Page 32 of Dynasty of the Wicked

“You will never break us,” Zhi Ruo spat. “Never.”

“The monkey speaks!” The brown-haired man threw his head back and laughed. “I’m impressed you even have the capacity tospeak our language. And here I thought every last one of you were incompetent buffoons.”

“Hurt me all you want!” Zhi Ruo shouted, her cheek throbbing. “Hurt me if that’s what satisfies you, but you will never take what belongs to me. My land, my spirit, my home—they will never be yours. You low-life who satisfies himself with hurting a woman, hurt me! And let Kadios be known as the thieving, oppressive, and criminal kingdom it is!”

Silence fell over the camp. Zhi Ruo huffed and stared at the unimpressed general. Beside her, the old man stared at her in mute horror, likely wanting nothing to do with her defiance. Feng Mian had stopped moving and had his head canted in her direction. She hoped her words reached him.

Wyer quirked a dark eyebrow. “Is that it? Are you done?” He snorted. “What an impudent little child. Did you think your little speech would speak to us and make us feel … guilty? Horrified? Ashamed?” He waved to Frethirik. “Bring her here.”

Frethirik crossed the distance to Zhi Ruo and seized her chains. Zhi Ruo tried pulling on them, but he yanked her forward effortlessly until she was in front of the general.

“Watch, child, because today, you’re just a spectator.” He nodded to one of the soldiers.

Immediately, a soldier grabbed the old man and shoved him through the crowd. He kicked and screamed as they chained him to a wooden post.

“What are you doing?” Zhi Ruo demanded, a wobble in her voice.

“Entertainment,” he said simply.

The crowd cheered and formed a circle around Feng Mian, who was suddenly freed from his chains. Standing there, he seemed completely out of place. He didn’t look like atypicalHuo man from afar—because of his hair, eyes, and his unusual heightthat rivaled the Kadians—and yet he was a Huo man among the throng of demons.

“They will fight,” Wyer murmured. “The blind man and my men.”

“W-what?”

“And if he loses …” His grin turned sharp. “Well, you’ll see. He’s already done this game before with us.”

A soldier drew his sword as someone tossed a wooden stick to Feng Mian, who caught it effortlessly, as if he could see it. The soldier entered the ring and the other soldiers clapped and cheered for him to kill Feng Mian.

Zhi Ruo’s stomach twisted further into knots.Thiswas the entertainment?

“Why are you doing this?” she asked Wyer. “He’sblind!”

“Have you never seen him fight?”

“I have, but …” This was different than in the cage, or the dungeons. This was a real battle, with swords, and in an open space where Feng Mian couldn’t predict where his enemy was. The cage had been small, and easier for him to move in. But here? How was he going to fight against this man? He had magic, she knew, that helped him sense his surroundings, but there was too much noise, too much movement all around them. She was sure it would interfere with his ability to fight.

She clenched her hands together, a silent prayer on her tongue.

The soldier circled Feng Mian, who remained rooted in place, and swung his sword at Feng Mian’s shoulder. Time slowed as Zhi Ruo watched with wide eyes. She could practically imagine the sword slicing into his shoulder, breaking skin and tearing through his muscles. She could imagine blood soaking his colorless hair. She could practically hear the crunch of his bones, the jeering of the crowd, the scent of iron.

She wanted to scream for it to stop, but she was stuck.

But just as she thought the blade would bite into Feng Mian’s flesh, he raised his stick and deflected it, not even turning in the man’s direction. The soldier leaped back and charged again, but at a different angle. Feng Mian shifted on his feet, his hair streaming over his face as the stick met the man’s frantic barrage of swings.

All Zhi Ruo’s thoughts, skipping and dancing and fleeting as they were, froze in that moment as she watched him parry the man with ease. He was graceful, and yet there was a ferociousness in his movements. In seconds, he’d slapped the soldier across the face with the stick, spraying blood. But before the soldier could even hit the ground, another soldier from the crowd jumped at him. Feng Mian didn’t miss a beat before sidestepping and meeting his attack. He ducked when the sword aimed toward his head.

It shouldn’t have been possible for him to fight. Wasn’t he blind?

And yet he fought.

He parried, dodged, blocked, and attacked. It was like he knew exactly where the men were, and he even seemed to know the length of the blades, or else how could he have avoided the swings so perfectly?

It was impossible—unnerving.

It was like he could see what was happening behind him too. Because when another soldier jumped at him from behind, he didn’t need to turn to meet his blade and dodge. And throughout it all, his unseeing eyes didn’t follow the movements of the men, nor did his head move to watch for the men as they jumped to the side.

She hadn’t watched him fight that closely back in the dungeon, since she’d been so intent on escaping herself, but she had thought … that this type of fighting wasn’t possible for him.That he was better suited for fighting a small number of people who were easier to track.

---