Strike with a ruthless hand

Gathering strength, they concealed all their grandeur and might in the shadows, poised for the moment when swords would be drawn and bows readied, arrows nocked and aimed straight at their prey, denying even the faintest chance of escape. Even if their first attempt failed, the hunters would pursue relentlessly, to the ends of the earth if need be.

Yet there seemed no possibility of a fair contest—only frail prey with hunters aplenty. The horned bow was drawn slowly, taut and ready, releasing with the wind. The whistling arrows startled the men of the Azure Falcon Gang; one raised his blade just in time to deflect the shaft, but the second string was loosed, then the third—a rain of arrows bursting from the woods. The gang remained alert, guarding each other's backs. Liao Yingdong shielded his children, Song Linjie exposed his presence entirely, slicing down every arrow that came near, even grabbing several and hurling them back, injuring two attackers. Zhang Ling held his ground, his limbs agile and quick; though his skill was not flawless, his evasive tactics were masterful. Arrows brushed past him, some falling away, others merely grazing him.

After a round of stealthy archery, only three of the Azure Falcon Gang had fallen. Zhang Ling found it astonishing—how could ordinary members possess such skill and composure in the face of danger? Before he could ponder further, shadowy figures emerged from the darkness, swiftly charging into the camp. The gang members scattered, fighting on their own.

Zhang Ling had no time to think—a black-clad assassin rushed toward him. He sidestepped, drew his sword, and met the enemy head-on. In the ensuing skirmish, Zhang Ling slit the throats of several men, heedless of whether he had killed. He headed straight for Song Linjie.

Back to back, Zhang Ling called out, “Go!”

A brief probing revealed another group guarding the camp’s perimeter, waiting to catch any who slipped through. A forced breakout would make them targets for all, clearly an attempt to wipe them out completely.

Zhang Ling found Liao Yingdong, his voice cold. “Chief Liao, are these the people you provoked?”

Liao Yingdong, concerned only for his children, replied helplessly, “Forgive me, gentlemen. I didn’t expect them to catch up so quickly. Let’s join forces for now.”

Zhang Ling snorted, “You just want to drag us down with you, seeking our protection. When we reach Liufeng City, the Song family won’t be able to stay uninvolved.”

He dragged Song Linjie with him, trying to carve a new path. Song Linjie swept his blade, then drew the Forging Sky Sword, his body leaning into a wide, sliding arc to narrowly dodge a long thrust from an outside attacker. He twisted his foot, stood up, and slashed fiercely at the intruder. The black-clad man deflected, pushing hard; Song Linjie slid several yards before regaining his footing. His expression, usually optimistic, grew grave. “Zhang Ling, this one’s a true expert.”

The once dimly lit night darkened further, the moon veiled by clouds, as if granting permission for the slaughter beneath its shroud.

Zhang Ling stood with sword in hand, his voice icy. “Who are you?”

The black-clad man laughed strangely. “So, two unlucky fools got involved. Too bad—you’ll still have to leave your lives behind.”

Zhang Ling flexed his hands and feet, calm. “So, you’re things that can’t stand the light. Then there’s nothing left to discuss.”

Under the cover of night, within the woods, the only things visible were three dying campfires and flashes of blade and sword. Zhang Ling and Song Linjie struck together; Song Linjie faced the enemy head-on, and as the two separated, Zhang Ling intervened, sweeping his sword at the throat. The black-clad man kicked at him; Zhang Ling did not dodge, lowering his blade to carve a straight red line across the man’s chest, even as a kick sent him flying back.

Zhang Ling steadied his breath, unharmed. Song Linjie gave the enemy no respite, hacking fiercely at him. The black-clad man staggered backward, readying a counterattack. Zhang Ling followed behind Song Linjie, forcing the enemy to dodge sideways, and Zhang Ling pressed on, thrusting his sword.

