Night had fallen over the endless expanse of Mount Lüliang, and somewhere out there, wolves stirred.

Beyond the forests and ridges, past a stream winding through the darkness, within a stretch of mountain woodland, an ominous commotion of human making was unfolding. Clusters of torches, sometimes gathered together, sometimes scattered apart, spread forward in a frenzy.

Battle cries tore through the night sky.

“Kill—! Aaah—!”

Waving crackling torches overhead, a band of frenzied bandits came howling down from the mountainside ahead. As they passed a great jutting boulder, one bandit, charging too fast to dodge in time, was shoved by a comrade and slammed straight into it—yet none of the dozen or so men around him paid him any mind at all, and as blood streamed from his split head, one of his comrades trampled right over his back, charging on toward the enemy ahead. Amid the roaring torchlight, the fallen bandit on the ground saw the severed head and arm of a comrade come flying back toward him.

Screams, shouts, the fierce gale of clashing blades—in the chaotic melee of dozens of men up ahead, the fighting had grown as furious as a pot of thick porridge boiling over. Above and below this stretch of hillside, more bands of men surged about carrying torches. Some were bandits who’d been chasing the whole way; others were the small, orderly groups fighting their retreat, like an ever-shifting curve constantly falling back. Among this cluster of men, the strongest fighter they could see was a lean man wielding a pair of swift, whirlwind blades, single-handedly holding off the third stronghold master of Little Raider’s band. Compared to Qiu Mengtang’s own savage, unpredictable twin-blade style, this man’s swift blade work carried instead a certain uprightness—swung with tremendous speed, yet somehow unhurried and composed all the same. Those who rushed at him often found themselves cut to pieces before they even had time to react.

A little farther up the slope, a tall, burly, scar-faced man retreated as calmly as if strolling along, all the while swinging the steel blade in his hand, working in concert with the comrades around him to leave the charging bandits as corpses on the ground, never to rise again. This man, named Nie Shan, wielded a blade technique—the Five Tigers Breaking the Gate—that was not especially refined, but through sheer brute strength and a cold, steady head, he cut down his enemies one stroke at a time, striking fear into their hearts.

As more enemies charged in from this direction, a column of some sixteen or seventeen men came sweeping in from behind him with a great rush, their spear formation thrusting forward and pulling back in unison, skewering eight or nine bandits in a single motion; then, in the second volley of thrusts, as more bandits surged forward, one of them, clutching a rattan shield, leapt fiercely and slammed himself against the spear line. Nie Shan and the spear formation together pushed back against the force of that shield, and from behind came a sudden, explosive shout of exertion as a figure came crashing forward. A ferocious mountain-leaning strike!

In the chaos of battle, few had time to admire the elegance of any given technique—all that could be seen was the shattered rattan shield spinning off through the air, while the bandit behind it, who might well have been a fierce enough sub-commander in his own right, was likewise sent flying, coughing blood as he rose into the air. Several other bandits were knocked down in the same instant, and even as they fell, the bloodthirsty spear formation was already thrusting forward again in a frenzy.

Tian Donghan, having just unleashed that mountain-leaning strike, glanced over at Nie Shan, his chest heaving violently like a bellows as he steadied the surging blood and energy within him, all while scanning the surroundings for anywhere else that might need his help. Among true masters facing off one another, the principle is never to exhaust one’s strength completely in a single exchange—but in a large-scale melee like this, it was different: once a technique was unleashed, it was committed fully, and once it landed, the rest was left to the brothers nearby.

Farther off, bandits carrying torches, in groups of three or five, or in bands of ten or twenty, continued surging toward this stretch of the fight; the entire mountainside had by now become a scene straight out of hell, with groups clashing among the hills, in the brush, in the stream. A little further still, the one called Little Raider, wielding his twin blades, was trying to maneuver his way through the formation to strike at its core, while on this side, aside from Tian Donghan leading a dozen or so master fighters to patch up any weak points, Zhu Biao too roamed the field with his iron spear, fixed relentlessly on Qiu Mengtang, occasionally raising his blood-soaked spear with a laugh to taunt the man.

Qiu Mengtang would occasionally trade blows with Zhu Biao for a stretch before pulling back to a safer distance. His twin blades had earned him a formidable reputation across Lüliang, but when it came to true martial skill, he was, in fact, a notch below even Zhu Biao at this stage—Zhu Biao’s teacher, after all, was a master on par with the legendary Zhou Tong, whereas Qiu Mengtang was no formally trained fighter, relying instead on sheer viciousness and cunning to make up the difference. And besides, this wasn’t a one-on-one duel between masters—both sides had a dozen or more men backing them up at any given moment, ready to step in. Zhu Biao, brash as he was, never strayed too far from his own side’s battle line.

Nor did Qiu Mengtang dare charge directly into Bamboo Records’ formation. By now he had already worked out that although the other side numbered only a hundred-odd men, most of them were skilled fighters, with several first-rate masters of the martial world among them. If Zhu Biao found himself surrounded, he might well be able to fight his way out even against a mob—but if Qiu Mengtang himself dared charge in, all it would take was a dozen or so men closing in around him, and however many dozens of his own men he brought along, he’d very likely leave his own life behind.

