The wind howled across the stone path just outside the castle walls. Torches flickered. Shadows danced.
Shennong stood quietly, his back to Sir Juno. He had said all he needed to say.
But the sharp shhhk of a sword being drawn shattered the tense silence.
He heard it—clear, clean, unmistakable.
Without turning his body, Shennong tilted his head slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder. A cold glint passed through his eyes.
"So… you've chosen to end it here," he muttered, his voice low but laced with steel.
Juno stepped forward, his boots crunching against the gravel. The blade in his hand gleamed under the pale moonlight.
"You really don't know who you're dealing with," Juno said, his voice filled with contempt. "Acting all high and mighty, like you're above the rest of us. I don't know who you truly are or where you're from, but it won't matter once you're dead."
"Is that so?" Shennong replied calmly.
