The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis Chapter 84: The Rules of Engagement

"It is getting dark," Sun Longzi muttered, his voice low and almost lost in the wind.

The battlefield had finally quieted. Smoke still clung to the air like an afterthought, and the heat had not yet fully faded, but the worst of the fire had burned itself out. A temporary stillness settled across the field like a blanket drawn over the dead.

Shi Yaozu slowed his steps beside Zhao Xinying. His blades were still coated in blood, his eyes sharp, and his stance alert. Though her mist had begun to withdraw to the edges of the field, it still curled lazily in the air—unsettled, watchful.

They had won.

Or at the very least, no one else was daring enough to challenge them now.

Sun Longzi approached from the flank, his horse trotting wearily through the wreckage. Blood ran in a thin line down the side of his face, and a crack split the chest plate of his armor. He looked exhausted but steady.

"The rules of warfare are clear," he continued, eyes scanning the horizon. "When dusk falls, both sides are expected to retreat to camp. The fighting resus in the morning."

Zhao Xinying did not glance up. She lifted one hand and brushed a fleck of ash from her sleeve. "I have never been good with rules," she replied flatly. "And besides, that seems like a waste of ti. We should just get this over with."

"The rules are not for you," Sun Longzi said with a dry note. "They are the agrees upon rules for all five countries on this continent. They aren’t open for negotiation, and they are written in stone for everyone to follow."

"Please," Zhao Xinying scoffed, looking over the dead bodies to the line of n in crimson and yellow who refused to step onto the battlefield. They seed to think that they were safe all the way over there, but that wasn’t exactly the case. "Those n are weighing their chances. And debating whether or not I look tired."

He turned his gaze to the slope, his mouth flattening into a thin line. The enemy forces hovered just beyond the ridge, their banners still visible in the failing light.

Then, without warning, the sound of an arrow slicing through the air broke the calm.

It was not aid at her.

It was aid at him.

Sun Longzi turned instinctively, but not fast enough. The arrow struck beneath his ribs, sliding through a vulnerable gap in his armor. His breath hitched sharply as the impact took him. For a single mont, he remained upright.

Then his knees gave out.

"No!" Zhu Deming’s voice snapped through the stillness, his sword already raised as he spun around, looking for the enemy. One of the other officers from the Red Demons shouted sothing guttural and incoherent as he rushed forward.

Zhao Xinying reacted before either of them. Her mist surged upward with violent force, forming a shield around the wounded commander as a wall of fire burst to life in front of her. The ground trembled beneath her feet as the fury she had held at bay was unleashed in full.

This was not her defending herself or the Red Demon Army. This was her retaliating against soone who had dared attack soone that she was defending. This wasn’t possession, this was pride.

The enemy archers barely had ti to scream before her fire reached them.

Zhu Deming caught Sun Longzi’s body just as it collapsed. "You are alright," he said, voice strained as he pulled his friend’s weight into his arms. "You’re alright. You’re going to be fine."

Sun Longzi coughed once. "I was alright," he muttered, his voice fading rapidly. "Now I’m not so sure."

"Back to camp," Xinying said, turning on her heel. Her tone held no argunt. "Now. Otherwise, I can’t promise anything."

Once again, no one dared to challenge her.

-----

The camp had been hastily constructed—little more than a ring of reinforced tents, a few supply wagons, and stacks of crates repurposed into barricades. It stood near the tree line, shielded from the ridge and just out of reach of enemy arrows.

Sun Longzi remained conscious during the ride back, though he said nothing. He was draped over Deming’s back, his body sagged heavier with every gallop of the horse’s hooves. Blood continued to stain his armor, soaking through the fabric in dark, sluggish rivulets.

When they reached the largest dical tent, the healers surrounded him at once.

"Lay him flat—be gentle!"

Deming helped lower him onto the cot, his hands shaking. His half-mask had been lost sowhere during the scramble, revealing his expression for once—naked, raw, and desperate.

The lead dic began cutting away the armor. One look at the wound and his expression darkened.

"The angle is deep," he said quietly. "It punctured just beneath the ribs. Both the liver and lungs are compromised. There is also internal bleeding that we can’t stop. I’m afraid that we aren’t skilled enough to..." His voice trailed off as his head dropped.

Deming’s jaw clenched as he narrowed his eyes on the dic. "Then what do you suggest? He cannot be allowed to die."

The dic hesitated, his head dropping as he stood before the Second Prince. "I’m sorry, I really am. You need to be prepared. He may not make it through the night."

The words knocked the breath from Deming’s lungs. This could not be happening. Sun Longzi had always been the unshakable one. The immovable wall. The man who held the front line when no one else would. He was not just a general.

He was Deming’s brother in all but blood.

"You don’t get to die," Deming whispered, kneeling beside the cot. His hands gripped Longzi’s wrist. "We agreed. Neither one of us dies first. Not on so godsforsaken battlefield."

Sun Longzi exhaled slowly, his face turning pale as blood continued to pour out from his side. "You agreed," he rasped. "I think I was drinking."

Deming laughed once, short and broken.

"You have a fiancée, rember?" he added, scrambling to remind Sun Longzi why he needed to stay alive. "She’s waiting for you. Don’t make explain this to her."