The first castle fell without a single cry of alarm.
The next one burned quietly — its gates thrown open in the night, guards subdued before they could shout.
And the third… the third surrendered before a blade was drawn, the defenders terrified by the rumors of a general whose army moved without sound or rest.
Ousen's campaign through Zhao's outer defenses was not a march — it was an erasure.
Ren had never seen warfare like this. No speeches. No blood-soaked rallies. Just deliberate, unbroken motion. His Gu Ren Tai moved alongside the main column, seizing routes and clearing the last scraps of resistance. Castle after castle fell like rotted fruit from a tree.
Kai said what the rest of them were thinking: "Are we even at war?"
Ren only shook his head. "Not yet."
They reached the outskirts of the main battlefield three days later.
Smoke rose faintly in the distance — not from the castles Ousen had taken, but from the central plains where Mougou's main army was engaged in full combat with Renpa's forces. The sound of battle hadn't reached them yet, but they could feel its weight in the air.
Ren noticed something strange. Ousen's army stopped.
No orders to engage. No signal to advance.
Just waiting.
Hours passed. Messengers came and went. Still, nothing.
Kai paced. "They're getting torn apart out there. And we're just standing here?"
"They're waiting for the right moment," Ren said softly.
And he was right.
Far across the battlefield, General Mougou's central army was trapped under a devastating rain of arrows. From atop a fortified ridge, Kyou En — one of Renpa's Four Heavenly Kings — unleashed disciplined waves of fire. His elite archers pinned the Qin center down like insects.
Men died without ever seeing their attackers. The center couldn't move.
Commanders begged for support.
"Where's the right wing?! Why hasn't Ousen moved?!"
But Ousen's army — and Ren's unit within it — stayed silent, hidden behind hills and ridgelines, waiting for the opportune moment.
Then it came.
A single black plume of smoke rose above the horizon.
Ren stood. "Move."
The Gu Ren Tai advanced in tight formation alongside Ousen's elite units. They moved like a tide, rushing through ravines and forested paths mapped days in advance. When they finally emerged onto the battlefield's edge, the enemy had no time to react.
Ren's unit struck hard and clean at Kyou En's rear — targeting communication lines and relay squads. Archers who had held the center hostage all day now found their formations collapsing from behind.
Kyou En turned to see chaos where there had been control.
And behind the Gu Ren Tai, Ousen's main force surged in, crushing the disorganized remnants of the archer corps.
With Kyou En neutralized, the arrow barrage ended.
The Qin center surged forward.
From his distant perch, Ren spotted familiar banners — Kanki's mob sweeping in from the left, and Shin's Hi Shin Unit charging into a duel with a twin-blade-wielding general.
Everything was turning. Because of timing. Because of silence.
Because of Ousen.
As night fell and the battlefield quieted, Ren and his men sat beneath a scorched tree, tending wounds and repairing gear.
Kai handed him a water skin. "This whole campaign's felt like walking into someone else's trap — only to find out we were the trap."
Ren nodded slowly. "And Ousen was the storm waiting behind the silence."
The Gu Ren Tai, now blooded in a true campaign, didn't cheer or boast. They sat quietly, like the army they had followed — calm, patient, and waiting for the next command.
The Sanyou campaign was not yet over.
But the tide had begun to shift.