Beneath the high sky, birds soared; clouds drifted their gloom across the earth. Across the northwestern land, thousands upon thousands of troops moved swiftly from east to west.

Sunlight occasionally broke through gaps in the sky, pouring down like a river of light from heaven, while pillars of smoke rose like towers. Marching soldiers sometimes crossed paths and clashed, scattering apart like sea foam after impact, leaving behind the wreckage of corpses, while routed men fled in every direction.

For everyone involved, this was a moment where every second counted.

There are times when war gives no warning at all.

By the time the smoke-signal warnings reached Yanzhou, the hour of Si was already more than half spent—the fastest means of communication in wartime, though not always the most accurate. The Western Xia general stationed there, Jila Saile, quickly summoned his officers and waited for further reports, while the army within the city began mobilizing at once.

At noon, the first report came galloping into Yanzhou: from the mountains to the east, a force of roughly eight hundred men, extraordinarily fierce, had broken through the Suishi Manor line in an instant. Their banner: black, with a star.

This first report came from the general Kui Hong, thirty li away, who by then had already been dead for an hour. As the second Western Xia commander to make contact with the Black Banner Army, upon witnessing his men collapse at an astonishing speed, he had decisively chosen to flee—only to be relentlessly hunted down for five li by the platoon under Luo Ye and cut down. In the report sent out before his formation broke, he had inflated the enemy’s numbers, exaggerating two hundred-odd men into eight hundred—though of course, an exaggeration of a few hundred made little difference to the overall picture.

In the Western Xia’s original assessment, the most likely attacker during the grain harvest would have been the Zhe family, currently based in Fuzhou. Jila Saile was baffled for some time before an aide reminded him that the black banner with the star resembled the emblem of that band of bandits in the mountains. But at this point, it couldn’t be entirely ruled out that this was some scheme of the Zhe family army’s.

More battle reports followed in quick succession, coming faster than anyone could process.

After Suishi Manor, the enemy struck at Gushan Pass—their own side routed! Dachuan was attacked—routed! The Basong unit was ambushed, a large enemy force approaching! Sanghe was attacked—routed! Within half an hour of the first report’s arrival, the Western Xia forces in Yanzhou were in an uproar; eight or nine reports of defeat flew before Jila Saile and his officers. Laid out on the map, these reports showed an army that had leapt from the mountains now advancing on a front some five li wide, sweeping forward like a scythe through dry grass, following the direction of the beacon-smoke straight toward Yanzhou!

Bloodstone Manor was a checkpoint on the eastern approach to Yanzhou, garrisoned by the general Puda with two thousand men. Around noon, news of his sortie and news of his defeat arrived before everyone almost simultaneously. This was, of course, partly a matter of how fast the messengers’ horses could travel and the urgency involved—but the fact that both reports arrived together was proof enough of just how astonishingly fast the enemy’s advance was.

The warhorse carrying news of the sortie had barely left when Puda deployed his two thousand men in formation at Bloodstone Manor. According to the earlier reports of defeat, the enemy had charged swiftly out of the mountains, and the main body appeared to be circling around the checkpoint; just as Puda was adjusting his formation, the enemy struck straight at Bloodstone Manor, and within moments the entire formation had been pierced through. After breaking the line, the enemy pressed on without pause, continuing their charge toward Yanzhou!

Jila Saile’s officers were in an uproar! Whoever this enemy was, this strategy of speed matching speed struck directly at the heart of the current situation in Yanzhou.

At the start of the Western Xia’s southward campaign, the whole army had numbered around a hundred thousand; after taking city after city and routing the Western Army, more troops had been sent in. Jila Saile, a senior general stationed at Ganzhou under the Gansu Military Command, had over fifty thousand men under him, of whom more than forty thousand had by now been mobilized to the Yanzhou area to consolidate the garrison.

To guard the wheat fields and now, with harvest underway, Jila Saile had already deployed over twenty thousand Western Xia troops outside Yanzhou, with another twenty-thousand-odd elite troops garrisoning the city itself. Right now, at the peak of the wheat harvest, much of the grain was still being carted in toward Yanzhou. If a major battle broke out now, with the enemy racing toward the city at such speed, those twenty-thousand-odd Western Xia soldiers, along with the grain, would be trapped on the road.

This grain was already considered Western Xia property. And whoever these enemies invading Xia territory were—bandits or the Zhe family army—both were the type with nothing to lose. How to respond was the most urgent question at this sudden moment.

At that same hour, southwest of Yanzhou, the main force of the Black Banner Army from the Little Cang River, split into three columns, was sweeping forward, the distance now down to within ten li!

