Footsteps pounding in haste, the night wind cutting through the trees. Wanyan Qingjue and the others were fleeing forward with everything they had.
Everything that had happened only moments before had unfolded with a speed and unreality that left it, for a time, almost impossible to fully comprehend.
Two years of silence, and the Black Banner had reappeared—not merely in the north, but here too, suddenly, right before their very eyes. Whether it was Wanyan Qingjue himself, or Li Wanlian, Pan Dahe, and Qiu Tianhai, all racing forward now beside him, none of them could quite bring themselves to believe this was truly happening—and none of them had much time left to think about it, either. The black-clad figures relentlessly weaving through and sweeping over them, the comrades falling one after another, the wisps of smoke rising with each thunderous blast of the fire-lances, and Lu Tuo himself, cut down before he could even finish speaking—all of it stood as undeniable proof of just how formidable this sudden enemy truly was.
And yet… how could a force like this even exist?
Ever since Zhou Tong’s death in his assassination attempt on Wanyan Zonghan, this elite team, established on the orders of the Valley Spirit, Wanyan Xiyin, had, from the very start, treated grandmaster-level fighters—Ning Yi included—as its hypothetical enemy, ensuring that no matter what enemy it might one day face, it would never be left entirely without recourse. And yet what they had encountered here defied all reasonable expectation. Defied reasonable expectation, and yet was undeniably, brutally real—in that thunderous roar of sound, Lu Tuo had been struck down, his head severed…
Even though Li Wanlian and the others had, at some point, imagined and prepared themselves for the possibility of facing an enemy on the level of the demon lord himself, by this point, none of that preparation meant anything at all anymore.
Their footwork, moving at incredible speed, was carrying the group swiftly out of the woods; the skill befitting first-rate masters was still very much intact. Through the sparse trees, the scouts and outer-perimeter men who had been sent out to keep watch were still racing back toward them—but they too had already run into enemy attacks. Sudden bursts of furious shouting and clashing weapons, mixed with the occasional booming crash and dying screams, accompanied them as they ran.
Little Yue Yun, still struggling with everything he had, had already been knocked half-senseless by a punch earlier. Elsewhere, Yinping, having been tossed onto a horse by Li Wanlian, was staring wide-eyed at this bizarre spectacle unfolding around her. Behind them, pursuing figures occasionally flickered into view; the black-clad squad that had cut down Lu Tuo showed not the slightest pause, sweeping forward relentlessly in their direction, and enemies seemed to be closing in from the flanks and ahead as well—amid the galloping of the horses, Yinping caught sight of a black horse running parallel to them, more than ten zhang off to the side, appearing and vanishing by turns. Wanyan Qingjue and the others spotted that figure too, drawing their bows and loosing arrows toward it—but even the finest marksmen among them found it impossible to land a hit on someone moving at such speed through terrain like this.
In the blink of an eye they had reached the edge of the woods. Wanyan Qingjue led the charge out first; ahead of them lay a stretch of moonlit, grassy slope, while off to the side, at the edge of the trees, stood a lone figure dressed in black, a long blade strapped across his back, holding in his hands two objects—a handheld crossbow held level, and a black, long-barreled tube braced against a tree branch, its muzzle aimed straight at their approaching line.
From the woods behind them, black-clad pursuers were still closing in at tremendous speed. “Buddha-Hand” Lei Qing, a notorious Chan-sect fighter well known across the north, struck out mid-stride with the Great Hand Seal, a technique of fierce, overwhelming force said to be as unstoppable as the very touch of Buddha himself—yet his opponent met the blow head-on without the slightest hesitation. There came a heavy thud, and Lei Qing recognized at once the unmistakable hard-style power of the Stele-Shattering Palm; his opponent’s second and third strikes came in immediate succession, and the two of them exchanged blows at a furious pace, covering several more zhang of ground in the process.
Ahead, another thunderous boom rang out, followed by the panicked whinnying of horses and cries of confusion.
By now, horses and masters alike were pouring out of the small woods in a steady stream; the fire-lance off to the side fired again, and a warhorse, mid-gallop, took a burst of blood to the belly, horse and rider tumbling together to the ground. Wanyan Qingjue loosed an arrow at the one who had fired the weapon, but the man twisted his body and dodged it easily; more black-clad figures came bursting out from the tree line as well.
