Healing—an act of survival in war, and yet the most vulnerable of moments.
Three days passed. Though her wounds had not fully healed, The Annihilating Star forced herself back to the frontlines.
She didn't dare stay behind.
In her world, the weak were forgotten. Worse, they were erased. The only way to survive was to keep moving forward.
She returned to her barracks in silence, arriving just in time for the second round of celestial deployment.
The Celestial Lord had issued orders: the Twelve Stars would be divided into four groups, each heading north, south, east, and west. As the Second Star, she would lead thirty thousand troops eastward to a borderland known as Burning Horn Ridge.
She stood before the map for a long time, her finger resting on the narrow mountain pass that marked her objective. Her expression was unreadable.
Just before departure, a sealed scroll arrived. The ink still smelled fresh.
A handwritten note from the Celestial Lord:
"The First Star's legion shall travel with you. The road is treacherous—reach your goal safely."
She stared at those words for a long moment. Something flickered behind her cold eyes.
"He still doesn't trust you'll be safe," her guard said softly.
She said nothing, but carefully tucked the scroll into the deepest part of her armor.
On the day of departure, dark clouds loomed. The wind howled like a beast unleashed.
The Annihilating Star sat atop her white-maned warhorse, clad in black and gold armor. Her face was pale, but her gaze—sharp and cold—cut through the storm.
Thirty thousand soldiers stood ready, and far behind them, the red-and-black banners of the First Star's army silently appeared, separated only by a thin formation line.
"The First Star was assigned to the north. Why are they trailing us now?" the guard asked, eyes narrowed at the distant banners.
"I don't rely on others," she said flatly.
"You may not—but he still sent them."
The guard remembered vividly the moment from the mountain pass just days ago. Surrounded by three hundred enemy cavalry, they had been moments from death. She had been drained, he had been wounded.
Then the sky cracked.
A single bolt of thunder cleaved through the heavens, white and merciless.
In one strike, the enemy cavalry was reduced to ash.
No one had seen the Celestial Lord. But the power—the signature of that lightning—was unmistakable.
"He called down lightning," the guard had whispered, staring at the scorched earth. "That was his thunder."
Since that moment, she had asked herself:
If he is so powerful, why doesn't he fight?
"Maybe he's waiting for us to grow stronger," the guard had said quietly.
She had said nothing. But that question lingered.
Seven days later—Burning Horn Ridge.
Deep in the forest, scouts returned breathless: "Eight thousand enemy troops. They've fortified the mountain pass."
"Who leads them?" she asked.
"Western warlord 'Blueblade' Qiu Xiao. His deputy is a man named Lü Yan."
She nodded. "Ready the troops. We attack at dawn."
That night, she stood outside her tent, staring at the pale moon, wrapped in wind and silence.
"This time, no hesitation," she whispered.
She remembered how her mercy in her first battle had nearly cost her life. That softness was long buried now.
Dawn broke with heavy fog.
On the ridge, enemy banners swayed like forest canopies. Spears gleamed in tight formations. The valley choked with tension.
Blueblade Qiu Xiao stood tall atop a massive black warhorse, towering at over eight feet. The horse's hooves crashed against the rock like war drums. His blade was the size of a door, gleaming with malice.
He laughed down at the field: "A woman to lead the charge? Has the Celestial Order run dry?"
The Annihilating Star gave no reply. Her sword slipped silently from its sheath—cold and sharp.
Her hand rose.
"Advance."
The ground roared.
Thirty thousand soldiers surged like a rising sea, their battle cries splitting the mountain mist.
The clash was swift and brutal. The terrain was steep, thick with thorns and jagged rock. She divided her forces into three units, directing two along the flanks while she led the center herself.
In close combat, she was a blur of death. Her sword cut clean through steel and flesh. Blood sprayed her armor, but her face never flinched.
The enemy cavalry was fierce—horses the size of bulls, armor dark and heavy, riders wielding curved blades designed to split bone.
She didn't flinch.
A blade whistled toward her throat. She ducked, twisted, and thrust—steel sank into flesh.
Another rider charged. Her sword met his axe, sparks flying. A step, a pivot, a severed head.
Meanwhile, Blueblade Qiu Xiao entered the fray like a storm. His massive blade split shields and men alike, his roars echoing across the valley.
She met him head-on.
Blade against blade, the air cracked with each strike. Sparks rained like embers. Dozens of exchanges, no ground given.
"You think a woman can kill me?!" he bellowed.
She replied coldly: "I only need one strike."
On the 63rd exchange, she took a shallow cut to the ribs.
On the 70th, her blade pierced his throat.
The warlord staggered, blood pouring. He knelt, then collapsed. Dead.
She stood above him, breath steady, covered in blood.
"Hang his head over the gate," she ordered.
Her army roared in victory. "The Ridge is ours!"
Amid the bodies, they found the deputy—Lü Yan.
A young man with striking eyes and a quiet demeanor. He had fought hard but had not fled.
"Should we execute him?" her vice commander asked.
She shook her head. "Keep him alive."
She didn't know then—this man would one day shake her world.
That night, she stood atop the ridge, staring out over the battlefield.
She remembered the thunder—the Celestial Lord's unseen hand.
How powerful is he… really? she wondered.
The guard stood beside her, eyes on the stars. "He is beyond comprehension," he said. "And you—you are the only Star he watches."
She said nothing, but her grip on her sword tightened.
She understood now.
This was only the beginning.