Chapter 15Armour of the Divine Core

The dusk filters through a high canopy of pines, painting golden bars across the forest trail. The scent of resin and river wind drift through the air as the company of Imperial Elite Riders slow their pace to a trot.

They have been riding since sunrise, taking very few breaks. Now, as they reach a bend in the forest ridge, their leader, General Vanguard, raises his gauntleted hand.

“Rest formation,” he says.

His voice doesn’t need to carry far—the Elite Riders, the finest warriors of the Heartland Empire, follow with instinct for the young general.

The alloy steeds hiss softly, the gleaming, articulated legs folded in patterns too precise to be mechanical, too smooth to be natural. ‘CelestCore’, as the people of Shen named it, allows their mortal flesh and metal to harness the power of the Celestials. The Elite Riders, wielding the finest craftsmanship with their hearts of bravery, are the paragons of CelestCore innovation. A few steeds flick their heads, releasing steam from pressure valves like breathing oxen, their CelestCore lines glow faintly beneath their plated skin — dormant but ready.

The men dismount in practiced rhythm. Some loosen saddlebags, pulling out ration packs or strips of dried plum. Others tend to their steeds, murmuring to them as if they were sacred animals, with quiet prayers revering these machines built from divine ore and intent.

Under a crooked pine, General Vanguard removes his helmet briefly. His helmet is damp with sweat from the autumn heat. While his men rest, their young leader scans the woods with his trained eyes and instinct beyond his age.

“Need a rest, General?” a voice speaks behind him.

“You sound disappointed, Rider Jiang.” General Vanguard turns and smiles at one of his Riders—a lean young man with quick eyes and a halberd strapped to his back.

Beside him, another Rider approaches—older, broader-shouldered, with grey streaking his temples. “Give the General some breathing room, Jiang. We’ve been riding for days.”

“It’s okay, Rider Chen,” Vanguard says with a slight smile. “I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

“Negative, sir,” Jiang replies saluting, with a slight hint of nervousness, “it is an honour to serve you on this mission.”

“At ease,” the young general says, trying to ease the mood and build companionship with the Riders he just assembled, “I was hoping this mission would bring you more excitement than sightseeing—sorry to disappoint you all.”

Jiang and the Riders seem to have relaxed a bit—just enough to ease the tension, not enough to forget it.

“You’re in good company,” the general says after a moment, “what brought you to the Imperial Elite Riders?”

“I trained hard.”

“Not just that. You believe in something. That’s rare these days.”

“Sir, your father’s a great prime minister, he inspired me to become an Elite Rider.” Rider Jiang adds. “I wasn’t educated, so I started out as a standard-bearer when he was dispatched to the borderlands. He rebuilt the provinces where my hometown was, despite the ongoing threats from the eastern and southern continents and more frequent yaoguai activities. Citizens are safe and thriving, they do not hear our battles.”

Chen nods slowly. “The boy’s not wrong. Served under your father myself, ten years back. The Prime Minister’s not a soldier, but his will is stronger than any of us. He earned our loyalty.”

“I’m humbled to hear your praises for my father,” General Vanguard says. “Yes, thanks to him the Heartlanders are safe, well… most of them.”

“Sir?”

“We’re heading towards Tiantan—the once glorious spiritual hub of the Heartland. One day the floods came and swallowed the entire town. I was told the townsfolk were wicked, cursed, and so the mighty Celestials had forsaken them.”

There was a silence between the soldiers—not uncomfortable, just a familiar tale they have heard all too often.

A few crows scattered in the distance.

The wind shifts.

Not harshly—just enough to carry a new scent. Smoke. Jasmine. And something… sweet, almost cloying.

The Riders look up as one.

From between the trees, a woman stumbled onto the path. Her long robes were torn and splattered with mud, her hair clung to her cheeks like wet silk, and her eyes wet with panic.

“Please!” she gasps as she runs toward the Riders. “The hills caved in! My family and my village are in danger… please rescue us!”

She falls to her knees right in the middle of the road, trembling.

Jiang steps forward instinctively, hand reaching for his water flask. Chen moves to follow, but General Vanguard raises a hand, signalling calm. Both Riders halt in their position.

“You’re safe now,” he says gently, slowly stepping forward with poise, “where is your family?”