The scene had descended into complete chaos, figures weaving and crossing through the melee with no order at all, the sense of near and far blurred into a haze of fighting seemingly everywhere at once. Li Wanlian, dragging her horse along at a full gallop, was trying to break clear of the woods when a fast-moving black-clad figure closed in beside her; a blade flashed out in an instant. Li Wanlian’s Heaven’s Calamity Claw lashed out toward her opponent’s face and head—only to find the figure was slight in build, clearly a woman. As the blade-light exploded outward, tilting her head to one side, the strike carried a fierce, sudden edge to it that sent a genuine chill through Li Wanlian’s heart; twisting her body hard, still gripping the horse’s reins, her feet danced lightly across the ground as she unleashed a lightning-fast Mandarin Duck Double Leg technique, sweeping toward her opponent’s waist.
This warhorse was, in fact, an excellent military mount, and carrying only Yue Yinping alone, it moved with remarkable speed. Seeing her opponent’s blade technique was formidably sharp, Li Wanlian tried to use the momentum of the galloping horse to add force and viciousness to her own footwork, hoping to force the woman back—only to find her opponent’s speed didn’t slacken in the slightest. With a cold snort, the woman came slashing in, striking again and again almost right against Li Wanlian’s body, her figure moving as though riding the wind itself, dodging the crossing leg-strikes by the narrowest of margins.
The horse itself took two blade wounds and went tumbling into the grass. Li Wanlian’s sleeve was sliced clean through along its length; she’d been cut and battered thoroughly the whole way, practically dragged and tumbled along by the falling horse, before finally leaping up, catching hold of Yue Yinping, and rolling several times across the ground with her, dragging her back up and retreating, calling out toward the blade-wielding woman advancing on her: “Come any closer and I’ll—”
“Filth.”
Before she could finish speaking, her opponent had already spoken those words, and the flash of the blade was already cutting straight for her throat.
The Black Banner cared little for whether people of the Wu dynasty lived or died. Li Wanlian had, in truth, only been testing the waters—her claw technique was formidable enough that she could easily have killed Yue Yinping with a single strike right then and there, but in the next instant, both their heads would have fallen just the same. She kicked out at Yinping’s back at the last moment, her figure already darting away once more. Forced to pull her claw back hastily, the strike still left a bloody line across Yinping’s throat as it passed; the blade-light bore down on her, and Yinping, certain she was about to die, found herself instead seized by the collar and flung further back by the woman.
Ahead, Li Wanlian lunged forward again with a vicious grab.
Within the martial world, those who rose to become first-rate masters were not without their share of the timid, but Li Wanlian’s temperament was cold and vicious, and she was the most ruthless among them by far. She had thrown Yinping aside—if her opponent chose to kill the girl, so be it, but if she chose instead to hold back her strike, that would inevitably leave an opening. Li Wanlian, herself a long-established master, seeing that her opponent was a woman too, immediately felt a surge of pride refusing to be humiliated; her eyes narrowed sharply, and she unleashed her Heaven’s Calamity Claw in a full, merciless assault, sweeping in wave after wave across her opponent’s entire upper body.
The woman had only just tossed Yue Yinping backward when, under Li Wanlian’s assault, she drew her body back slightly, retreating several steps in quick succession. Li Wanlian’s claw caught her shoulder, tearing her sleeve clean off with a ripping sound, and for a moment felt a flicker of satisfaction at the sight—only to find, as she pressed her attack further, that her opponent had already raised both arms to block her strike. Li Wanlian swung her claw in for a seizing grip, but the woman smashed through the force of her claw with one fist, the other already swinging toward her ribs. Under the full onslaught of Li Wanlian’s claw technique, her opponent had, remarkably, discarded her long blade entirely and was meeting the attack with pure fist technique instead.
A vicious gleam flashed in Li Wanlian’s eyes; gritting her teeth, she pressed her claw attack harder still.
In the martial world, women had always been at something of a physical disadvantage; truly renowned female fist-fighters were rare indeed, precisely because fist technique, being so straightforward and direct, lacked the ability that claw techniques, hidden weapons, poisons, or the many varieties of weaponry offered to easily break through an opponent’s defenses—women who relied on fist technique alone had never gained much of an edge because of it. Having already learned in their earlier exchange just how formidable her opponent’s blade technique was, having reached something close to true mastery, Li Wanlian had thrown everything she had into this assault, guarding carefully against that blade the entire time—only for her opponent to suddenly discard the blade entirely and strike back with bare fists instead. She felt, all at once, a deep sense of being condescended to, and drove her claw forward with even greater ferocity, aiming for her opponent’s vital points.
In the next instant, the woman dropped low and drove a sudden punch straight into Li Wanlian’s thigh.