The fighting that day had actually begun to ease somewhat as night fell, but as full darkness set in and more men from Little Raider’s stronghold arrived one after another, the intensity only kept climbing. Though everyone on Bamboo Records’ side was a skilled fighter, and facing four hundred-odd men presented no real strain, once the numbers had gradually swelled past a thousand, holding the line with barely over a hundred men had, in the end, become no easy task.

“How’s it going? Any injuries?” Tian Donghan, having steadied his breathing, asked, glancing at the several blade wounds already visible on Nie Shan’s body. Nie Shan’s face showed no particular expression; keeping an eye on the fighting around him, he pointed ahead. “That’s where the real trouble is.”

Amid the spreading firelight, at the far end of this killing field, several hundred men still stood in a silent, disciplined formation. Tian Donghan gave a faint smile. “Already noticed them. Probably three hundred-plus, been with them the whole way—might be their trump card. The boss noticed a while back too.”

“Then that’s fine.” Knowing that Ning Yi already had this well in hand, Nie Shan said no more, glancing up to see the nearest enemies still a dozen-odd zhang away. He gave his steel blade a swing and, with several of his brothers beside him, continued falling back. Tian Donghan waved a hand and swept his men off toward the stream below!

Tian Donghan, Nie Shan, Ning Yi, and the others had all taken note of that three-hundred-plus formation to the rear, and over on that side, Yu Yulin and Tian Shi were likewise keeping a close eye on how the battle was unfolding. Along this stretch, Little Raider’s stronghold had already lost five or six hundred lives, and yet the enemy formation, barely a hundred strong, still held its resilience, continuing to fall back in good order. Amid their astonishment, Yu Yulin and Tian Shi discussed the state of the overall battle.

“…If this were an ordinary escort job, or protecting some important figure, there’d usually be one or two men who could truly hold the whole thing together. When the enemy attacks, he keeps the men around him clustered close, and as long as he doesn’t die, everyone else has something to hold onto. That’s why, in an ordinary highway robbery, the main thing is to kill the caravan leader—kill him, and everyone else’s morale falls apart.” Yu Yulin gestured toward the battlefield as he explained, though in truth he seemed to be speaking mainly for Lou Shuwan’s benefit. “But this group is genuinely formidable—too many skilled fighters among them. The ones who can hold up the whole formation… look, that one with the twin blades, that one with the spear, that one over there too—clearly all men who’ve been on real battlefields, nowhere near ordinary skilled fighters… One in every five or six men, it seems. No wonder they dare travel this route.”

On a battlefield of over a thousand men locked in combat, chaotic as it was, certain things became clear enough if one watched long enough. The twin blades up on the hillside, the steel spear roaming the field, the relentless spear formation sweeping back and forth, the great broadsword of the scar-faced giant—and near the top of the ridge, a nimble young man who had already switched weapons several times, cutting down every bandit who charged at him, a truly chilling sight. Closer to the group, near the stream, part of the fighting had already spread into the water itself, staining it red; some of Bamboo Records’ men were pulling a comrade out of the stream, while among them, a middle-aged wandering monk wielding an iron cudgel swung it with a whistling roar, sending charging bandits sprawling in every direction—no telling how many skulls he’d already cracked open.

The smell of blood hung heavy in the air; corpses lay scattered haphazardly along the way, wounded men groaning and crying out. Lou Shuwan watched the battle unfold, her fists clenched tight beneath her sleeves. “Are they… are they really this formidable?”

In her heart, Lou Shuwan had already begun to acknowledge Ning Yi’s formidable strength—hardly a surprising thought to have. Yu Yulin, however, merely gave a faint, indifferent smile.

“A truly great master of the martial world, in a forest, could stand against a hundred men and cut them down one by one. But out in open terrain, facing fifty at once would already be impossible. Even with extensive training, even elite bodyguards or top masters of the martial world, holding off ten attackers at once while surrounded would already be quite remarkable. A battlefield is a different thing altogether from individual bravery—sometimes, once the enemy’s nerve is broken, twenty thousand men can defeat eight hundred thousand. But more often than not, numbers are simply numbers. However formidable they are, they’re still only a hundred-odd men.”

Yu Yulin paused. “Little Raider Qiu Mengtang is a fool—of course, he also happened to misjudge his opponent, underestimating him far too badly. A thousand-plus men, coming wave after wave, might well end up entirely spent for nothing. But no matter how you look at it, a thousand-plus men is still a thousand-plus men—even if the enemy has a hundred masters, by the time it’s dragged on this long, their arms should be growing tired. Miss Lou needn’t worry—this battle can only end one way, in the end.”

Tian Shi looked over that way, frowning slightly. “Still, though they’ve been retreating this whole time, they’ve never quite let the distance open up fully. Something seems off about that.”