A gust of wind blew, sending sparks from the dying fire up into the night, then slowly fading to ashes. Some landed near Zhang Ling, reflecting the silvery gleam from his short sword, from tip to hilt, before fading away. The black-clad man, regaining his balance, swung upward, knocking the short sword aside. Zhang Ling’s left hand formed a fist, landing heavily on the fresh, red wound.

The black-clad man kicked Zhang Ling in the abdomen; both staggered back. Zhang Ling’s lips bled slightly, while the enemy struggled to rise, coughing up a mouthful of blood.

Song Linjie then charged forward, slashing the man down again. With a wave of his hand, three men quickly joined him, facing Song Linjie together. The wounded black-clad man tried to escape, but Zhang Ling’s swift footwork shadowed him, crossing straight to intercept.

The man turned, swinging his blade, expecting Zhang Ling to retreat in such a deadly moment—leaving himself no escape, facing the attack head-on.

Beneath the night, a solitary golden flash appeared, seen only by one. The witness froze, his hand losing strength, the blade simply falling.

His long blade dropped; Zhang Ling’s left shoulder reddened, staining his robe, but his short sword pierced the black-clad man’s heart.

The man stared in fury, his blade falling to the ground as Zhang Ling pulled his sword free, his body collapsing.

Elsewhere, Song Linjie swept his blade, slitting three throats in a single motion. He approached Zhang Ling, shivering despite his experience. “I’ve never seen you fight like this. Truly impressive.”

Zhang Ling had no thoughts of “hurting the enemy a thousand, wounding oneself eight hundred”—he simply seized the opportunity to temper his Diamond Body. He couldn’t imagine deliberately seeking someone to strike him.

After tending his wound, Zhang Ling led Song Linjie straight out. Fortunately, only two or three remained inside; the rest were chasing bigger prey, leaving the two “small fry” alone. Zhang Ling found Treading Snow and prepared to leave.

Song Linjie hesitated. “We’re really just leaving them?”

Zhang Ling stopped, spread his hands. “We can barely protect ourselves; going back means certain death. Best to leave.”

Song Linjie was not one for arguments; he simply listened, accepting even Zhang Ling’s twisted logic as reasonable.

As they turned, Liao Yingdong and several others rushed out, including Liao Wenqi and Liao Wenya.

No longer feigning politeness, Zhang Ling sneered, “Well, Chief Liao, quite the skill you’ve shown—surrounded by so many, yet you escaped. Why not finish them all before coming out?”

The Azure Falcon Gang members sensed the bitterness, one grumbling, “You selfish types have no right to kick us when we’re down. Young Master Song, I suggest you part ways with him soon. When trouble comes, he won’t help you.”

Zhang Ling listened seriously, nodded, and laughed coldly. “True. But compared to those who drag others into their mess, I’m still better. Don’t you agree, Chief Liao?”

At this, the gang fell silent. Liao Wenya stared coldly at Zhang Ling, while Liao Wenqi tried to mediate. “Young Master Zhang, we were wrong before, but we do have unspeakable difficulties. Please, hear me out—”

Liao Yingdong interrupted calmly. “Enough, Wenqi. No need to explain. The more you say, the more he’ll see you as a hypocrite.”

Zhang Ling chuckled. “Chief Liao, at least you’re self-aware! But the trouble you started—deal with it yourself. We’re leaving.”

As the two prepared to depart, the pursuers caught up again.

Everyone had no choice but to raise their blades and swords once more. Zhang Ling paid no heed—having broken through, why bother with further entanglements? Besides, Treading Snow, his Northern Night Dragon Horse, could outrun a hundred steeds; none could catch them.

Zhang Ling mounted first, pulling Song Linjie up, turned the horse, and gave it a gentle pat. Treading Snow set off at a gallop—yet in the next moment, Zhang Ling’s senses faded, and he toppled sideways.

As he tried to rise, a dagger was suddenly plunged into his back, his body drained of strength. Looking up, he met Liao Yingdong’s cold eyes staring back at him.