Chapter 7: Ambushed

The leader of the Halaha, lurking in the shadows like a coiled viper, sneered triumphantly: "I knew you fools would come looking for these cursed stones. This land is now the territory of the Halaha tribe. Today, I shall use your blood to consecrate my new domain..."

As this frantic declaration faded, the Halaha warriors emerged from the hidden mountain forests like demons unleashed from hell. With ferocious glares, they swarmed toward the three vine-ships. Simultaneously, a rain of stones and javelins pelted the vessels, filling the valley with high-pitched whistling and the rhythmic thud of impacts.

Caught completely off guard, Nuka and Lalong led a small band of Longshan people in a desperate struggle, yet they appeared vastly outnumbered against the tidal wave of Halaha warriors. Lalong and his men were struck down one by one amidst the chaotic melee. Blood stained the mysterious earth as the situation turned dire, plunging the Longshan people into an unprecedented crisis.

Watching his kinsmen struggle from the ship, Waza’s eyes burned with rage. He shouted to boost morale and, casting aside all concern for his own safety, leaped from the ship to strike at the Halaha like a tiger descending a mountain. Inspired, the Longshan people on the ships joined the fray, hurling rocks and spears at the enemy with unified fury; the valley echoed with their thunderous battle cries.

Waza drew his massive Longshan blade—a weapon half-sword, half-axe—its edge gleaming with a chilling, formidable light that struck fear into all who beheld it. After a fierce exchange, they managed to temporarily suppress the Halaha offensive. Just then, thick black clouds rolled across the sky, blotting out the sun, while a gale howled through the valley, whipping up sand and stone in a blinding whirlwind across the dueling ground.

Nuka, the leader of the Longshan, stood tall with his sharp blade strapped to his back. His robes snapped in the violent wind, and he stood like a towering mountain, gazing silently at his opponent. The Halaha leader, his face contorted in a hideous grimace, radiated a chilling, savage aura. His bronze battle-axe shimmered in the dim light, as if whispering of the countless lives it had claimed.

A piercing horn blast tore through the air, and the duel began in an instant. The Halaha leader struck first, roaring with a voice that threatened to shatter eardrums. Like a crazed bull, he charged at Nuka, brandishing his axe with brute force. The weapon whistled through the air with enough momentum to cleave a man in two.

Nuka remained calm and composed. With a slight shift of his body, he dodged the lethal blow with graceful ease. In one fluid motion, he drew his blade and flicked his wrist; the metal struck like black lightning, thrusting toward the leader’s abdomen. It was a strike so swift and precise that it showcased the superb martial skill of a tribal chief. The leader reacted just in time, blocking the attack with his axe. A crisp, resonant *clang* echoed as metal met metal, sending a shower of sparks into the gloom.

The two were locked in a fierce struggle, neither giving an inch. Every strike was delivered with full force, every defense executed with absolute focus. The surrounding combatants were drawn to the intensity of the duel, their breath caught in their throats as they watched every move.

The Halaha leader, relying on the sheer weight of his axe, pressed his assault with increasing ferocity. Each swing tore through the air, vibrating with the intent to crush Nuka. The wind of his weapon shredded the atmosphere, and the ground beneath them trembled. Nuka, however, moved like a phantom. Relying on agile footwork and exquisite technique, he danced through the storm of blows, narrowly avoiding fatal hits while his eyes remained fixed, searching for a flaw in his opponent’s rhythm.

The battle reached a fever pitch. Seizing a momentary opening—a gap as fleeting as a shadow—Nuka lunged forward like a bolt of lightning. His blade moved in a blur, creating an impenetrable web of cold steel. The leader’s expression shifted to one of alarm as he was forced back step by step, his heels carving deep trenches into the earth.

Nuka pressed his advantage, his eyes burning with lethal intent. He was a predator who had caught the scent of his prey. His blade, like a darting viper, struck repeatedly at the leader’s vitals, each thrust leaving the man drenched in cold sweat. As the fight wore on, the leader’s strength began to wane. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, and his breathing grew ragged. His movements slowed, and his openings multiplied. Nuka, sensing the turning point, resolved to deliver the final blow.