“The first group did manage to pull ahead and put some distance between them, because they were carrying the goods when they came into the mountains,” Yu Yulin said. “These masters are holding the line at the rear, letting the goods and the non-combatants move ahead first. Once enough distance opens up, these fast-footed masters can catch back up. Given that, Qiu Mengtang’s probably already lost the drive to keep chasing much further—it’s a fairly simple line of thinking, really.”

Tian Shi grinned. “So General Yu’s thinking is…”

“We could go have a word with Chief Qiu.” Yu Yulin smiled. “More often than not, a feigned defeat can turn into a real one, a feigned retreat into a real one—it’s really quite a simple thing to arrange.”

Having said as much, the group went to have a word with Qiu Mengtang. The battlefield was awash in blood; Qiu Mengtang, his eyes red with bloodlust, nonetheless understood by now that he’d suffered a truly serious setback, and began easing off the offensive, drawing his men back together. Before long, Bamboo Records’ formation pulled in and began falling back with sudden speed, and Qiu Mengtang, leading several hundred men, gave chase with reckless abandon! At that very moment, from the rear came a sudden, thunderous roar, shaking the night sky.

“Tiger.”

“Tiger—!”

As the voices of three hundred-plus men rose together as one, the very ground seemed to tremble. This was the terrifying might that accompanied a charge by Tian Hu’s elite troops—the vanguard cavalry, some fifty riders strong, swiftly closed the gap with Qiu Mengtang’s front line, with the infantry close behind. Though Qiu Mengtang’s men had already lost half their number, there were still six or seven hundred of them left, and in this moment, though their fighting spirit had already been spent, they were swept up once more by Yu Yulin’s three hundred-plus men, whipped into a fresh, astonishing surge of morale—nearly a thousand men surging forward like a tidal wave.

Even Zhu Biao and the others, falling back at the rear, felt a faint chill at the sight of that surging line of torchlight bearing down on them, and retreated into the mountain hollow behind them…

That spot, though called a hollow, wasn’t quite the right description—the mouth of it was rather wide, and the slopes on either side weren’t especially steep; as a site for an ambush, it was, in truth, far from ideal. Qiu Mengtang, being a local through and through, was hardly one to be fooled by a gap like this. A thousand men, roaring, surged forward in a wave, and Yu Yulin, taking one look at the terrain, gave it no particular thought either. With momentum like this bearing down, and the enemy already in retreat, the battle was, as far as he was concerned, essentially over.

Years of experience, a keen and practiced eye—once he’d made up his mind, he wasn’t the type to hesitate or waver. And in fact, Yu Yulin’s judgment was, for the most part, correct. Qiu Mengtang spurred his horse into the mountain pass, twin blades whirling, and as the crowd ahead spread wider into view, Zhu Biao stepped forward to block the way, spear raised in fierce challenge.

Blade met spear!

“Your life’s mine—!”

At the mountain path, Zhao Four stood with steel spear in hand, watching that lunatic scholar beside him, still nodding his head and humming some idle, meaningless tune.

“Sun rises over Song Mountain’s hollow, oh oh… in the woods the birds all take flight, oh oh…”

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM—

A tremendous roar shook the ground.

At the mouth of the hollow, along roughly a fifth of the charging line of a thousand men, light suddenly flared up. Men were sent flying backward through the air; rocks burst apart mid-flight, fragments scattering wildly; warhorses reared with piercing whinnies. In the stillness of the night, this roar—louder than New Year’s firecrackers by a factor of ten—left everyone frozen in shock. A great mass of men were knocked to the ground mid-charge, while those behind them, almost instinctively, tried to stop in their tracks, only to be sent stumbling and sprawling by the men slamming into them from behind.

The land mines hastily buried at the mouth of the mountain path weren’t especially numerous, but triggered all at once by tripwire, in the dead of night, the spectacle they produced was, in truth, extraordinary to behold. Chaos erupted in an instant; some hadn’t yet grasped what had even happened, while others still charged on ahead regardless—and then came another blast.

BOOM—

A fireball came hurtling in from ahead, screaming through the air in a streak of light before exploding!

Thrown from his horse, Qiu Mengtang tumbled and rolled back up to his feet, his blade still swinging wildly in his hand, hair and beard in disarray. What’s happening! What’s happening!

That was what raced through his mind; what came out of his mouth was: “What kind of sorcery is this—”

Another boom sounded—this time the fire burst from the hillside off to the side, exploding into the crowd amid a thunderous roar. After the blast, scattered points of flame lingered, and shards of iron from within the bomb traced ghastly streaks of blood through the air. After roughly one breath’s pause, another burst of fire lit up—this time from the hillside on the opposite side, crossing over the first.

Bamboo Records’ men gripped their weapons tight and pressed forward.

The pillars of light came one after another, every breath or two, each accompanied by a tremendous roar, firing across the field in an almost rhythmic, crisscrossing pattern. By the fifth, sixth blast, the entire situation had descended into utter chaos. Seen from a distance, the interweaving flashes of light and the explosions along that mountain path looked almost like a punishment sent down from Heaven itself, terrifying to behold…