She points down a narrow, overgrown trail to the east, where the trees grew thicker and the shadows run deeper.

“There,” she whispers, “they’re stuck in the landslide, please help them quickly…”

Her voice cracks, her shoulders shake, she doesn’t look up. The Riders are murmuring to each other. The young general watches the woman more closely. His gaze narrows—the angle of her hands, the way her knees aren’t sinking fully into the mud—

SWOOSH!

He swings his sword.

The Riders freeze.

The woman is nowhere to be seen. As the Riders look up and see her leaping high up in the air, then landing on a tall tree nearby. Her limbs cling onto the branches, her posture now like an animal, with long dark hair running down her face. She slowly lifts her head, eyes glowing faintly amber, and her face cracking open with a wide smile full of fangs.

“Tch! You’re a smart one,” she snarls, voice suddenly smooth as silk, “but it’s already too late.”

YIP! YIP! YIIIP!

Leaves explode around her as she vanishes in a blur of foxfire and echoing yips. The trap has been sprung. The Riders are covered in dense smog. They look around, and see moving shadows lurking behind.

“Well, gentlemen,” General Vanguard speaks calmly as their steeds and gauntlets hum, glowing brighter with amber light, “sightseeing’s cancelled, let’s head straight to the main attraction.”

The forest exploded into motion the moment the Fox Spirit woman yipped.

A flare of silver-green light shimmered in the treetops—and from the shadows came the first wave of Black Husk Soldiers. Their skin looked carved from obsidian and lacquered with bone. Hollow-eyed. Movements jerky and twisted, like marionettes controlled by malice.

They rained down from the trees, and another wave surged forward from the dark woods, with their jagged blades of iron and hideous mouths opened in silent war cries.

General Vanguard’s arms snapped up his gauntlets.

“Release the Core!”

“Yes, General!”

The alloy steeds pulsed.

Each Rider placed one palm over the sigil embedded in their steed’s neck—a perfect circular emblem glowing with five-point harmony lines. The sigils hummed, then burst in radiant light as the steeds unfolded.

Plates of blessed alloy separated and reformed in the air, swirling like fragments of scripture. Each piece clicked into place on its Rider, forming seamless suits of CelestCore armour, shimmering with ancient motifs: dragons etched in bronze, tiger pauldrons, layered lamellar glowing faintly with internal scripture, symbolizing the mortals’ hope against supernatural beasts.

Helmets formed last—sculpted like guardian spirits, with eye slits that shimmer gold.

To any onlooker, they looked like gods suiting up for war. The CelestCore was forged not only to steel the warriors. It measured them. Judged them. Only the pure hearted could forge them. Only the worthy could wield them.

General Vanguard’s armour flared brightest with his Imperial halo crest—shaped like a raging tiger, fierce eyes stared wide. Then, he drew his twin blades in one smooth motion.

“Engage!”

The Riders met the Black Husks head-on—a silent clash of purpose against chaos.

The Husks hissed and snarled, striking with cruel unpredictability. But the Elite Riders moved like a single mind. Their armours anticipated impacts, shifted weight, and countered with fluid grace. Sparks danced. Metal shrieked. The Riders’ movements were half ritual, half war.

General Vanguard side-steps a strike and drove his swords through a group of Husk Soldiers—a spray of shadow vapour burst from the falling crowd.

Jiang vaults over him, catching two Husks mid-leap with his spinning halberd. “Still too easy, General!” he shouts, youth and adrenaline sharpening his voice.

Chen fights nearby, methodical and efficient, his blade moving in practiced arcs. “Save your breath, boy.”

But the Husks kept coming. The Riders’ breathing grew heavier beneath their helmets. Around them, armour plates scraped and dented. General Vanguard’s CelestCore gauntlets burn brighter. His men are holding formation, but their movements are sharper now, less fluid. More furious.

The forest echoes with the sound of hope.

Then the ground begins to shake.

A low rumble rolled beneath the soil, followed by cracking roots and splitting stone.

BOOM.

From the hillside, something massive bursts into view.

Its body is carved from rock—no, grown from it. Covered in moss, soil-stained stone, and violet crystal veins. A face barely visible under layers of jagged shale. Its fists are boulders. Its breath smells of forgotten centuries.

The Rock Guai has come.

It let out a thunderous bellow—and charged.

