He hesitated, watching her with something like pity. "But… a few of them are still out there. They're trying to regroup—trying to start another fight."
Hua Jing didn't respond at first. Her mind was a hollow echo, her gaze locked on the empty space where Zhao Yan had been.
Then slowly, she turned to meet Wei Ling's eyes.
Her lips twitched, a ghost of a smile flickering across her blood-smeared face. But it was not a smile of relief or peace. It was a cold, fierce thing—a promise written in the curve of her lips and the icy gleam of her eyes.
"Let them come," she said, her voice low and steady. "Let them try."
She straightened her shoulders, her chin lifting as she took a deep breath. The weight of grief was still there, but beneath it burned something else—a hard, relentless fire.
"I will go to war myself," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. "And I will end it."
