Dantai Qi had only one thought in his heart: these demons could not be allowed to remain in the world.

As he galloped forward, a single lance driven through three men, a sentence surfaced unbidden in his mind — and in that instant, he felt a sudden, piercing clarity.

*The heroes of this world are born to slay demons.*

*There are no demons or monsters in this world. Demons and monsters dwell within the human heart.*

It was in this moment that Dantai Qi finally understood why Li Chi and Tang Pidi carried themselves with such unshakeable conviction.

*Heaven sends down heroes, born to uphold the way.*

Those two young men had grasped it long before him.

He plowed forward, lance bearing three bodies, and as those words — *born to slay demons* — rang through him, a great sweep of heroic spirit surged through his chest.

“Away!”

He bellowed.

The muscles on Dantai Qi’s arms coiled like writhing dragons. Both hands locked around the lance shaft, and with a violent heave he hurled the three bodies clear. His strength was near mountain-moving, yet the warhorse beneath him, burdened by such weight, had already been struggling.

That sweeping throw sent every rider facing Dantai Qi bolting in terror.

What manner of power was this — shouldering three bodies and still launching them with such force, the swing knocking several more brigands from the saddle?

The moment the bodies went flying, the remaining brigands lost all heart, and those at the back turned and fled without another thought.

These men, who had lived by making others fear them, now found themselves gripped by the very same fear when they met someone fiercer. Their obedience had always stemmed from dread of their leader; with Baie Hu dead, their will collapsed.

And so at the sound of scattered shouts, the brigands at the rear turned and ran — and Dantai Qi was not about to let them go. Forty hardened soldiers followed in his wake, sweeping through what remained like a gale scattering chaff — a relentless pursuit that was little more than slaughter.

To give chase was to massacre.

Those ahead thought only of running. Those behind thought only of cutting them down.

On the hillside.

Li Chi stood watching the battle. Among the surging mass of men, he picked out the great bandit Bei Kuangtu at a glance.

The man was impossible to miss. His frame was immense, powerfully built as a bull, and the horse beneath him was an entire head larger than any other. Its four legs were thick as pillars; its mane cascaded like a waterfall.

They had only just left the Nalan Grasslands, and Li Chi had picked up enough knowledge there to recognize what manner of beast this was: a stallion — what the steppe folk called an erma. A herd leader. A fighter. A guardian.

All warhorses were gelded. The erma was not. It was a true, uncastrated male, still possessing the raw explosive power that nature had given it. Ungelded warhorses were too fierce and too large — an ordinary person could not hope to tame one.

Even experienced herdsmen on the grasslands would not casually attempt to break an erma. To fail was likely to cost you your life.

Such horses were kept specifically for two purposes: to preserve the finest bloodlines of the herd, and to use their savage temperament as its guardian. People on the steppe said that with an erma in a herd, even a pack of wolves driven mad with hunger would think twice about approaching.

That a man could bring an erma to such willing submission said everything about the terror of his abilities.

Li Chi stood on the high ground, watching the man, watching the force — his mind working ceaselessly through tactics.

“Pass the order — once Tang Pidi and his men have cleared through, raise the horse-snare rope!”

He turned and gave the instruction.

A messenger runner immediately set off down the slope.

They had the brigands from before — those wolves and dogs — to thank for this. They had left behind their own horse-snare ropes, and without that, Li Chi’s people would have had nowhere to find cord sturdy enough for the purpose.

Even so, Li Chi’s forces were badly outnumbered.

There was no possibility of setting ambushes on both sides of the mountain pass — forty men could only concentrate on one side. One end of the rope was tied to a tree trunk across the road; the line was paid out and buried just beneath the road surface. Here, in the trees on this side, five or six veterans waited.

Their faces were set and grave. They waited only for the order.

Tang Pidi led his twenty riders thundering through, hoofbeats splitting the earth, dust churning, swift as lightning.

Behind them came more than a thousand brigands like a surging river, low and rumbling, like thunder rolling along the ground.

There was no further point in holding the high ground. Li Chi slung his bow and came down the hillside.

As the enemy cavalry came charging up, the five or six veterans hidden in the trees yanked the rope and sprinted backward with everything they had.

The rope wrapped a full loop around the tree — five or six men throwing their weight into it simultaneously — and snapped taut in an instant.

And then — a roar of chaos. Men and horses thrown end over end.

The first rank of brigands was flung forward in a single moment; the rope caught their horses at the knees, and horse after horse pitched headlong. Mounts drove nose-first into the ground; riders were hurled over them. The scene dissolved instantly into a tangle of bodies.

The front rank fell; the rear rank crashed into them. The column that had been pursuing Tang Pidi ground to a halt.

The five or six veterans wound another loop of rope around the tree, lashed it fast, then sprinted up the slope to join Li Chi and the others.

“Arrows!”

Li Chi’s roar carried across the slope.

His men — several dozen of them — drew and loosed.

They were few, but they held the high ground, and the range was well within reach. The brigands below fell into immediate disarray.

The brigands had bows too, but crude ones — and firing uphill placed them at a further disadvantage. Their arrows couldn’t reach Li Chi’s position.

The weapons in Li Chi’s hands had been forged by Dachu’s military craftsmen to the finest standard, far superior to anything the brigands carried.

The brigands returned fire in panic, but their bamboo-strip bows launched arrows that wobbled and drifted as they climbed, falling well short of where Li Chi’s men stood.

Meanwhile Tang Pidi had looped back around and was already dismounting and climbing the slope.

Bei Kuangtu sat on horseback, raised his spyglass, and studied the hillside. The archers up there were skilled — fierce and courageous — but there were only a few dozen of them.

In that moment, Bei Kuangtu felt a flicker of something like awe, alongside his rage.

