In other times, had he seen someone surrounded and wounded yet still manage to say *I will slaughter your entire clan*, Xiu Miluo would have found it laughable beyond measure.

The world has never lacked for people who speak harsh words. But if half of all the harsh words ever uttered had actually come to pass, half the world’s population would already be gone.

In Xiu Miluo’s view, speaking such threats was the mark of a certain immaturity.

A truly ruthless person, more often than not, says nothing at all — and simply does every ruthless thing there is to be done.

Yet in this moment, Xiu Miluo finally understood: what matters is whose mouth such words come from. From the man standing before him, these were not harsh words at all. They were a… *notification*.

“Have we met before?”

Xiu Miluo asked, curious.

But Li Chi did not answer. In his view, there were many things in this world entirely without purpose — exchanging pleasantries in a situation like this being chief among them.

His silence was its own kind of answer.

Xiu Miluo’s brow furrowed slightly, and he murmured to himself: “What a pity.”

Then he raised his hand and pointed at Li Chi. “Kill him.”

The Black Wu soldiers encircling them numbered no fewer than a hundred. In such circumstances, even an immortal would have had little hope of escape — let alone a mortal man like Li Chi.

For these hundred-odd men were not empty-handed. They held bows and crossbows; among them were battle-hardened soldiers and disciples of the Sword Sect with formidable martial skill.

In the Black Wu empire, every one of these men was known for his arrogance.

All that arrogance, before Li Chi, amounted to nothing.

The moment the order left Xiu Miluo’s lips, the Black Wu soldiers loosed their arrows and crossbow bolts in a storm.

Not even a Grand Golden Immortal could have evaded that volley.

Li Chi evaded it.

Though he appeared surrounded on all sides, he had no need to worry about what lay behind him — for there was a carriage there. It was from this very carriage that Mister Yan had been dragged out, and now it shielded Li Chi from every threat at his back.

The instant the arrows flew, Li Chi bent low, clamped his curved blade between his teeth, and with both hands seized two corpses from the ground, hoisting them up as shields before him.

In moments, the bodies were riddled like pincushions — too many arrows to count had plunged into them.

Li Chi did not move. The two corpses became the most perfect shields imaginable, blocking every deadly projectile aimed at his front.

Soon came the hollow click of crossbows spent. But the longbows kept firing.

Seeing that Li Chi could not be struck, the men on the far side of the carriage began surging forward, intent on flanking him from behind.

But Li Chi was waiting for exactly that.

The moment Black Wu soldiers came close enough to engage him hand to hand, their archers would lose most of their advantage.

A Black Wu soldier rounded the side of the carriage and brought his blade chopping down at Li Chi. Li Chi turned one of the corpses to intercept it; the blade bit into the dead man’s shoulder.

In the next breath, Li Chi pressed the corpse downward, leaned his body forward — still gripping the curved blade in his teeth — and the blade swept across the soldier’s throat.

More Black Wu men rushed in from behind. The more that came, the calmer Li Chi felt — for the more men pressing close, the less freely their archers could fire.

Several blades fell nearly simultaneously. Li Chi raised both arms, lifting the two corpses overhead; every blade struck dead flesh. He shoved the bodies outward, sending several men stumbling, then gripped his curved blade and slashed in rapid succession, cutting down at least three or four men in the space of moments.

Those who had closed in were dead within the blink of an eye. New corpses lay around him. The immediate space cleared — and from a distance, arrows came streaking in once more.

Li Chi snatched up another body to shield himself. The sound of arrowheads punching into dead flesh erupted just in front of his face, close enough to make the scalp crawl.

In the distance, Kanluoshi’s men finished binding his wound. A chunk of flesh had been shorn from the top of his head; even after it healed, there would likely be a bald patch. That was, when one thought about it, quite a jarring realization.

“This can’t go on,” Kanluoshi said, suppressing his fury. He looked toward Xiu Miluo. “I’ll go.”

Xiu Miluo nodded. “Be careful. This one is a wild beast.”

Kanluoshi grunted, seized his curved blade, shouted for the others to fall back, then charged straight for Li Chi in long, powerful strides.

Li Chi was hoping for exactly this — someone to come in close. Anyone at all.

Kanluoshi came on in great strides. Still half a *zhang* away, he launched himself airborne, his curved blade falling with a sound like splitting air.

Li Chi sidestepped. The blade crashed into the carriage body behind him, splitting open a gash in the paneling.

Kanluoshi’s slash missed. He followed immediately with a kick to Li Chi’s chest. Li Chi stepped aside again; the kick smashed into the carriage, caving in half of the wall.

Kanluoshi’s intent was to force Li Chi away from the carriage into open ground, where the man from the Central Plains would be completely surrounded. Yet Li Chi kept evading, remaining beside the carriage.

Kanluoshi swept another horizontal slash. Li Chi raised his arm and met the blade with his own, locking them together with a resounding clang, sparks scattering.

Kanluoshi’s left fist drove toward Li Chi’s face. Li Chi neither dodged nor blocked. Instead his left hand reached sideways and closed around a half-length of wood broken from the carriage.

Kanluoshi’s left fist arrived — and so did Li Chi’s left hand, gripping that jagged half-stave —

*Thud.*

The wooden spike drove into Kanluoshi’s left arm. Li Chi wrenched it with a sharp twist, spinning Kanluoshi’s arm half a revolution; the force dragged Kanluoshi’s whole body sideways.

Li Chi pulled the stave free and drove it into Kanluoshi’s chest again and again —

Not a blade. Wood. The frame from the carriage window, split by Kanluoshi’s earlier slash — one end now a jagged point.

Once. Again. Again. Again. Li Chi’s movements were blindingly fast, the wooden spike plunging in and tearing free in rapid succession, each time trailing a spray of blood.

