"Slash—!"
The barbarian Thousand-Household saw his chance. His blade cut across the chest of the portly Great Sheng general before him. The edge tore through armor, sliced open flesh and muscle, and finally stopped only when it struck solid bone, leaving a deep gash across the man's torso.
His opponent countered instantly, swinging his saber in a swift, unpredictable arc. Even as a tempering organs cultivator, the barbarian barely managed to dodge. A shallow cut appeared on his cheek, warm blood trickling down.
"Get lost!"
The Thousand-Household roared, swinging his blade again to force the other man back, then immediately turned his horse, not daring to linger.
This fat Hundred-Household was no ordinary soldier.
Despite being only at full completion tempering bone, he had held out against a tempering organs fighter for so long. His mastery of the blade was so refined it was hard to believe he hadn't reached the next realm.
Killing him would take time—and time was what he didn't have.
That white horse general had charged into the main camp.
He didn't know what madness had possessed a tempering bone soldier to do such a thing—surely the man would be surrounded and torn apart soon—but he had to get back.
The Ninth Prince was the Great Khan's dearest son.
If something happened to him, every head in the Xi River tribe would roll.
"Buzz—"
The whistle of a blade came from behind.
"You really want to die?!"
The barbarian Thousand-Household turned, fury surging. His sword crashed down, parried, then swept up again, slashing open another wound on his opponent. His left fist, heavy as a siege hammer, smashed into Wang Zhi's chest with a thunderous crack.
Wang Zhi flew backward off his horse. The startled steed reared, then bolted away.
"Cough—cough…"
Blood spilled from his mouth. But Wang Zhi, seemingly impervious to pain, forced himself up again. He hurled his saber with all his strength—cutting through the legs of the Thousand-Household's horse.
"Neigh—!"
The beast screamed, collapsing.
The Thousand-Household kicked off its back mid-fall, landing steadily on the ground.
Rage blazed in his eyes. He could no longer leave this man alive.
The main camp had at least one full completion tempering bone officer and over two thousand defenders. Taking down a single young Hundred-Household shouldn't be difficult. Even if the man were unusually strong, he'd be dead within the time it took to drink a cup of tea.
He'd worried too much before.
"I'm already done for…"
Wang Zhi wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, picked up a fallen scimitar, and cut down a barbarian rider charging from behind. Then he raised his weapon against the Thousand-Household again. He figured he could hold on for another ten exchanges—at most. After that, he'd die.
Elsewhere on the battlefield, the Chariot Suspension Formation had lost its two sharpest blades. Its strength plummeted.
Of the original ten men, only six were left.
Zhuang Yi had already taken three cuts. None were fatal, but he was nearly spent.
Fang Buping and Zhao Qiao were heavily wounded as well.
Xu Bin and Zhu Tong were still standing, but their qi and blood were running dry—they would soon collapse.
"Uncle Zhao, dying like this isn't so bad," Zhuang Yi gasped, straining to hold the formation together. "Better than being bullied to death."
"It's just a pity about Shi ge'er…"
Zhao Qiao's voice was hoarse. His cultivation was the weakest of them all, and he had only survived this long thanks to his comrades' protection.
Blades flashed and clashed all around them. There was no time for last words.
They were as good as dead.
Then, suddenly—
A cold, commanding voice tore through the chaos. "All of you—stop!"
From the rear of the battlefield, a white horse emerged through the ranks of barbarians.
On its back sat Chen Sanshi. In one hand he held a spear, in the other, a gleaming sword. In his arms, he held the half-dead Yu Wen Ninth Prince hostage.
Everywhere the horse passed, barbarian riders scrambled aside, clearing a path for him. Not one dared move.
"You…"
The barbarian Thousand-Household's pupils trembled violently, as if he couldn't believe his own eyes.
There were several tempering bone guards stationed in that camp—
Were they all useless?!
How could a mere tempering bone soldier possibly…?!
"Stand down! Everyone, stand down!"
The Thousand-Household's shout cut across the silence.
The chaos on the battlefield stilled in an instant.
"Who the hell is that?"
Wang Zhi braced himself on his saber, dazed and bleeding, struggling to comprehend what he was seeing.
Chen Sanshi had charged back into the enemy camp… just to capture someone?
"Your Highness!"
The barbarian's cry gave the answer away.
