The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

The wind and snow were like knives, and the surface of Qinxiang Lake was covered with a thin layer of ice. Moonlight shone through the gaps in the clouds, casting a pale light.

The leader of the Caizhou branch, Ma Baguo, was a strange man with the surname "Ma" (meaning "to curse" or "to scold") – don't be surprised, there are such odd surnames in the Chenzhou area. Ma Baguo's scarred face twisted like a demon in the torchlight, and his ghost-headed dagger transformed into streaks of blood. The warm blood splattered from slaying several fleeing soldiers covered his bushy beard, which made him grin savagely, revealing teeth blackened by tobacco, making him look like a mountain demon tearing apart its prey.

"Those who desert their posts shall die!"

The bloody crackdown temporarily stabilized the situation, but the bandits used the terrain to launch a desperate counterattack.

However, they did not know that the real Grim Reaper was descending from above.

"Lower the rope!"

Wang Zhonghua gave a low shout, and dozens of ropes suddenly cascaded down the steep cliff face, a place "so difficult even for birds to cross." He leaped first, his toes lightly touching the rock face, and he slid down silently like a night falcon. Behind him, Qin Tiedan, whose iron-tower-like body was surprisingly agile as an ape, followed closely behind, his iron rod slung over his back.

The elite "Dark Arrows" descended in single file, their boots making no sound as they touched the ground.

The moment Wang Zhonghua landed, the "Snow Chant" sword was already drawn. The blade reflected the snow's light, as cold and sharp as the moon.

He looked up and saw that below, where flames were shooting into the sky, the Zoroastrian followers were doing their best to resist the government troops in front, leaving their backs and flanks wide open.

"A golden opportunity." A cold smile crept across his lips. "Kill."

The drunken bandits awoke with a start, grabbing their knives and guns in a daze, but not knowing where to go. The wielder, wielding a dagger that cursed eight nations, flashed and killed several fleeing soldiers on the spot, barely managing to regain his footing. The bandits, relying on their familiarity with the terrain, launched a desperate counterattack.

But at this very moment—

"kill!"

Wang Zhonghua led his troops in a surprise attack from the rear!

"Snowy Chant" flashed like a bolt of lightning, sweeping across the battlefield, and blood splattered from the necks of three bandits simultaneously! Qin Tiedan stood guard beside him like an iron tower, his iron staff sweeping across the battlefield, causing bones to crack and flesh to tear wherever it passed. Du Ziteng led the elite "Dark Arrows" to roam and snipe, their crossbow bolts targeting the leaders and archers, each shot hitting its mark precisely.

Attacked from both sides, caught in a pincer movement!

The Zoroastrians' defenses collapsed instantly.

"Those who desecrate the sacred flame shall die!"

With bloodshot eyes, the bandit leader finally spotted Wang Zhonghua amidst the chaos. He brandished his ghost-head saber, transforming it into a crimson halo, slicing through the fleeing bandits as he charged forward!

Wang Zhonghua parried with his sword.

"clang!"

The two blades clashed, sparks flying! The force of the "Cursing Eight Nations" sword was immense, making Wang Zhonghua's hand go numb. But instead of retreating, he advanced, his "Snowy Chant" sword sliding down the blade of the Ghost Head Saber, aiming straight for the fingers of the "Cursing Eight Nations" sword-wielding man!

The man who had cursed the Eight Nations was horrified and sheathed his sword, only to see Wang Zhonghua suddenly change his stance, slashing at his ribs from an uncanny angle! This swordsmanship was unheard of, as fast as lightning and as ruthless as a venomous snake!

"puff--"

The blade sliced ​​through, and a spray of blood erupted from the side of the man who had cursed the Eight Kingdoms! He staggered back, his scarred face filled with horror: "What kind of swordsmanship is that?!"

Wang Zhonghua did not answer, and the sword flashed again.

The Zoroastrians were now like frightened birds, completely incapable of organizing an effective resistance...

Lu Lao Jiu is furious!