This proud commander of a thousand, arrogant to his marrow, had thrown only two moves before Li Chi had reduced his entire chest to pulp.

On the final blow, Li Chi drove the spike into Kanluoshi’s eye socket, then slapped his palm hard against the flat end.

*Crack.*

The spike punched out through the back of the head — not through the skull itself, but driven between the skull and the base of the neck. The tip emerged slick with blood, dark and viscous.

The instant Li Chi released his grip, Kanluoshi’s body sank slowly to the ground. His legs twitched a few faint times. Then nothing.

Li Chi turned and looked at the Black Wu men. Every face had gone somewhat pale. Some, meeting his gaze, were already backing away without realizing it.

Everyone there knew Kanluoshi was formidable.

But when true masters clash — especially in a fight to the death — even if the gap between them is not enormous, victory and defeat can still be decided in an instant. A life-or-death struggle is nothing like a sparring match where blows are pulled; every move is lethal, every exchange happens in a flash of lightning.

Had this been a pure test of skill rather than a killing ground, Kanluoshi would never have fallen so swiftly.

The Black Wu soldiers paused for a moment. Then Xiu Miluo’s command rang out.

Seeing Li Chi cut down Kanluoshi, Xiu Miluo bellowed: “What are you waiting for? All of you — go!”

The Black Wu men hesitated a beat even then. Li Chi’s method of killing Kanluoshi had been, after all, exceptionally brutal.

One man finally surged forward. More followed behind.

As the first man reached Li Chi, screaming, his blade fell — and Li Chi’s curved blade struck first, driving up through the man’s gaping mouth, the tip emerging from the top of his skull.

In the next instant, Li Chi released the blade and closed his bare hand around an oncoming enemy’s throat. In his grip the man became like a plank of wood.

Li Chi swung the struggling body back and forth with one arm, and in moments it bore more than a dozen wounds — every one left by blades meant for Li Chi.

He kicked the body away; the force sent it crashing into several men ahead, knocking them off their feet.

Someone came up from behind, a flurry of blades chopping down. Li Chi did not step forward to evade — he lurched backward, driving his back into them. Every blade fell wide. He spun instantly, seized two men’s heads, and smashed them together with a thunderous crack. Both skulls caved inward.

Li Chi fought on beside the carriage, the vehicle serving as half a wall at his back. He circled it, killing as he went. The corpses piled until there was no clear ground left, and every step landed on a body.

He came around to the far side of the carriage and cut down another three or four men. The Black Wu soldiers no longer dared approach.

On his side of the carriage, Xiu Miluo crouched and glanced under the chassis to find where Li Chi’s legs were, then reached out and snapped the carriage shaft free. He gripped it in both hands and drove it through the carriage body — clean through the other side. Li Chi had his back to the paneling and didn’t see it coming.

The carriage wall burst apart. The shaft struck Li Chi across the back with tremendous force.

The broken end of the shaft was rough and jagged — the kind of wooden stake that could kill a man in its own right. Had Li Chi not been wearing a soft armor beneath his clothes, the shaft would have run him through entirely. At that thickness, being impaled would have left no chance of survival.

Under the crushing force of the blow, Li Chi was sent pitching forward. The Black Wu soldiers who had retreated saw their opening and rushed back in at once.

Li Chi endured the agonizing pain and rolled across the ground, seizing weapons from the fallen as he moved, fighting back even while dodging.

Xiu Miluo still had no intention of engaging Li Chi directly. He glanced to one side from behind the carriage, saw Li Chi struggling to rise, and kicked hard at a wheel — shattering the axle.

He swung the wheel up and hurled it. Li Chi heard the rush of air and spun around, slashing with his blade — only to find a heavy iron-rimmed wheel bearing down on him. The slash split it most of the way through.

Xiu Miluo vaulted over the carriage on one hand, and kicked Li Chi square in the chest. Amid a shower of splintered wood, Li Chi was sent flying backward.

When Xiu Miluo saw Li Chi struggling to rise again, he frowned despite himself. This man was still getting back up.

He paced slowly and said: “You’re not as strong as you claim. It looks to me like you’re nearly finished.”

Li Chi spat a mouthful of blood and laughed at the sky.

“I, one man, fight your hundred — and you still won’t face me directly — yet you stand there mocking *me*?”

He spat out the blood and charged forward. Xiu Miluo immediately fell back, retreating behind the carriage. His eyes swept the area — and he suddenly noticed that pile of hides.

In the rush of figuring out how to kill Li Chi, he had forgotten there was still one soft spot here for the taking.

He kicked aside the rolled hides with one foot, rummaged through them — and Mister Yan was exposed.

Xiu Miluo laughed aloud and reached down to seize Mister Yan by the collar, intending to haul him upright — but at that very moment, a corpse came hurtling through the air.

The body slammed into Xiu Miluo and sent him staggering back. Before he could recover his footing, a blood-soaked fist arrived.

The knuckles were torn open, flesh and blood bare, the white glint of bone just visible at the joints.

*Crack.*

The fist landed flush on Xiu Miluo’s right cheek.

Xiu Miluo was sent flying, hitting the ground and rolling, rolling, churning up a wide swath of yellow dust.

Li Chi stood hunched forward, both arms hanging at his sides, breathing in great ragged gasps. Blood from his wounds, blood from his mouth, blood from his hair — all of it dripping steadily to the ground.

He stood before Mister Yan, and though he was bent double, his head was raised, eyes fixed on the enemy fallen in the dust.

Li Chi like this — without his frightful yaksha mask — looked even more like a yaksha.

He panted. And he bared his teeth.

“You *dared* to touch him?”

—