The ambush came at dusk, when the border grew hazy and the shadows stretched long between the trees.

Meng Hao's squad was crossing a shallow river when the first poison dart struck the cheerful archer in the neck. He went down without a sound, his body convulsing once before going still. The formation expert screamed and raised his talismans — too late. A shadow blade cut through his defensive array and opened a line of red across his chest.

'Contact!' the swordsman shouted, drawing his spirit sword with a metallic ring. 'Three points — left flank, right treeline, river bend!'

Meng Hao dropped into a defensive crouch, his cracked spiritual foundation pulsing with the effort of processing terror into action. The Hex of Binding coiled in his palm, ready to spring, but the enemies were too fast, too dispersed, too coordinated.

The two brothers from Cloud Peak died together, as they had done everything — one taking a blade meant for the other, the other striking down the assassin who killed his brother before a second poison dart found his heart.

In five heartbeats, Meng Hao's squad of six had become two: himself and the swordsman, standing back to back in the shallows of the river, surrounded by shadows that might be trees or might be killers.

'Can you bind them?' the swordsman asked. His voice was calm — the calm of someone who had accepted death and was simply choosing how to meet it.

'Maybe two. Maybe three. Not all.'

'Do it.'

Meng Hao felt the Blood Immortal scroll in his storage pouch — felt it burning, almost, demanding to be used. The demonic technique that could drain the life force of the fallen, restore his energy, give him the power to survive this ambush and the next and the next.

He didn't reach for it. Not yet.

He reached for the Hex of Binding instead, and the air around him compressed into seals of white light.