Wang Zhi froze, then spat out blood and laughed hoarsely.
"That bastard… that's a prince!"
What kind of madness was this?
The Xi River tribe was a barren frontier territory, the kind of place even crows wouldn't land. How could a prince possibly be here?
"Well damn—Shi ge'er caught the Great Khan's whelp!"
Zhu Tong roared with laughter.
Through all the blood and chaos, he hadn't felt a shred of fear. He just kept swinging his hammer like a man possessed. Somewhere in the chaos, he even felt the faint edge of a breakthrough.
As for dying—by the time he realized death was close, Chen Sanshi had already returned, dragging the prince behind him.
To Zhu Tong, the whole thing felt strangely calm.
"What a monster of a heart…"
Xu Bin muttered, still trembling. His nerves were stretched thin.
One step later, and they all would've died.
"Let us go."
Chen Sanshi's voice was steady and cold.
They were just two small Hundred-Household squads—a handful of scouts. Compared to the life of a prince, they were worth nothing.
"Save me! Save me!"
The Yu Wen Ninth Prince's face was deathly pale. He shook like a leaf, screaming, "Thousand-Household, help me!"
"Fine, you can go," the barbarian Thousand-Household said through gritted teeth. "But the rest must stay."
"Don't try to bargain with me."
Chen Sanshi's eyes glinted coldly. "We leave together—all seven of us. If even one stays behind, I'll start cutting."
He pressed the sword harder against the prince's neck.
"Don't—don't cut my fingers off! I still need them to practice swordsmanship!"
The Ninth Prince's eyes welled with tears. Regret poured off him in waves.
Why had he ever come to the battlefield?
Why were Great Sheng soldiers all such monsters?
A man about his age—charging straight into the enemy camp, taking down officers, seizing the command tent—how terrifying was that?!
If the one called Xiang Zong of the Elephant Sect was anything like this, he must be some three-headed, six-armed freak!
"Well? What are you waiting for?"
Chen Sanshi tightened his grip on the blade, his voice sharp as steel. "Give the order!"
"Ah—!"
The Ninth Prince screamed in panic. "That Thousand-Household, I don't know your name, but listen to him! Let them go! If I lose even a single finger, my royal father will wipe your Xi River tribe off the map!"
"Stand down!"
The barbarian Thousand-Household shouted the order.
Chen Sanshi met up with the others and said, "Take the bodies of our fallen brothers!"
From the moment he decided to capture the prince to the moment he succeeded, only a few minutes had passed.
But in those few minutes, four of their men had died.
Among the dead were Li Dazhi and Xia Erniu—both under Chen Sanshi's command.
In war, there were always casualties. There was no room for sentimentality. Still, since there was a chance to bring their comrades home, he wouldn't leave them behind.
"Got it!"
Zhu Tong and Fang Buping immediately moved to obey, pulling over two horses to carry the bodies.
"You still have time to haul corpses?"
The barbarian Thousand-Household clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
"Fall back!"
He didn't even need Chen Sanshi to prompt him—
the Ninth Prince himself shouted, trembling, "Everyone, fall back! No one follows! Two li! Two li!"
Coward, Chen Sanshi cursed silently. He almost wondered if this prince would open the city gates himself if he brought him to the Yu Wen capital.
Still, having a coward like this made things easier.
"Fall back!"
The Thousand-Household relayed the command.
Chen Sanshi and his remaining six men mounted up and began their retreat along the same path they came.
The journey back was four hundred li, but they couldn't travel at full speed this time.
They rode through the night until dawn, then from dawn until nightfall again. They missed their rendezvous with the other Night-Scout squads entirely.
…
Poyang.
The Great Wall watchtower.
"Sir! The Night-Scouts have returned!"
"Oh?"
Zhao Kang climbed up the lookout post, spending a long time verifying their identities before signaling for the group to approach the wall for inspection.
Something immediately felt off. "Why are there fewer of you? Where are Hundred-Household Chen and Hundred-Household Wang?"
"Not sure."
In the darkness, Luo Dongquan's expression couldn't be seen. "We waited at the rendezvous point till midnight, but no sign of them. We couldn't stay there forever. Zhao Kang, open the gate quickly! We've got critical intel for the Thousand-Household!"
"Got it."