Of these three columns, the one taking the left flank—the largest, at around four thousand five hundred men—was led by He Zhicheng’s First Regiment and Sun Ye’s Fourth Regiment. Li Yi’s Third Regiment, eighteen hundred men, took the right flank, flanking Pang Liu’an’s Second Regiment and Liu Chengzong’s Special Regiment, together some three thousand five hundred men.

These nine-thousand-odd men had not paused once since leaving the mountains. Granted, covering more than twenty li in half a day was not the fastest possible forced march, but given that they’d caught the enemy completely off guard, cutting through resistance while also crossing mountainous terrain, their pace was still staggering. Along the way, wherever beacon-smoke rose, nearby Western Xia units guarding the area sometimes appeared, occasionally charging at this black-bannered army—only to be scattered by detached companies, corpses strewn across the hillsides, routed men fleeing in every direction. Had the Black Banner Army’s high command not given strict orders against becoming bogged down in prolonged fighting, the death toll over these two or three hours could easily have doubled.

None of this could really be blamed on the Western Xia troops. They had come here as conquerors. With the Zhong family army routed and the Wu Dynasty powerless, even scattered rebellions by bandits and villagers had, whenever the army marched out, generally been swept aside without difficulty. Under such circumstances, their morale had naturally remained high. These grain-guarding units, organized in groups of a few hundred, would have had no qualms, if they’d only linked up with each other and gathered a thousand or two men, about harassing even an enemy force of several thousand.

That the enemy would dare to split off small units to charge them only made it seem all the more laughable. Only once blades actually met, and their own front lines collapsed at astonishing speed, with the enemy cutting through the crowd like carving melons and dicing vegetables, did everyone finally feel that almost absurd sense of horror.

As this invading army closed the distance to Yanzhou, reports of defeat kept flying in like snowflakes; because of the shifting distances and time lags, the apparent frequency of the fighting seemed even more frantic than it actually was. Along the Black Banner Army’s route, organized Western Xia units came at them wave after wave—some probing, some testing, some determined to block the road outright—only to be scattered every time. Routed soldiers fled in every direction across the nearby hills and fields.

Along the way, many civilians forced into the harvest found themselves witnessing, at the very front line, the astonishing speed of the army’s advance and the head-on clashes. After the shocking bloodshed, the wounded were left behind for these civilians to look after.

Beyond that, no one paid them any mind.

By the time they neared the outskirts of Yanzhou, fewer than a quarter of the Black Banner Army’s men had actually engaged in real combat with the Western Xia forces. On Qin Shaoqian’s orders, the army’s commanders had designated certain fixed battalions and companies to serve as spearhead units against the Western Xia, while everyone else, conserving their strength, advanced quickly on foot in formation—even those in the ranks who couldn’t bear to watch and wanted to join the fighting were not permitted to. By the two-quarter hour of Wei that day—around two in the afternoon—the units that had actually seen combat were, for the most part, drenched head to toe in blood. In the direction they had come from, thousands of Western Xia soldiers were fleeing in every direction.

Setting out from Suishi Manor around ten in the morning, by past two in the afternoon this army had crossed twenty-five li in a straight line—about forty li on foot—crushing through several checkpoints, closing in on Yanzhou. At the same time, Yanzhou’s army of nineteen thousand, led by Jila Saile, marched out to meet them, leaving five thousand men to hold the city. The first force they encountered was the enemy’s center column of over three thousand men.

For the Western Xia, this was, in fact, the correct choice. When holding the advantage, no one tolerates an enemy running rampant across their own territory. This Black Banner Army moved fast, but before long Jila Saile had roughly determined its numbers—each column numbering in the thousands, adding up to no more than ten thousand total. Crushing a scattered rabble was naturally easy work, but why should his own side fear it?

Whatever the case, Yanzhou would not tolerate being blockaded at its gates by an army of less than ten thousand.

The sunlight, which had briefly blazed at noon, had by now vanished back behind the clouds; strange round shapes floated in the overcast sky.

Under that overcast sky, the two equally grim-looking forces faced off for a moment before Li Yi’s Third Regiment of the Black Banner Army emerged from the hillside. Their total number was eighteen hundred, of whom over twelve hundred had not yet seen combat. These men formed ranks on the slope, drew their blades, and breathed in silence—everyone’s heart, by now, was pounding, blood roaring in their veins.

Within the nearly twenty-thousand-strong Western Xia formation, soldiers and officers alike watched these two approaching forces with equal arrogance. Soon, the fierce generals Cha Yan Gaibian and Xi Wang requested permission to engage; Jila Saile considered it for a moment, then waved his approval.

This too was an almost maddeningly correct order. In the current state of the northwest, this wasn’t a battle against the Zhong family army—if twenty thousand men didn’t dare engage five or six thousand, there’d be no morale left among his own troops to speak of.

