The wind roared like a tiger’s howl, sweeping across layer upon layer of dark mountain ridges, converging toward the dilapidated little mountain god temple.

Amid the firelight, the figure surged through the doorway, his footwork and fists tearing the air apart with violent gusts of force. In mere moments, the raw ferocity and power of the Baji fist style, carried on this momentum, reached its absolute peak—and then his entire body surged forward like flowing water, exploding outward in a single burst.

This mountain-leaning shoulder charge, also known within Baji fist as the “fierce tiger’s mountain-crushing lean,” was, at its core, a devastatingly powerful technique that concentrated the body’s entire strength into a single strike. With his charging momentum now at its absolute peak, following a few hard-driven punches, the intent of the blow had already taken hold, his body moving almost without conscious thought, power surging to its very limit within this single technique—and then, in one thunderous instant, like an avalanche or a mountain giving way, it erupted without reservation directly against the dark-skinned giant before him. The giant, already forced back a step, took this mountain-leaning charge full on, his footing driven backward with a series of rapid, thunderous impacts. Before he could even steady himself, he let out a roar and swung the serrated broadsword from his back.

With a crash, sparks burst outward and the flames flattened low—it was the very longsword the intruder had thrown moments earlier, having struck the temple’s ceiling and now falling back down. The attacker caught it mid-fall and drove forward in a single thrust, meeting the giant’s serrated blade head-on.

Though the intruder had seized the initial advantage, his physical strength and stature ultimately couldn’t match the dark-skinned giant’s. In an instant, three more flashes of blade-light followed—but as he tried to push straight through toward the wounded nobleman huddled in the corner of the temple, the dark-skinned giant blocked his path. By now, the two remaining guards in the temple had drawn their own weapons and moved forward, blades raised, and with a crash, sparks from clashing steel burst into the air once more.

In the span of a heartbeat, the fighting raged furiously, blades whistling through the air, until the fire at the center of the small temple was beaten down flat against the ground, suppressed to its very limit—yet the sparks struck from clashing steel seemed to burn all the more startlingly bright against the night. But that suppression was only temporary; in the brief lull following the clash, the fire suddenly roared back upward, flames erupting around the iron pot of simmering porridge. In the next instant, the intruder let out a sharp cry, drawing back his blade in a single stroke, and the dark-skinned giant along with his two companions surged forward together.

“How dare you—”

“Ahh—”

CRASH—

From the moment the intruder had first charged in to this very instant, only a handful of seconds had passed. He’d made one attempt to reach the wounded nobleman in the corner, already blocked by the dark-skinned giant—but this time, he reversed his grip on the blade and, with everything he had, swung it upward from below directly into the fire at the center of the room, still aiming, ultimately, for the wounded nobleman.

In that instant, flames erupted violently among them all, and along with the fire, dust, and scorched firewood being sent flying, the iron pot brimming with scalding porridge was also launched upward, hurtling directly toward that same target. In almost the same moment, the dark-skinned giant swung his serrated blade through the air to intercept the assault. “How dare you!”

That single stroke, together with his own body, blocked most of the flying sparks, the force of the wind churning wildly through the ruined temple, whipping the scattered points of light into an even fiercer frenzy. The airborne iron pot happened to catch the edge of his blade as it swung, hanging suspended in midair for an instant amid the burst of flame and light—and in that same moment, with his sword-strike not yet spent, the intruder drove his left fist straight into the bottom of the pot. In the next instant, the one-eyed giant, standing two or three meters away, let out a furious roar and swung his own palm.

He struck the incoming iron pot and scalding porridge dead-on with his open palm, sending the pot rebounding backward to crash against the ground.

In the blink of an eye, flames leapt skyward, and the iron pot, batted about like some kind of ball, was struck four more times in rapid succession—crash, crash, crash, crash—finally flying several meters off to smash against the ground and skitter away, fire and scalding porridge scattering wildly between them all like flower petals in the wind. The intruder’s left fist, having just driven into that red-hot pot bottom, surely couldn’t have escaped unscathed; the one-eyed giant took the worst of the spattered porridge, and even the wounded nobleman behind them got splashed here and there. But no one had time to spare a thought for any of that now—the moment the porridge pot hit the ground, the dark-skinned giant let out a furious roar and drove his most savage strike yet straight through the sky full of sparks.

Wind buffeted their faces, flames bent low. The intruder raised his blade to block, and the force of the strike sent him stumbling backward several meters; before he could even find his footing, the dark-skinned giant had already torn through the firelight and was bearing down on him with murderous intent.

