The fifth toll struck the central courtyard like a hammer made of grave-dirt.
GNOOOD—TCHIK.
The sound suction tore the leftover breath from Xiao Qi’s lungs.
The two-space-folding dark shape on the snow snapped fully upright.
It had no thickness. Viewed from the side, it was as thin as a single sheet of oiled parchment.
Yet it possessed terrible, physical leverage.
Its featureless arm whipped forward in a silent, fluid blur.
The jagged dagger of black frost caught the young conscript beneath the chin.
