Not long after, Li Yuan arrived at the encampment where the Fragrant General’s troops had settled. Rather than rush in, he crouched among the trees, patiently observing.
Half an hour later, a bandit emerged to relieve himself. Li Yuan let him be, having already noted that these outlaws wore mismatched gear. Stealing a uniform wouldn’t help. It was better to remain hidden.
Eyes closed, Li Yuan focused on the vision from his two white finches perched high overhead. From there, he studied the bandits’ patrol habits, only to find no discernible pattern at all. As midnight approached, the guards grew lazy, some nodding off by the fire, others huddled in makeshift watchtowers, cursing their lot and stifling yawns.
Through his finches, Li Yuan pinpointed the Fragrant General’s location. He mapped a path through the camp in his mind, going over every step again and again. Then he waited.
The wind picked up, and the moon shone bright, illuminating the camp with a silver glow. There came a brief window when the shadows shrank to near nothing; the entire landscape was drenched in moonlight.
This was the moment Li Yuan had been waiting for.
He exploded into motion, crossing open ground in a blur of speed. From inside his wide sleeves, he produced a segmented weapon, painstakingly crafted by a puppet-maker. It was a long spear bristling with blades. At its tip gleamed a spearhead; on either side flared razor-sharp edges.
Li Yuan slipped into the camp’s perimeter, a living shadow. He darted around tents and equipment, moving like he had rehearsed it dozens of times, until he reached the rear of the largest tent. His reconnaissance assured him that the Fragrant General would be there—no sly rabbit with three dens scenario to mislead intruders.
Then, with a single thought, Li Yuan signaled one of the white finches. It swooped down, carrying a small stone in its beak. Circling to the tent’s entrance, the finch dropped the stone; it struck the tent with a heavy thud.
Instantly, a barrage of arrows tore through the tent fabric, smashing the stone to pieces.
Li Yuan winced at the near miss. He expected a response, but nothing this drastic. A lesson learned, when assassinating someone, never step through the door if you can avoid it.
So much for stealth. The Fragrant General definitely knew something was up now. But he was already close. This would have to be enough.
Taking a deep breath, Li Yuan roused the second drop of shadow blood within his body. Grabbing the edge of the massive canvas, he gave a violent yank. The entire tent was wrenched free and flung aside, revealing the startled Fragrant General just as he reached for the hilt of his blade.
Buzz! Buzz! The spear’s dual edges began vibrating wildly in Li Yuan’s hand, resonating with his blood in a shrill, demonic chorus.
The Fragrant General felt his own blood surge in reflex. Roaring in fury, he swung his blade in a fierce arc, wind and dust swirling around him. Sparks flew. Yet inside, the general’s eyes filled with mounting terror.
That spear...its edges looked like a nightmare brought to life, shrilling like some ghoul’s wail.
Time seemed to slow. The Fragrant General’s blade had not even met Li Yuan’s, yet he already sensed his defeat. His will shattered, cut down by the unearthly scream of that demon blade.
He bellowed helplessly, “WHY!?”
In the next heartbeat, both his weapon and his body were hewn in two, brutally—like some primeval, blood-soaked rite of slaughter.
All of this happened in a single lightning-flash moment. The bandits in the camp had just woken up, and many of the Fragrant General’s personal guards still didn’t grasp the situation. Even the elite eighth and ninth rank fighters among them were still trying to figure out what was going on.
They only knew someone was attacking, so they grabbed their weapons and rushed out—only to discover there was just one enemy.
A lone figure under the moonlight, wielding a spear-blade hybrid that shimmered coldly in the night. As soon as they spotted him, he charged straight at them.
An eighth rank captain infused his shadow blood, raised his blade, and slashed downward like a shooting star. All anyone heard was a shrill, piercing cry. Then that captain, blade and all, was cleaved in two.
But in fact, this had merely been a diversion for a seventh rank commander lurking behind the tents. He timed his attack perfectly, lunging at Li Yuan’s back like a viper. His spear thrust forward silently, aiming for Li Yuan’s blind spot.
