A dark shadow flashed before his eyes. Qu Bai raised his blade to strike. A piercing clash of metal rang out, sparks flying in all directions. He was forced back two steps, his tiger's mouth slightly numb.
Only then did he see clearly: standing before him was a towering figure. His pupils contracted. "It's you—the Grand General of Yan State!"
Zhou Sui said nothing. He spurred his horse forward and struck again.
Qu Bai showed no fear, lifting his blade to meet the attack.
Clang, clang, clang—three consecutive blows, each heavier and faster than the last. Qu Bai retreated step by step, unable to hold his ground. Even his horse could not withstand the immense force, letting out a piercing whinny.
Clang. Half the blade whistled through the air, embedding itself with a thud into a nearby tent.
Qu Bai's pupils shrank. His blade was broken!
This weapon, forged through countless temperings, unyieldingly tough, had served him for over a decade—and now it was shattered in just a few strikes.
Thud.
The cold blade bit into Qu Bai's shoulder. Blood sprayed. As Zhou Sui prepared to deliver the fatal blow, an arrow flew toward him. He swung his blade and deflected it with a clang.
At that moment, two of Qu Bai's fierce generals charged in, engaging Zhou Sui and shouting to Qu Bai, "General, flee now!"
Behind came Qu Cong and the few hundred remaining personal guards, rushing forward to shield the wounded Qu Bai as they broke through the encirclement.
Nan Wen cut down a Qushao soldier and moved to give chase, but dozens of guards immediately surrounded him.
Zhou Sui was in no hurry. He knew well how grievous the wound he had just dealt to Qu Bai was—even if it didn't kill him, it would maim him. Besides...
His eyes turned cold. He sidestepped to avoid the killing blow from the taller of the two fierce generals, simultaneously sweeping his blade outward.
Bang. The shorter general, caught off guard, was knocked from his horse. Zhou Sui followed up instantly, driving his blade down. Blood splattered.
The tall general roared in fury, swinging his blade at Zhou Sui. "Death to you!"
Zhou Sui seemed to have anticipated the move. Using his blade as a brace, he leaned his body to the right, narrowly dodging the attack.
The tall general's strike missed. He lifted his blade for another blow.
In a flash, Zhou Sui whipped his blade down diagonally toward the tall general while bending low to avoid the oncoming steel.
Bang. The blade struck the general's waist. In the jumping firelight, the blood shone a blackened red.
Yan Pu led his men in a breakout toward the northwest. By now, most of the tents were ablaze.
Amid the flickering, dying flames, the Jinyang soldiers blocked them at every turn. His men grew fewer and fewer.
Despair crept into his heart. The Jinyang troops were too formidable, backed by repeating crossbows. His soldiers fell in droves.
Just then, a lone rider charged forward. In the glow of the fire, Yan Pu saw the man covered in blood and grime—a clear sign he had killed many Qushao soldiers.
Yan Pu's gaze turned savage. He raised his blade. But before he could savor the moment, he recognized the familiar lance!
Yan Pu's pupils shrank. Every hair on his body stood on end. His grip on the blade tightened.
Yao Ji spurred his horse straight at Yan Pu. The lance thrust forward—fast, precise, ruthless.
The angle of the thrust was too cunning to evade. Yan Pu could only slash at the lance.
Yao Ji's eyes were icy. He twisted his wrist.
Clang. Yan Pu felt his blade deflect slightly. Had he missed?
Thud. A chill struck his abdomen. His entire body was lifted into the air.
Bang. Yan Pu crashed into a burning tent. Flames instantly consumed him.
Jiang Jin had just led her troops to the middle of the camp when she saw Ma Heng and his men preparing to torch several tents.
"Kill!" she ordered. Crossbowmen armed with dragon-neck repeating crossbows loosed their bolts at the Qushao soldiers.
Dozens of lives were reaped in an instant.
