Chapter One: The Journey Begins, Embroidered Spring Blade!

Wanli, 48th year.

In later centuries, to the southwest of what is now the Dahuo Fang Reservoir in Fushun, Liaoning, lies a place known in Manchu as Sarhu, meaning “wooden chest”—a land lush with dense forests.

Wang Lu staggered to his feet, his head spinning. What met his eyes was a vision of hell: bodies strewn together in a sea of blood, the stench of gore thick in the air.

“Where the hell have I ended up?”

Wang Lu looked around in a daze, suspicion and fear warring within him.

“Ming-ge?!”

He called out, but no one answered. He was surrounded by people—none of them alive. Just a moment ago, he had been riding happily in Ming-ge’s Cadillac, the car’s autopilot humming along, and in the blink of an eye, he was here.

Ming-ge!

What have you done to me? Is this even still in China?

“Am I just dreaming?”

He crouched and reached out to touch a corpse at his feet. The skin was slick and cold. Instantly, Wang Lu leapt back, cold sweat beading on his brow, goosebumps racing up his arms.

“This is real…”

The congealed blood reeked faintly. As his senses returned, his brain was assaulted by the brutal reality. Somewhere on the battlefield, someone retched violently.

Wang Lu broke out in a cold sweat. He was just a freshly unemployed college graduate—he had never seen anything like this. The bodies before him were undeniably real.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“See if anyone’s still alive!”

A voice spoke in a language he couldn’t understand, echoing faintly.

Wang Lu felt his limbs go weak, but forced himself to his feet, stooping low as he slipped behind a massive boulder. He was terrified, but fear did not cloud his mind—he was already calculating how to survive.

Survive—yes, survival was all that mattered! He had no desire to end up like the poor soul nearby, whose head was hanging by a strip of flesh.

As for this being a dream? Impossible. Everyone knows you can’t dream of things you’ve never seen before. Just as a virgin in a wet dream always wakes before the deed is done. He had never seen a head so barely attached to its neck, yet the torn flesh and exposed fat were clear as day.

Wang Lu ducked behind the boulder, barely able to catch his breath, when suddenly his mind went numb. A flood of unfamiliar memories surged through his head, and an incongruous, square-shaped interface appeared before his eyes.

Everything around him seemed to freeze.

[Current World: Brotherhood of Blades II—Battlefield of Asura]
[Memories Loaded]
[Identity: Wang Lu, son of Wang Chaoju, a centurion of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, serving under General Wang Xuan of the Western Army]
[Main Quest: Game of Power (Settlement Available)]
[Quest Description: You have arrived in the late Ming Dynasty. Take a leap of faith and experience the rise and fall of power.]
[Special Quest Reward: Determined by the level of power you ultimately wield]
[Side Quest (Triggered): Prisoner Rescue Plan]
[Quest Reward: Simulation Points *10 per person]
[Current Simulation Points: 10]
[Current Martial Arts: Xinyou Saber Technique (Initiate Level)]

He took it all in at a glance, and in an instant, Wang Lu understood his predicament.

“So, I’ve transmigrated into the world of ‘Brotherhood of Blades’—and in the Wanli era, that means the film’s beginning, the Battle of Sarhu!”

That infamous battle, where Ming forces suffered devastating losses and Nurhaci rose to power.

Wang Lu gripped the Xiu Chun Saber in his hand, taking a deep breath as the stench of blood made him tremble.

Thank goodness for the system.

Faced with such carnage, he knew that relying solely on himself would be a death sentence, no matter how skilled he might be.

But this system intrigued him: martial arts simulation, special rewards.

At his age, the promise of martial prowess and saber techniques filled him with a strange excitement and anticipation.

Even before a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood, he could not help but feel hope for the future. Here was true martial arts—not some laughable “Lightning Five Whips.”

The pursuit of strength—what man could resist it?

As for completing the tasks, knowing the plot inside out and realizing he wasn’t alone, Wang Lu was certain it would be no challenge.

The world of “Brotherhood of Blades”—to be precise, the opening of “Brotherhood of Blades II: Battlefield of Asura.”

And just as expected, behind another boulder twenty paces away, a lean figure could be glimpsed.

Shen Lian.

With him present, survival was assured—at least for now. The only question was how to complete the mission: should he lie low and let Shen Lian save two, or step in himself and save all three?

He peered out with one eye; forty paces away, three men knelt side by side.

“Why are you Ming rebels crying? Cry again and I’ll slice you up piece by piece—”

The executioner grinned cruelly. “I’ve killed fourteen Ming rebels today. When I go back, I’ll surely be promoted to Niru Ejen.”

“Haha, I’ve got one more than you. If we get promoted, it’ll be together,” boasted the Jurchen soldier beside him.

“I only killed ten. These Ming dogs are useless. I thought, with all the land they held, they’d be formidable—but they’re nothing but coffin fodder.”

The man on the far left, sour-faced, vented his frustration by kicking a kneeling Ming prisoner in the back.

As Wang Lu watched, the blood-soaked executioner moved behind the man on the right, raising his blade for the kill.

His heart thudded in his chest.

Simulation points—he wanted them.

He whispered in his mind, “Channel all simulation points into Xinyou Saber Technique!”

It was the only martial art he had, the last gift from his predecessor.

In this world, death meant true death. He could not afford to pass up a single chance to gain strength.

The Xinyou Saber Technique—he had never seen it before. Thankfully, his host’s memories provided the knowledge he needed.

The Xinyou Saber Technique was created by Qi Jiguang, developed after studying Japanese swordsmanship, distinguished by its use of borrowed force, fluid attack-defense transitions, and continuous movement.

Its essence lay in combining offense and defense, simplicity and effectiveness.

To save all three prisoners, “initiate” level was far from enough. In “Brotherhood of Blades II,” even the top-three swordsman Shen Lian barely survived facing these three Jurchen soldiers. If not for Shen Lian’s arrival, his present body would already be dead.

He had to get stronger.

Wang Lu’s mind raced, and scenes of relentless saber practice flashed through his mind.

[In seven years, you rose before dawn, honing your basics, swinging your blade 735,840 times, completing the Twelve Forms of Xinyou 61,320 times. You have reached Minor Achievement in the Xinyou Saber Technique.]
[In three more years, you did not grow complacent, remaining diligent, swinging your blade 420,480 times, completing the Twelve Forms 35,040 times. Though still short of mastery, you can now blend all the techniques smoothly and use them with ease.]

In a single instant, Wang Lu felt as if he had been scalded by boiling water—strength surged through his body, his limbs charged with newfound power.

Ten years’ worth of martial expertise poured into his mind; his body moved as if it had truly practiced for a decade.

His left hand reversed its grip on the saber, instinctively assuming a perfect stance, as if it had been tempered a hundred thousand times. He no longer needed to consciously control his movements; his body responded on its own.

The world sharpened before his eyes as the system’s temporal pause ended.

The three Jurchen soldiers were still there: one preparing to execute, one standing guard, and the last—

Sound of trickling—relieving himself.

“I don’t want to die…”

A sob rang out. Perhaps the approaching blade had driven the Ming prisoner to tears.

Of the other two, one stared numbly into the distance, silent; the other bowed his head, motionless.