That single punch was swift and utterly unpredictable; before Li Wanlian could even react, her opponent had already leapt forward, twisting into an uppercut followed by a vicious elbow strike aimed straight down at her chest. The woman closed the distance almost as though she were crashing straight into her; Li Wanlian fell back, but the barrage of punches came at her like a raging storm, crashing down in rapid succession. Relying purely on instinct, she managed to block several blows in a row, but then a fist came sweeping in against the side of her face; her head rang with a violent buzzing, her whole body nearly lifted off the ground, the side of her face going numb and tingling, her jaw distorted from the impact, several of her teeth knocked loose in her mouth.
She had never known, until this moment, that a woman could throw a punch like this.
Out on the grassy field, Wanyan Qingjue and the others were still fleeing at full speed. He could see flashes of firelight not far off; figures hidden in the tall grass rose up and fired their fire-lances at them, the fighting and pursuit sweeping in now from behind, from the sides, and from ahead all at once.
“Buddha-Hand” Lei Qing, locked in a running exchange with the young black-clad man wielding the Stele-Shattering Palm, found that although his opponent, too, relied on hard-style technique, he still lacked something in refinement compared to himself; Lei Qing landed two solid strikes on him with his Hand Seal, and yet, despite taking those hits, the young man’s injuries proved surprisingly minor. Lei Qing, a seasoned veteran of the martial world, sensed at once that something was off—his opponent’s hard-style body clearly incorporated the Thirteen Guardians’ iron-bell body-hardening technique as well. Still puzzling over how to break through it, a light, effortless flash of blade-light came sweeping in toward him from ahead, and blood erupted violently from the wound.
The moment “Feather Blade” Qian Luoning struck, Lei Qing was immediately marked with blood; he let out a wild, beast-like roar and charged forward, still fighting as he ran, while Qian Luoning pursued him closely, his blade-light clinging to him like an unshakable curse, and in the blink of an eye had opened several more bloody gashes across him. As some of Lei Qing’s companions came to his aid, the young black-clad fighter charged forward fiercely, driving them back.
Flickers of firelight and sudden thunderous booms kept appearing near and far; with most of Lu Tuo’s main force already lost, every single black-clad figure who appeared now, in this darkness, weighed heavily on the psychology of everyone left. Qiu Tianhai, watching from a distance as Li Wanlian was steadily driven back by that woman, saw his comrade Hong Shan try to intervene—only to be beaten and kicked to the ground himself by that same woman, her fist technique striking with the speed of lightning even as she continued pursuing Li Wanlian at the same time. That fist technique alone was enough to measure just how formidable this woman truly was; he had already recognized the danger and was fleeing at full speed—only to find another figure closing the distance beside him, a man with only one arm, moving steadily closer, until, at last, a flash of blade-light came sweeping down.
A simple, unadorned beheading stroke—in the hands of “Sky-Piercing Blade” Du Sha, it became a killing move that left one breathless with dread. Qiu Tianhai let out a cry and unleashed everything he had—Through-the-Back Fist, springing-leg kicks, one after another, in the span of a moment fighting as though he had three heads and six arms, forcing his opponent back and narrowly dodging that blade. In the next instant, though, Du Sha’s figure was already closing in again, another beheading stroke sweeping down—
By now, blood streamed from both Li Wanlian’s mouth and nose; as she ran, beside her, the tall, powerfully built Hong Shan swung both fists, trying to shield the woman from her opponent, but the woman’s footwork was simply too swift—in the space of only two or three exchanges, she had already circled around him twice, and amid Hong Shan’s own flurry of punches, landed one square on his chest. Internal-style fist techniques struck through to the very organs; after that first blow, the punches that followed landed one after another—his ribs, his face, the crown of his head. The woman seized his ear with one hand, spun him around in a half-circle, and in the same motion stamped down and shattered his knee, then, dodging his counterattack, kicked him hard between the legs, followed by a knee strike straight to his face. This chain of attacks came as fast and relentless as a string of firecrackers going off; using the tremendous momentum of the assault, she slammed his head straight into the ground, then, rolling with the motion, turned and charged straight back at Li Wanlian once more.
By now, Li Wanlian was thoroughly battered and desperate, blood streaming from her mouth, and yet she still let out a furious shout as she saw the woman closing in, swinging her claw to defend herself—only to find her guard broken through in an instant, her throat seized and her body slammed hard against a tree trunk. There came a loud crack; the tree, none too large to begin with, shuddered violently from the impact. In the next instant, two punches landed square on Li Wanlian’s face; she raised a hand to block, only to take another blow to the chest, then her stomach, chest, stomach, the side of her face again. She tried to flee, but her opponent’s forward stance pinned her legs in place; two more punches landed squarely on the bridge of her nose. Li Wanlian let out a piercing scream and lashed out with her claw once more in desperation, only for the woman to seize her fingers and, with both hands, wrench them sharply downward—a sickening series of cracks followed, both her claws crippled in an instant—and then came an elbow strike, followed by a heavy, crushing punch.
