Huang Rong from The Return of the Condor Heroes: Brother Jing, let's get a divorce.

Yang Guo, holding the Xuan Tie Greatsword weighing seventy or eighty jin, stood amidst a pile of broken wooden spears and grinned.

The laughter carried far through the dark woods, sounding particularly eerie.

The Mongol commander leading the group had a livid face, and the steel-forged scimitar in his hand was raised in mid-air, but he didn't dare to bring it down.

Using the flickering torchlight around him, he stared intently at the large, dark, dull iron sword in Yang Guo's hand.

That sweeping motion just now snapped seven or eight ash wood spear shafts in half, leaving only wood shavings at the cut.

It wasn't cut by a sharp blade at all; it was smashed apart by pure gravity.

The commander swallowed hard and shouted a long string of Mongolian words at the top of his lungs.

The remaining thirty-odd Mongol soldiers on the perimeter, upon hearing the order, did not charge forward any further.

They quickly dispersed, forming groups of five, with shields in front to block the way, and spears behind them. Several others took short bows from their backs, nocked arrows, and aimed at Yang Guo in the middle.

Yang Guo did not rush to make a move.

He planted his heavy sword in the rotten leaves, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath.

This Xuan Tie Greatsword is powerful, but it takes too much effort.

Even with the three innate true qi lines supporting him in his dantian, the muscles in his arms were still sore and swollen from those few powerful swings.

I can't keep going head-to-head like this; I need to conserve my energy.

Yang Guo was making plans in his mind.

There are still dozens of people outside. If we rely solely on brute force, we'll be exhausted before we can kill them all.

The sound of the bowstring being pulled taut was exceptionally clear in the darkness.

Yang Guo's ears twitched, and he pushed off the ground with his right foot, lunging towards the left behind a large tree that would take three people to encircle.

Several arrows grazed his scalp, then thudded past and embedded themselves in the tree bark, the white feathers at the fletchings still trembling.

"Fire arrows! Surround him!"

The thousand-household commander shouted in broken Chinese.

The Mongol soldiers pressed forward step by step, treading on withered branches and fallen leaves.

The torchlight illuminated the woods brightly.

Five soldiers carrying iron-clad wooden shields led the way, their spears protruding from the gaps in the shields, forming a hedgehog-like defensive line.

Yang Guo leaned against the tree trunk, took a deep breath, and began to circulate the Yi Jin Duan Gu chapter of the Nine Yin Manual.

The red and black primordial energy beads in his dantian spun rapidly, and a surge of heat flowed into his arms along his meridians.

The soreness subsided.

He heard footsteps approaching.

Ten steps, eight steps, five steps.

Right now.

Instead of slipping out from behind the tree, Yang Guo bent his knees, pushed off the tree roots with his feet, and leaped up into the air, soaring two zhang (approximately 6.6 meters) into the tree branch.

The Mongol soldiers below, carrying shields, circled around the large tree, only to find that there was no one behind it.

The lead shield bearer paused for a moment, then looked up.

Yang Guo, head down, gripped the hilt of the Xuan Tie Heavy Sword with both hands. Using the force of his fall, he pressed all his weight, along with the weight of the greatsword, onto the blade and slammed it straight at the shield-bearer.

The great iron sword slammed into the iron-clad wooden shield with a dull thud.

With a loud crack, the two-inch-thick wooden shield split in the middle, and the iron sheet curled up.

The greatsword's force didn't stop; after shattering the shield, it slammed directly into the soldier's shoulder.

Before the soldier could even scream, half of his body collapsed, his collarbone and ribs shattered, and he was smashed to the ground, spitting out a mouthful of blood mixed with fragments of internal organs. He died instantly.

The four soldiers next to him trembled with fear.

They had fought against the Jin Dynasty and the Song Dynasty, but they had never seen a fighting style like this before.

This isn't a martial arts contest; it's like hitting a living person with a hammer.