Only this many people. How had they dared provoke him?

“There are only a few dozen of them — take the hill and wipe them out!”

Bei Kuangtu bellowed.

One of his Five Fierce Generals, Jinqian Bao, was a warrior of exceptional skill. At the command, he gave a shout and led the brigands down off their horses to assault the slope.

A mass of dark figures began clambering up the hillside, each of them burning with fury, the assault furious and aggressive.

Tang Pidi’s men returned and reunited with Li Chi’s force, forming a defensive line to suppress the brigands’ assault with arrows.

On the other flank.

Dantai Qi had led his forty veterans and finished off the last of Baie Hu’s men. After two consecutive engagements, his stamina was beginning to flag.

He looked around. The brigands, with their superior numbers, had already begun to split off and swing around the far side of the hill, intending to climb from another direction and take Li Chi’s force in a pincer.

Dantai Qi pointed toward that direction. “Get up there from behind and cover Li Chi’s flank.”

One of his men asked: “What about you? Aren’t you coming up with us?”

Dantai Qi gazed into the distance at Bei Kuangtu, standing high on the road on horseback. He was silent for a moment, then said: “Just get up the hill. Help Li Chi as fast as you can.”

“Yes.”

The forty veterans answered and moved off to reinforce the position.

Dantai Qi looked down at his horse. Out of habit, he murmured: “Old Yellow — are you still in you?”

Then he caught himself. This was not Old Yellow.

His horse was as tired as he was, tossing its head slightly, seeming almost to want to follow the others away.

“If only Old Yellow were here.”

Dantai Qi looked out again toward Bei Kuangtu.

*Cut off the head and the body falls.* These brigands might appear formidable, but they held together only because of Bei Kuangtu’s iron brutality. Whatever cohesion this force possessed came entirely from the fear he inspired. Kill Bei Kuangtu in a sudden strike, and these thousand-odd brigands would dissolve at once.

He looked back up the hill. Li Chi’s soldiers were disciplined and well-coordinated, but there were simply too few of them. A few dozen people could not indefinitely hold back an assault of this size.

Right now, at least seven or eight hundred men were attacking the hill. Bei Kuangtu had only two or three hundred with him.

So Dantai Qi decided to try.

This whole business had started because of him. He could not let Li Chi and Tang Pidi die for it.

“Horse.”

Dantai Qi patted his horse’s neck, then shook the reins.

“Forward — let’s kill this bandit.”

The horse whinnied. Exhausted as it was, it answered the rider’s call and surged forward.

On the hillside, Li Chi watched Bei Kuangtu below bellowing orders. He had the same thought as Dantai Qi: *kill Bei Kuangtu, and the brigands will scatter.*

He took aim and loosed an arrow at Bei Kuangtu.

The arrow streaked like a falling star — and arrived at Bei Kuangtu’s chest in an instant.

*Snap.*

Bei Kuangtu reached out and caught it bare-handed. He tossed it aside without a glance.

He lifted his gaze toward where the arrow had come from, his eyes growing colder and more savage.

Li Chi exhaled quietly. If only he had brought his iron-core bow.

In that same moment, Li Chi saw Dantai Qi — alone, on horseback, lance in hand, cutting through the dust in his white robes stained with blood, riding straight for Bei Kuangtu.

“Dantai!”

Li Chi’s eyes went wide.

Tang Pidi saw it too, and his face changed.

But there was nothing either of them could do. They could not come down the hill — brigands were pouring up in a dense wave. Even if they cut through the attackers, they could never get there in time.

Li Chi raised his bow again immediately, hoping to support Dantai Qi with covering fire and bring down Bei Kuangtu.

He reached back into his quiver.

Empty.

“Does anyone have arrows left?!”

Li Chi turned and called out.

But every soldier around him had already shot his quiver dry. They were holding back the tide of brigands now with crossbows alone — and crossbows didn’t have the range to reach Bei Kuangtu’s position.

Dantai Qi had already ridden through to the rear of the brigand force. Bei Kuangtu glanced back, then gave a contemptuous snort.

He pointed behind himself. “Scar Lion — go kill him.”

Scar Lion — the most formidable fighter among the Five Fierce Generals, nearly Bei Kuangtu’s equal — gave a nod and wheeled his horse.

This man held the second highest rank in the entire brigand force, and Bei Kuangtu treated him differently than the others — less arrogant, consulting him on many matters.

Scar Lion’s weapon of choice was an iron staff.

He built to a gallop, cleared the formation, and rode out to meet Dantai Qi.

The two came together halfway. Neither spoke. They simply attacked.

Dantai Qi knew the situation was desperate — he had to kill Bei Kuangtu as fast as possible to relieve the pressure on Li Chi.

So his opening strike was full force: a lance thrust straight at Scar Lion’s chest.

Scar Lion watched the lance coming. Something complicated flickered in his eyes and was gone.

He swept the iron staff sideways. The ring of metal as it batted the lance aside carried enough force that the shaft actually shuddered with the impact.

Scar Lion let out a battle cry and brought the staff crashing down at Dantai Qi’s head. Dantai Qi pulled the lance back and raised both hands, gripping the shaft to block.

That blow crashed down savagely against the shaft. Dantai Qi took it — braced himself and bore it — but tremendous force flooded through both arms.

His own body could withstand it; his horse was another matter.

Already spent from the long chase, now hammered down from above with such crushing weight, the horse cried out, front legs buckling — nearly going to its knees.

But the horse was stubborn. It wrenched itself upright.

Dantai Qi understood: he could not take any more direct hits like that.

In that moment, he caught sight of the leather armor his opponent wore — and his expression shifted at once.

“You were garrison troops!”

Dantai Qi demanded, his voice edged with fury.

Scar Lion looked at him. No answer. He brought the staff down again.

—