This particular technique, the Little Vajra Combination Fist, had originally been created by Liu Dabiao—swift and unyielding, without sacrificing any of its raw power. The tree, roughly a bowl’s width in diameter, shook violently under the impact again and again, cracking loudly with every strike, and finally snapped in two, its branches and splintered trunk pinning Li Wanlian’s corpse in place between them. Xigua had never once shown mercy to an enemy since childhood, and now, furious that this woman had aimed her vicious leg techniques at her own fertility, she had simply beaten the woman to death outright. She then sheathed her blade, took hold of her horse’s reins, and continued on ahead.
The night lay like still water, blood spreading across the ground. Yinping stood there in the grass, watching this whole pursuit and slaughter unfold before her, watching too as that formidable Li Wanlian, seemingly effortless throughout, was struck down as though it were nothing at all. After a moment, a black-clad figure came over and untied her bonds, removing the cloth gag from her mouth. Still not quite able to process what had happened, she hesitated for a moment, then said, “Save my brother—please, save my brother…”
In the woods, Gao Chong, still gripping his spear, made his way forward step by step, occasionally catching sight of black-clad figures around him; he sized them up, and they sized him up in turn. Before long, he emerged from the woods and caught sight of Yue Yinping standing there in the moonlight; black-clad fighters were gathering, and someone brought him medicine for his wounds. Ahead, across that stretch of grassy slope, and out across the distant wild fields beyond, the fighting was already drawing to a close…
…
It was well into the second half of the night now. At Red Cloud Slope, fires still burned, and troops were gathering.
Battalion Commander Li Jixiang, watching the scene around him with a smile, clasped his hands respectfully as he spoke to a powerfully built man in tight-fitting travel clothes beside him. “Hero Chi, look here—everything the young prince entrusted to us has been properly seen to. It’s quite late now, and the young prince is still out there somewhere—this humble official is rather worried. Might we do well to go out and meet him?”
The man in travel clothes, named Chi Weize, glanced impatiently off into the distance. “The young prince has masters gathered all around him. You, Battalion Commander, need only see to your own duties—there’s no need to concern yourself with matters that aren’t yours to worry about.”
“Of course, of course—this humble official was only concerned… concerned for his welfare.” Battalion Commander Li forced a smile.
Watching that smile, Chi Weize, thinking back on the favors he’d already received from the man, frowned slightly. “Actually, what Lord Li says isn’t entirely without merit. It’s only that the young prince’s movements tonight were always meant to be flexible, responding to circumstances as they arose—even I have no idea exactly where he is right now. But since our business here is finished, I don’t see why we shouldn’t head southwest for a look around—partly to check for any stragglers who might have slipped through, and partly, if we do happen to run into the young prince, it would be good to see whether his lordship has any errands or use for us. That would be no bad thing at all.”
The moment he said this, the other man understood perfectly, nodding along eagerly. Anyone with good information could grasp just how important Wanyan Qingjue was in this whole affair. He was the son of the former Jin Chancellor of State, Wanyan Shemu, who, after his death, had been posthumously granted the title Duke of Wu—this made Wanyan Qingjue the young prince himself. For southern officials like Li Jixiang, who ordinarily had no choice but to curry favor with any Jurchen official they came across, catching the eye of the young prince himself would be nothing short of a stroke of extraordinary fortune—skipping twenty years of struggle up the official ladder in a single stroke.
With this understanding reached between them, the two men led more than a thousand elite troops southwest. Not long after, a scout under Wanyan Qingjue’s command arrived, utterly bedraggled.
Then another arrived. Then another. Before long, the two elite battalions of a thousand men each stationed outside Dengzhou were racing southwest at full speed, one after the other—and as they reached that stretch of grassland, they gradually began to see the bodies.
They were, one after another, martial-world masters of long-established renown, or else outstanding Jurchen warriors—men who had spent several days lingering within the city of Dengzhou beforehand, some of whom had even displayed their skills before elite soldiers of the garrison. Now, one by one, they were all dead.
The woods and open fields lay silent, broken only by the cawing of crows. The Black Banner had struck without warning, slaughtering over a hundred martial-world masters led by a grandmaster-level fighter, and then vanished without a trace.
There was no sign of Wanyan Qingjue.
That night, everyone present—both battalion commanders included, along with the ten-odd surviving martial-world fighters—stood utterly stunned. The young prince had come south with the most formidable team imaginable, and in the blink of an eye, the young prince was simply gone.
Who, in this whole affair, could possibly be held accountable for that?