Ma Heng deflected the arrows with his blade—clang, clang, clang—while grabbing a burning stick in his other hand and hurling it toward a grain tent.
Jiang Jin knew that the Qushao forces had received a shipment of grain the day before. She didn't know exactly where it was stored, but such vital supplies were usually placed in the middle of the camp for protection.
Seeing the Qushao men setting fires, she realized those tents must hold something important—something they couldn't carry away but didn't want to leave her. The best way was to burn it.
And the most important thing in a camp was usually the army's grain.
Bang.
The stick Ma Heng had just thrown was blasted away by an arrow.
"There's grain inside! Everyone protect it!" Jiang Jin shouted. Gripping her great blade, she charged at Ma Heng.
His plan to burn the grain thwarted, Ma Heng's eyes turned vicious. With a roar, he cried, "Good! Come and die!"
Jiang Jin was drenched in blood, her face hidden in the dim firelight. He didn't recognize her, only that his opponent was a woman.
The Jinyang army had many female soldiers and officers, so facing a woman neither surprised him nor made him underestimate her.
The great blade clashed with Ma Heng's sword, sparks bursting in an earsplitting screech.
Jiang Jin twisted her wrist. The blade edge slid sideways, angling toward Ma Heng's throat.
Ma Heng was startled. This woman's swordplay was bizarre! He hastily retreated to avoid the killing stroke.
But it was only a feint. Before he could steady himself, the blade thrust forward.
Thud.
Ma Heng looked down at his abdomen, where a great blade was buried.
Jiang Jin gripped the sword with both hands and twisted. A faint sound of tearing bone and flesh followed.
At the same time, she kicked out and yanked the blade free.
Ma Heng spat blood, staggered back a few steps, and crashed to the ground.
Ma Heng's two lieutenants stared in rage. With a furious shout, they charged Jiang Jin from both sides without regard for their own safety.
Jiang Jin struck down with her blade. The first lieutenant was cut from neck to chest, blood gushing several meters high, spattering across the tent with a crackling sound lost in the clamor of battle.
Using the force of the swing, she tilted her body low, dodging the second lieutenant's attack.
The second lieutenant missed his strike, only to be splashed with his comrade's warm blood. His eyes turned savage and crazed. Before his fallen comrade's body had even hit the ground, he roared and swung again.
Jiang Jin parried. Steel clanged. She twisted her blade, angling it downward.
Swish. The great blade slid along the lieutenant's weapon and into his waist.
Thud. The sharp edge met his armor with a muted sound, like metal against ancient wood.
The lieutenant felt a stab of pain in his waist. He tried to lift his blade again, but found his strength fading.
As he struggled, another blow struck.
Bang. The massive force sent him stumbling back several steps. He propped himself up with his sword.
His abdomen had opened like a wound, blood pouring out, mixed with fragments of his organs.
He struggled to lift his head and look at the woman before him.
Behind her, flames soared into the sky. Backlit, he could not make out her face—only her upright silhouette.
And the blade, dripping blood, glinting coldly in the golden-red firelight.
In the distance, flames raged and crackled, devouring the lives of Qushao soldiers. The scene was like a hell on earth.
Bang. The lieutenant fell, unwilling even in death.
"Ah!" Driven mad by seeing their leaders fall one by one, a soldier charged Jiang Jin in a frenzy.
Before he could get close, his vision changed. It was as if he could see more clearly—and more widely.
Through the two halves of his severed body, Jiang Jin saw Shuangjiang standing behind him, and she shook her head inwardly. It seemed Shuangjiang had a particular fondness for 'dismemberment,' in the literal sense of the word.
Shuangjiang's expression was fierce. The weapon in her hands danced through the air, sending enemies endlessly to their 'eternal rest.'
Yun Chengxuan withdrew his blade from a Qu Zhao commander’s chest, took a great stride forward, and swung his saber with the force of a Buddha’s palm strike. A soldier was cut in two at the waist...