Yang Guo landed on his feet and rolled on the ground to dodge the two spears that were thrust at him.

He carried the heavy sword in one hand, braced himself against the ground with his right, and slipped between the legs of the two spearmen like a slippery eel.

This is the Snake-like Leap and Fox-like Turn Technique from the Nine Yin Manual.

Hiding behind the two men, Yang Guo stood up and swung his greatsword horizontally.

The heavy spine of the sword slammed into the lower backs of the two men.

Both of them suffered broken spines on the spot, lost all feeling in their lower bodies, and collapsed limply into the mud, clutching their waists and howling in pain.

The thousand households on the outskirts watched with twitching eyes.

He knew he'd run into a tough opponent today.

"Throw torches! Burn him alive!"

Qianhu changed his tactics.

A dozen or so Mongol soldiers threw all the torches they were holding toward where Yang Guo was.

The woods in early autumn were full of dry grass and fallen leaves; a spark could easily ignite a flame that shot up high.

Thick smoke billowed, and a pungent smell permeated the woods.

Yang Guo was trapped in the middle of the ring of fire. The smoke made it impossible for him to open his eyes, and his throat felt itchy.

He coughed twice, covering his mouth and nose, cursing under his breath.

These bastards are pretty clever; they know to use smoke.

He quickly used the breath-holding technique to seal his mouth and nose, switching to internal breathing.

Outside the circle of fire, a Mongolian veteran named Batu's hand trembled as he gripped his spear.

He served as a soldier for ten years and killed many Han Chinese.

But his calves are cramping right now.

That Han Chinese man with the heavy sword was practically a devil crawled out of hell.

That black sword had no sharpening, yet it was more terrifying than any sharp blade.

Even if you're beheaded, you can still leave a whole corpse, but if you're hit by that sword, you'll become a pile of rotten flesh.

Batu stared intently at the thick smoke.

He hoped that the devil would be burned inside.

Suddenly, a burning wooden stake flew out of the thick smoke.

The soldier next to Batu was hit in the chest by a wooden stake and screamed as he staggered backward.

Immediately afterwards, a tall figure emerged from the smoke.

Yang Guo's clothes were charred in a large area, his face was covered in soot, and his eyes were frighteningly fierce.

He didn't use a sword at all. Instead, he strode up to an archer, grabbed the man's neck with his left hand, snatched the short bow from the man's hand with his right hand, wrapped the bowstring around the man's neck, and pulled hard backward.

The archer rolled his eyes, stuck out his tongue, and kicked his feet wildly on the ground. After struggling for a few moments, he stopped moving.

Yang Guo pushed the corpse forward, blocking several spears that were thrust at him.

He bent down, picked up the heavy iron sword from the ground, and charged into the crowd once more.

This time he didn't just smash things blindly with brute force.

He discovered that the Mongol soldiers were all wearing leather armor, with only a few leaders wearing iron armor.

To deal with someone wearing leather armor, you don't even need to swing it around and smash them; just a glancing blow will break their bones.

Yang Guo flicked his wrist, and the heavy sword drew a semicircle in front of him.

The sword tip picked up mud and pebbles from the ground and hurled them at the Mongol soldiers opposite.

Several soldiers were hit in the eyes by stones and screamed in pain, covering their faces.

Yang Guo strode forward, thrusting his heavy sword forward, the hilt pressing heavily against a soldier's chest.

The soldier flew backward, knocking over two people behind him.

Batu was standing five steps away.

As he watched his companions fall one by one, the fear in his heart finally became unbearable.

He roared, threw down the spear in his hand, and turned to run out of the woods.

"Deserters die!"

Enraged, Qianhu swung his scimitar and beheaded Batu.

The headless corpse took two steps forward, then collapsed into a pile of fallen leaves, spraying blood all over the ground.

"Form a defensive formation! Use the net! Trip him down!"

The commander was in charge of the remaining twenty-odd elite personal guards.