustion.
As if fate wasn't cruel enough already, making their journey come to a halt. The driver of the carriage dead, making a 17 year old girl fight for her life and a 24 year old man with no Qi desperately trying to stay awake.
With the last of his strength, Atlas dragged Layla toward what remained of the carriage wreckage, propping her against it. His vision blurred at the edges. He needed a plan. He needed—
The snap of a twig.
Atlas's blood ran cold.
Footsteps.
Fuck me. More of them!?