He was there to protect the wounded nobleman—and in this brief exchange, combined with that initial thrown longsword, the intruder had already launched three separate attacks at the nobleman, this latest one leaving everyone in the most precarious position yet. The giant’s assault came on with tremendous force and weight, clearly intent on driving the intruder bodily out of the ruined temple before finishing him off outside.

Through these brief exchanges, the others had gotten a clear enough look at the intruder’s appearance—a young man, likely in his early twenties, tall by southern standards, his build giving no obvious impression of either great bulk or excess weight, yet his blade strikes carried tremendous, driving force, his fist-work following that same ferocious, punishing path, the power behind his movements clearly fueled by internal cultivation. Still, compared to the dark-skinned giant, he ultimately fell short; having exhausted his initial advantage of surprise, he was finally forced out through the temple entrance. Yet judging by the way the fighting had unfolded, that devastatingly powerful mountain-leaning shoulder charge from earlier had clearly landed its mark after all—blood now trickled from the corner of the giant’s mouth, though judging by how he continued wielding his blade, the injury likely wasn’t too severe.

Bursting out of the ruined temple, the two men had, in the blink of an eye, already hacked and slashed their way more than ten meters off. By now the fire within the ruined temple had largely died down, leaving only faint light outside, but even in the darkness, the repeated bursts of sparks flashing between the two combatants made clear just how fierce the fighting remained. The young intruder, though formidable in his fighting style, had already fallen into a clear disadvantage within these brief moments—and it was precisely at this point that a thunderous crash rang out above the ruined temple.

Someone had come crashing down through the roof, straight into the fray.

The sounds of fighting, roaring shouts, and clashing steel erupted all at once within the ruined temple. The dark-skinned giant turned his head to look, swinging his blade in an attempt to drive back the young intruder—but his opponent had already moved to block his path, sparks bursting as they traded several more strikes, forcing him back.

No words were exchanged; what followed outside the ruined temple was simply the most intense clash of combat yet, the young man blocking the way with the most ferocious stance he could muster. Inside the temple, someone let out a roaring cry, and a section of the crumbling wall was struck and came crashing down. Someone shouted in the Khitan language: “Go—” The wounded nobleman came stumbling out through the temple doorway, staggering; behind him, two figures locked in a furious exchange of blade-light—the one-eyed giant was cut down where he stood by a single stroke, while the tall, gaunt man staggered out drenched entirely in blood.

The one who’d come crashing down through the roof was likewise a man of imposing build, and having caught his opponents off guard, he’d already gravely wounded two of them in these brief moments. In his hand he wielded what appeared to be a heavy, back-thickened cavalry-cleaver typically used in battlefield combat, its handle shortened for close-quarters fighting. He too was already drenched in a fair amount of blood. The tall, thin man lunged forward, trying to grapple the blade itself, only to be run straight through the abdomen, the blade emerging out through his back.

This cavalry-cleaver weighed several dozen jin, designed primarily for battlefield slashing rather than thrusting attacks. As the wounded nobleman staggered forward, the tall, thin man tried to pin the blade in place with his own body, but the giant showed not the slightest hesitation, driving the blade through and then, with both hands together, wrenching it violently to the side three times in rapid succession. The tall man’s body dropped from view, and the cavalry-cleaver rose again, dripping with gruesome blood, closing the distance toward the nobleman once more.

This giant was clearly a seasoned veteran of real battlefield combat, thoroughly versed in the art of killing—once he’d gained the upper hand, he gave his opponents no chance whatsoever. The nobleman continued stumbling forward, while his pursuer closed in swiftly from behind. Watching this, the dark-skinned giant’s eyes blazed with fury, and in a sudden motion he hurled his serrated blade forward with all his might.

The serrated steel blade spun past the nobleman’s shoulder as it flew. Behind him, the giant with the cavalry-cleaver had already lowered his body, the blade’s edge sweeping horizontally across the back of the nobleman’s legs.

The serrated steel blade sailed past and struck with a thud into the rotting temple door.

The second strike came sweeping back across the nobleman’s waist.

Countless motes of dust drifted down through the air. The nobleman lifted his head briefly, his gaze meeting something ahead—and then, in a spray of blood shooting skyward, his head flew off into the air. The dark-skinned giant saw, at that moment, the eyes staring out from behind where the nobleman’s body had stood.

The blood-soaked cavalry-cleaver swept through a half-circle arc in the air, coming to rest at the giant’s side, blood dripping down onto the ground.

The nobleman’s body toppled backward at that point, casually shoved aside by his killer. By now the giant was drenched in blood from head to toe, even his face spattered with it; he wiped a hand across it and turned his gaze this way.

“Heh. Liao dogs.”