Across from them, the one-eyed general on horseback was speaking, pointing this way—pointing at the position of the Western Xia command banner. The Western Xia army split into two columns and began advancing; on this side, several thousand men were quietly shifting formation. Cavalry appeared, but a large portion of the horsemen went to the rear—some of the horses carried boxes on their backs, apparently being used as pack animals rather than warhorses, as if not all of them intended to join the fight. On the slope, over a thousand men in the front line raised their shields and began advancing, their steps steady and silent; ahead of them was Xi Wang’s force of four thousand Western Xia soldiers.

The pace quickened, faster and faster.

A single arrow’s flight away—

“Charge—!”

Thunderous footsteps suddenly exploded across the earth! Amid countless frenzied shouts, these two comparatively small forces surged forward like a raging tide, throwing themselves into the embrace of the great Western Xia army ahead. In this kind of head-on collision, strategy and tactics lost all meaning in an instant. Jila Saile felt uneasy in his heart, but as the two sides suddenly crashed together, he still muttered a curse: “Fools.”

Within the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the two Western Xia forces—each made up of four or five thousand men, each like some colossal boulder—were hacked apart and shattered. Waves of blood and corpses spread like a river; the routed soldiers tried to flee back toward the main formation, some scattering in every direction.

Jila Saile watched as the soldiers who had, with maddened fury, cut through the obstacles before them, shouted and raised their shields—yet their feet did not slow for even a moment, charging straight toward his own main formation—

A thunderous crash. On this day, a tidal wave from the sea had crashed and shattered a great cliff of stone.

Within Yanzhou, the residents had already sensed something strange that day. They had watched the Western Xia soldiers mobilize, the city go under martial law, and then the great army march out. Within just an hour of the army’s departure, routed soldiers came flooding into the city like a tide, bloodied and panicked…

In the mountains.

In a desolate, stone-strewn valley, camps had been pitched and campfires lit.

As the sun set in the west, Xu Qiang and a few companions were eating their meal, surrounded by men bearing blades and swords, gathered in twos and threes, some preparing dinner, others chatting, still others sparring. Some of these bouts drew crowds of onlookers, offering commentary, or stepping in to show off a trick or two.

In these past few days, Xu Qiang had met not a few martial heroes he’d long admired by reputation, and after sparring with them, he’d gained a great deal. This was an atmosphere of camaraderie he’d never encountered in the martial underworld before; many were no longer stingy about sharing their signature skills, exchanging techniques to strengthen one another. He had once heard tell of how the master Zhou Tong, leading dozens of underworld experts, had assassinated Zongwang—and before that attempt, every night, Master Zhou had likewise generously coached those around him.

Now, Zhou Tong’s heroic act of assassinating Nian Han had become an immortal legend among the underworld. Xu Qiang believed that his own group’s chivalrous deed would likewise go down in history, remembered for generations!

Looking around, among these men were young and outstanding rising stars of the underworld, and renowned great heroes of their day: “Broken Gate Blade” Li Yanni, once unrivaled across Jiangzhe; “Chivalrous Thief” He Longqian; “White Fang Spear” Yu Lie; the Ministry of Justice’s chief constable, known as “Golden-Eyed Thousand Feathers” Fan Zhong; former heroes of Liangshan—”Big Blade” Guan Sheng, “Thunderbolt” Qin Ming, “Winged Tiger” Lei Heng, “River-Churning Dragon” Li Jun, “Earth-Guardian Beast” Hao Siwen… All of these heroes had once left him in awe. And now, he too was one of them. He committed the scene to memory, unable to help but stand, his chest swelling with fervent resolve.

Tomorrow, all of them would march directly into the Little Cang River, to rid this world of that great heretical devil! Every one of them had already set aside thoughts of life and death!

That evening, this was what he thought.

The next day, at the foot of the mountains outside the Little Cang River, a boom rang out, and Xu Qiang’s leg jerked violently. Everyone watched as “White Fang Spear” Yu Lie’s lower body was blown into the air. It flew clean over Xu Qiang’s head, drenching half his body in blood.

On the eighteenth day of the sixth month, in the second year of Jingping—an assault by underworld figures on the Little Cang River that, even years later, people would still speak of—began, in the most brutal fashion, the legend of the Devil-Hearted One’s massacre of the martial world.

At the same time, Li Pin, leading several dozen men, was making his way through a stand of low forest farther off. At this moment, he had truly set aside all thought of life and death.

East of Yanzhou, three great balloons rose into the sky. The Black Banner Army formed ranks, facing the ancient city walls. Jila Saile stood atop the wall, his face pale from his wounds, watching this fearsome army the likes of which he had almost never seen.

At the Little Cang River, Ning Yi and Zuo Duanyou sat in the courtyard halfway up the mountainside, chatting, waiting for the gentle mountain breeze to bring them news. At this moment, the sunlight was bright and clear, and the sound of explosions carried over like distant thunder on the horizon.