Zhao Kang gave the order. "Open the gate!"
"Rumble—"
The heavy gates creaked open.
More than twenty riders passed through, heading straight for the barracks.
Only Liu Jinkui lingered behind, calling up to the wall. "Hundred-Household Zhao, keep watch! Maybe Old Wang and Old Chen will show up soon!"
"Alright, don't worry," Zhao Kang replied. He sounded calm, but his sigh was heavy.
If a Night-Scout unit missed its scheduled rendezvous, it only meant one thing—something had gone wrong.
And in enemy territory, "gone wrong" usually meant being discovered by barbarian cavalry.
The odds of survival were almost zero.
…
"Second Uncle!"
Song Yan rode up to the deputy Thousand-Household and spoke in a low voice. "Did something happen to Lord Chen and his team?"
"How should I know?"
Luo Dongquan let out a cold laugh. "If something did happen, even better. You'll replace him in the Elite Selection."
"Second Uncle, I can't…"
Song Yan looked dispirited. "I'm nowhere near Lord Chen's level. He's already mastered the tempering bone stage, while I've only reached minor achievement in tempering blood."
"Minor achievement in tempering blood in just four months—is that slow?"
Luo Dongquan's tone turned sharp with resentment. "You're not worse than most people. You just ran into a monster. Once he's dead, your entry into the Eight Garrisons is guaranteed."
The less gifted a man was, the more he needed to fight for opportunity.
Take his nephew for example—if he stayed in Poyang County, his limit would be tempering organs at best.
But if he joined the Grand Commander's army, even as an outer disciple, he could reach Transforming Strength—at the very least. Maybe even higher.
How could he not compete?
As for what Xiang Tingchun had said…
He only believed half of it.
All that talk about the Emperor targeting the Grand Commander's faction—what did it matter?
Even if it wasn't for glory, it was for survival.
If you wanted to cut the weeds, you had to pull out the roots.
"You think I went too far, don't you?" Luo Dongquan gave a bitter smile. "You think I didn't need to push this to a life-and-death grudge?"
He continued, "Let me tell you a story.
"Many years ago, when Grand Secretary Yan Liang was still a young scholar traveling to the capital for the imperial exam, he accidentally offended a third-rank official of the court.
"That man didn't do anything major—just called him a country bumpkin from the sticks.
"Fifteen years later, when Yan Liang rose to power, he used a single fabricated charge to ruin that man. Not only did he confiscate his property and exile him, but he even had all his daughters sold to the cheapest brothels on purpose.
"Maybe Chen Sanshi would've forgotten what happened between us someday. Maybe not. But I can't gamble on that. I can't leave it to fate.
"Do you understand now?"
Song Yan's eyes flickered. "I get it."
"Good."
Luo Dongquan nodded, satisfied.
Months ago, when he first tried to trick Chen Sanshi out of his Elite Selection qualification, their enmity had already been sealed.
Even if there was only a one-in-ten-thousand chance of revenge, it was better to crush that chance now.
Better that than living in fear of hearing one day that some newly promoted general from the Eight Garrisons had come for his head.
Fortunately, it was all over now.
"Poyang will face a large barbarian invasion soon. When the time comes, perform well," Luo Dongquan said flatly.
…
The military quarter, inside a dim courtyard.
Two lanterns burned beside a small brazier, their light flickering against the cold night air.
Gu Xinlan and the pregnant Madam Tong sat near the fire, waiting quietly for news.
Sun Li was in the yard, practicing her sword.
"Why has there been no word for so many days? Before, no matter what he was doing, he'd at least send a message," Madam Tong fretted. "My husband's never fought in a real battle before… but at least he's with your Shi ge'er. He should be fine, right?"
"Mm."
Gu Xinlan clasped her hands tightly together. "He'll be fine."
The Night-Scout missions were confidential—they couldn't inform family members of anything.
Sun Li, who knew the truth, could only offer comfort. "Don't worry. Little Shitou's cultivation is one of the strongest in Poyang. No one here could take him down easily."
"Bang!"
Before she finished speaking, the courtyard gate burst open.
Sun Buqi stumbled in, panic written all over his face. "Sis—it's bad! I was stationed inside the barracks, and I saw it myself! The other two Night-Scout squads just returned from outside the walls… but there's no sign of Sanshi!"