The voice rang out from within the trees. And standing before the dark-skinned giant, the young man who had been blocking his path this entire time now raised his longsword once more.

The situation had now become two against one.

…

The wind moaned through the forest, and outside the faintly glowing mountain god temple, three men stood facing off against one another, some distant sound drifting in from far away. The giant holding the cavalry-cleaver glanced back over his shoulder. “They’ve caught up. Xiao Hu, send up the signal. Take him down!”

No sooner had he spoken than he brandished his blade and surged forward. The young man holding the longsword reached behind himself and, with a sharp motion, sent a signal flare shooting up into the sky. The dark-skinned giant gave a low growl and turned to flee.

Clang, clang-clang—

The sound of clashing weapons rang out. The dark-skinned giant, having lost his own blade, still had several pieces of steel equipment on his body he could use to block and parry. The three men—two in pursuit, one fleeing—charged into the forest.

In the darkness, the sounds of fighting continued drifting through the air for a while longer, gradually fading, muffled by the wind. But after some time had passed, the sound of footsteps rustled once more near the ruined temple, and the giant with the cavalry-cleaver and the young man with the longsword walked back, rather unenthusiastically, gazing at the three corpses sprawled before the temple entrance, blood pooling and spreading. The young man glanced back toward the forest, then tore a strip of cloth from his own clothing and began bandaging his hand—the web of his right hand had split open, and his left hand had suffered some burns as well. “Damn it, that bastard was seriously tough. If he hadn’t dropped his weapon and kept fighting to the bitter end, I don’t think I could’ve handled it…”

Young as he was, his eyes had blazed with pure, savage bloodlust just moments before during his brutal exchange with the dark-skinned giant; now, relaxing, though he still cursed crudely enough, there was, oddly, a certain scholarly refinement about him.

The giant nodded, planted the cavalry-cleaver in the ground, found a rock, and lowered himself onto it with some difficulty. “Might really have died here today… Xiao Hu, what do you think that noise over there was?”

He was referring to the sound that had put the three of them on edge earlier. The young man called Xiao Hu peered into the darkness in that direction. “No idea. Could be wolves, could be hunters… eh, Boss, are you hurt?”

The giant raised a hand and tapped it against his own shoulder. “Took a blade to the back—cost them three lives in exchange, though. I gritted through it, and thankfully managed to scare off the toughest one of the bunch… It’s fine. Go cut off their heads, will you? Tomorrow we’ll find some boxes, pack them in lime, bring them home, and show off to my elder brother. Ha ha.”

He laughed as he pulled out some medicine for his wound, then shook his head, frowning, looking rather troubled. “Damn it, I really don’t want to go home right now. Wounded this badly, I’ve no idea what to tell my mother. If she doesn’t notice, all the better—but if she does find out, she’ll worry herself sick over it. And Qingming’s coming up soon too. Didn’t make it home for the new year, so I really ought to get there before Qingming at least. Damn it, these fellows just had to go and complicate things for me…”

The young man called Xiao Hu, a severed head in hand, was busy hacking the tall, thin man’s head clean off, corpses strewn about at his feet. He glanced back. “Boss, you slew enemies for the sake of the nation—the old lady’s bound to understand.”

“No, no, no, no, that’s not how it works at all.” The giant waved his hands frantically. “I’ve got an old mother at home—doesn’t matter how you got wounded, she’ll worry regardless once she sees it. My mother’s not the nagging type either, but that’s exactly the problem—she just looks at you like that, without saying a word… Sigh, when I was young, back in Bianjing, I loved getting into fights, but whenever I got hurt I was always terrified she’d find out. She worried about my father before, and now that I’ve joined the army she worries about me too, so every year when I go home I never dare tell her I’ve actually seen combat. Being a soldier, you know—officially it’s just eating for free and drawing your pay while you wait around doing nothing. That’s what I tell my old mother, anyway—just loafing about in the barracks, nothing more…”

“Xiao Hu, remember this—when we get back, don’t you dare mention anything about fighting, killing enemies, wiping out bandits, none of that. As far as anyone’s concerned, I’m just some good-for-nothing second-generation layabout wasting away in the barracks, and you’re one of my men under that same layabout. Whatever we actually do day to day… well, so long as we’re not bullying decent folk, that’s fine, but as for dying gloriously for the nation and all that—there’s simply no path to that sort of thing here, understand? Wanting to is one thing, but there’s no path to it, got it… Sigh, this wound’s certainly not going to heal anytime soon…”

The wind blew past, rustling the leaves, and the fierce-looking, blood-soaked general named Qin Shaoqian sat there, growing, for just a moment, rather like an ordinary, fretting son…