Taking a deep breath, Nuka channeled every ounce of his remaining strength into his blade. He leaped high into the air, soaring like an eagle diving upon its prey, and descended with unstoppable momentum. The blade gleamed with a frigid light as it plunged toward the leader’s chest. The Halaha leader’s eyes widened in desperate terror; he swung his axe in a frantic attempt to parry, but it was too late. Nuka’s blade pierced his chest with thunderous force, sinking deep into flesh. Blood erupted like a fountain, staining the leader’s garments crimson.

The leader staggered, swaying like a withered tree about to collapse, before crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust. The harrowing duel had reached its end.

Nuka stood his ground, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, sweat and blood streaking his face. He looked down at the fallen leader, a weary but triumphant smile touching his lips—the smile of a man who had survived the crucible of war and found pride in the face of death.

Seeing their leader fall, the Halaha grew hysterical. They swarmed toward Nuka and his men with bloodshot eyes and shrill, maddened cries. Nuka and Waza led the Longshan warriors, fighting with all their might through the press of steel until they finally rescued the unconscious and heavily wounded Lalong, breaking through the ranks toward their ships.

After the brutal skirmish, the survivors were battered and bloodied, their tattered clothes a testament to the savagery of the fight. Nuka, forcing his exhausted body to remain upright, ordered Waza to take the wounded Lalong onto the ship first, determined to stay behind to cover their retreat.

Waza’s eyes welled with tears as he gripped his weapon. "No, Chief! We leave together, or not at all! I cannot abandon you!"

Before they could argue further, a deafening roll of thunder shook the sky, and jagged lightning danced through the clouds like an angry dragon. A torrential downpour began instantly, the heavy raindrops splashing into the mud and turning the chaotic battlefield into a mire.

Aboard the vine-ship, Shimolam was frantic. Clinging to the gunwale, she watched her kinsmen below with a heart full of anguish, yet she was powerless to intervene. She had to follow the instructions Nuka had given before leaving the ship: if the Longshan were in mortal danger, she was to lead the entire tribe to safety.

Her hands trembled, and her voice broke as she gave the agonizing command: "The three ships must engage their gravity shields and depart at once!" The order was heavy with helplessness and sorrow; it was a choice made to preserve the bloodline of the Longshan, to keep the flame of the tribe alive, and to ensure their secrets did not fall into enemy hands.

Nuka brandished his spear in the rain, roaring, "Waza! From now on, you must listen to the old shaman Nise-Gu and your grandmother. Take care of our people!" With that, he turned and charged back into the encroaching tide of Halaha warriors, his silhouette appearing grand and tragic against the storm.

Waza, tears streaming down his face, could only shout, "I will get Lalong to safety, and then I will come back for you!" He quickly secured a rope to himself and the unconscious Lalong, and with the help of the Longshan pulling from the ship above, they arduously ascended.

Just then, a strange phenomenon occurred in the sky. Massive, brilliant bolts of lightning, as if sent by divine judgment, struck the valley floor. The surrounding mountains seemed to resonate with a mysterious power. The peaks began to shake violently, and vast sections of the mountainside collapsed, sending boulders raining down. The Moonstones at the bottom of the valley were suddenly activated by this immense energy, emitting a blue light so blinding that it was impossible to look upon.

Above the canyon, a massive, rotating spatial rift began to form, its gravitational pull as terrifying as a black hole. The three ships, already enveloped in their gravity shields, were instantly caught in the siphon and drawn into the temporal tunnel.

In an instant, everything was swallowed by the endless darkness and the unknown, leaving behind only the echoing thunder in the valley and the startled cries of the Halaha.

High above the Guizhou Plateau, the ink-black night sky was scattered with countless stars, like brilliant jewels strewn across the cosmos, casting their enchanting light upon the silent, dreamlike heavens.