“Rock Guai!” Vanguard shouts, slashing through a Husk as he spins towards his men. “Formation Sanzhen—now!”

The Riders scramble to disengage. One tears his halberd free from the carapace of an evaporating Husk. Another stumbles back, narrowly dodging a fox spirit’s clawed hands. They snap into formation—not perfectly, but fast enough.

The front line drops into a low stance, locking their gauntlets and boots with magnetic seals. The second line raises shields etched with glowing geomantic runes. The third prepares ranged weapons—spirit bolts, and chain-whips, cracking with lightning charge. They are well-trained in this formation meant for titanic beasts.

The Rock Guai crashes through the trees like an avalanche made of fists. It swats a fallen tree aside, crushes the Husks that are in its way, and barrels straight toward the formation with a roar that shakes the pine needles from above.

“Steel yourselves,” General Vanguard orders over his breath, “this one’s refined.”

The Rock Guai’s joints now glowing with flickering runes—not natural corruption. Controlled corruption. Someone has shaped this one with precision.

Then, the Rock Guai leaps, like a boulder that learned grace.

The shockwave on impact shatters the outer line. Shields splintered.

Chen is thrown backwards, body spinning through the air like a ragdoll. He crashes into a large tree with a sickening crack. His armour sparks and flickers.

“Chen!” Jiang’s scream cuts through the chaos.

Another Rider catches the beast’s elbow and slams hard against a tree, armour dented deep, warning seals flashing red. Jiang struggles to his knees, his gauntlets flickering weakly.

Vanguard’s chest tightens. “Formation’s compromised.”

But there’s no time for doubt.

He rushes forward, twin glyph-plated hawk wings flaring open on his armour, boosting his leap through the air in a burst of golden fire.

He lands hard on the Rock Guai’s shoulder and thrusts a crackling baton into a glowing rune at the base of its neck.

“Now!” he shouts.

Three Riders fire spirit anchors into its legs—they crackle with celestial charge. Jiang forces himself to his feet, limping, and fires a chain to bind its arm. His movements are jerky, pained. The beast roars, stumbling.

“Bring it down!”

The Riders pull with everything they have, and the Rock Guai tumbles down, crushing a few Husks as it crumbles. Jiang staggers forward, breathing ragged, one arm hanging weakly, and drives his sword into the glowing runes between the Rock Guai’s joints with his good hand.

Jiang sways, glancing back towards where Chen fell. His voice cracks. “Chen?”

Vanguard glances at his men. Chen gets back up. “Pipe down, Jiang. It’s just a tickle.”

Chen draws his sword, charges at the beast and impales the runestone deep in its chest. The runes dim, and the rock beast falls, hitting the ground shaking, before lying flat like listless boulders.

The Riders are breathing hard, armour cracked and flickering. Yet they regain their composure and return to their combat stance staring back at the shadowy horde. The fox spirits and Husks stop their advance, slowly stepping back into the smoke, away from the intensity of the Riders’ prowess.

Just for a moment, the tide shifts back.

Then, from the smoke, a silhouette floating.

Masked, black CelestCore armour, green glow. The aura colder than stone.

The masked assailant raises a flute—a single, haunting note rings out. Vanguard instinctively reacts to a projectile, dodges with all his strength, loses grip of his swords and lands hard on the ground. He looks behind him, where the projectile has hit a large tree. The trunk suddenly blooms with fluorescent colours glowing in the twilight, and then hisses loudly as it unnaturally melts away.

The glow lights up the assailant’s mask—carved with grotesque patterns, twisted colours, hungry fangs, and its bulging eyes staring down every opponent. The Riders suddenly lose their balance, one by one, their grips of the chains weaken. Then they start coughing uncontrollably, as the smog gets denser.

Jiang collapses to one knee, his good hand clutching his throat, gasping for air. “General—”

The assailant leaps onto the Rock Guai, reaches into the pile of rocks and grasps a runestone. An ominous green glow lights up like veins pumping back into the Rock Guai, as it surges with new force—smashing its arm free, slamming a Rider many feet away into the woods.

Vanguard blinks hard, his vision is getting blurry, he stares back at the assailant’s mask. He scans behind the Rock Guai. More fox spirits and Husks are marching out of the dense smog, hungry, readying a second strike.

“We can’t win this. Not like this.”