Yet Li Yuan whirled mid-motion, pivoting like a horseman’s turning strike. The moment his arm extended, the spear tip of that bizarre segmented weapon stabbed clean through the seventh rank commander’s throat.
Eyes wide, the man managed a gurgling, “W-who are...you...?”
Li Yuan frowned. Still able to talk?
He flicked the spear tip upward. The force tore through the bandit’s blood veil. His body flew into the air, where Li Yuan’s blade edges ripped him apart in a single slicing shockwave.
Blood rained down as the corpse hit the ground in pieces.
“Not too much strain so far,” Li Yuan muttered, checking his condition.
He’d worried the army might wear him down. But in actual combat, he discovered a new truth. They couldn’t wear him down, at least not the way things stood.
Taking a long breath, he spotted another seventh rank combat power indicator and charged, killing that fighter with a single slash. The surrounding bandits froze in terror.
Li Yuan’s gaze swept across the panicked crowd. Anyone flashing a high rank, he went after directly, cutting each one down. With his uncanny awareness of who was truly dangerous, there was no chance for an ambush.
Other warriors simply couldn’t do this; normally, if one charged into an unfamiliar force, it would be hard to tell who was truly strong or weak. They might even be blindsided by someone faking a lower rank. But Li Yuan’s bird’s-eye vision gave him a decisive edge.
In just a few minutes, the Fragrant General’s entire camp collapsed. Most of the top fighters lay dead, and the rest of the bandits scattered in utter panic.
Li Yuan pursued, slaughtering every elite he could catch.
Suddenly, someone shouted, “It’s the Blood Blade Patriarch!”
The cry spread like wildfire.
“Blood Blade Patriarch!”
“Mercy, Master Patriarch!”
The outlaws fled like startled animals. Li Yuan cut down a number of them, but wiping them out completely was impossible. They were too dispersed. Once he’d accomplished his goal of destroying the upper echelon, he began rifling through the camp. He soon gathered 8,000 taels of silver, ignoring the rest of the random weaponry.
He was about to burn everything down when another idea struck him. He retrieved a large sack, and—
Early the next morning.
At Antelope Pass, a narrow canyon on the main road leading from the north into the three counties, grim totems now lined the entry. They were wooden stakes impaled with severed heads and bloody hair fluttering in the wind.
From a cliff overlooking the pass, a lone white finch perched, silent witness to the scene below.
By now, the Frost Sword Sect and Blood Blade Sect had completed their negotiations, forging a defensive alliance.
Joining them were the Orange Blossom Sect of Southsky County and the Floating Moon Abbey of Flowerpath County. They all understood that a common front was their best hope against outside threats.
With the deal sealed, the three Frost Sword Sect disciples prepared to depart. Just as they mounted their horses, a messenger sprinted up the street, shouting excitedly.
“The Fragrant General is dead! His army, gone, wiped out!”
The three women halted, exchanging astonished looks. They called the messenger over.
“Who was killed?” one asked.
“The Fragrant General, the bandit lord outside our borders. He’s finished! His men, too!” the messenger said.
Pang Sanniang stared in disbelief. “Really?”
“Plenty of terrified bandits have been streaming back this way, screaming the whole time. You can see for yourselves,” the messenger replied, hurrying on.
Baffled and intrigued, the three disciples rode toward the north gate. Sure enough, they came upon bands of crazed, half-frozen deserters, crying, “Spare me, Patriarch, mercy!”
One of the disciples blinked. “Patriarch? Which patriarch?”
Pang Sanniang closed her eyes and spoke slowly, “The Blood Blade Patriarch...”
Another disciple shook her head in shock. “He took out the Fragrant General’s entire army all by himself? Even a sixth rank expert couldn’t do that so cleanly, could they?”
Pang Sanniang wore a grim look. She found it equally hard to believe.