Lu Lao Jiu has made a move!

That slender figure arrived like a ghost, the Sacred Flame Scepter tracing an eerie azure arc through the snowstorm, three points faster than the blade used to curse the Eight Nations, aimed straight for Wang Zhonghua's throat! Wang Zhonghua's pupils constricted, and his "Snow Chant" blade flipped abruptly, narrowly blocking the Sacred Flame Stone at the top of the scepter. Amidst the ear-piercing scraping sound of weapons clashing, he was horrified to discover that the scepter head concealed a mechanism; seven poisoned steel needles sprang out from around the Sacred Flame Stone with a "whoosh," their chilling blue light almost grazing his neck!

"You brat, you've ruined my Sacred Flame Altar! Pay with your life!" Lu Laojiu's voice was like a venomous snake's hiss. His withered left hand had already drawn a snake-shaped soft sword from the hidden slot of his scepter. The blade was as thin as a cicada's wing, gleaming with a ghostly green light in the wind and snow. This old demon's figure was extremely strange. Although he appeared thin, each of his sword strikes carried immense force. The tip of the sword spewed out phosphorescent ghost fire, and even the flying snow was scorched and smelled bad wherever it passed.

Wang Zhonghua dared not be careless. He unleashed the "Eight Blades of Breaking the Edge," a technique renowned throughout the land in his previous life. Under Master Huiming's guidance, the "Eight Blades of Breaking the Edge" had long been his "martial arts secret," the blade light layered like frost and snow. However, Lu Laojiu's Fire Worshiping Demon Art had reached its pinnacle. His serpentine soft sword could even pierce through the gaps in the blade net, each strike aimed at a vital acupoint on Wang Zhonghua's body. Even more terrifying, the Sacred Fire Scepter in his left hand moved with incredible speed. The poison needles at the tip of the scepter and the ghostly fire at the tip of the sword worked together seamlessly, one close, one far; one hard, one soft, forcing Wang Zhonghua to retreat repeatedly!

"Damn it!" Qin Tiedan roared, his iron staff slamming down with immense force towards Lu Laojiu's head. The old demon didn't even turn his head; a burst of phosphorescent fire erupted from the end of his staff, forcing Qin Tiedan to withdraw his staff in self-defense. In that split second of distraction, Lu Laojiu's soft sword swiftly wrapped around the blade of the Snow Serenade Blade. Using the momentum, he soared like an eagle, flipping over Wang Zhonghua's head and hurtling towards Du Ziteng, who was sniping at the Zoroastrian leader!

"Not good!" Wang Zhonghua's blade flashed, but he only managed to slice off half of Lu Laojiu's dark red cloak. Du Ziteng raised his crossbow to fire, but the serpentine soft sword had already coiled around his neck like a living thing. Lu Laojiu's chilling voice rang in his ears: "You lackeys of the imperial court, die—"

In the nick of time, Wang Zhonghua actually threw the Snow Chant Blade! The blade flashed like a meteor across the sky, forcing Lu Laojiu to retract his sword and defend, knocking the long blade away with a clang. However, the moment he landed, a sinister smile curled at the corner of his mouth—he hadn't intended to kill Du Ziteng in the first place; this attack was merely to seize the high ground. Standing atop the ruined altar, he slammed his scepter against the bluestone slab beneath his feet, and with a deafening roar, more than twenty Fire Worshiping Assassins clad in crimson flame armor rose from the ground!

"Form ranks! Holy Flame Guards of the Cult Leader!" The scarred man from the Eight Kingdoms grinned maliciously, his ghost-headed saber blocking the path of King Zhonghua.

These assassins were puppets painstakingly crafted by Lu Laojiu over ten years. Each one had eyes blazing with green fire, fearless of death, and their heavy armor was covered in poisonous barbs. They protected Lu Laojiu like an iron fortress, their long-handled battle axes and poisoned crossbow bolts forming a deadly net. Wang Zhonghua picked up his "Snow Chant" sword again and engaged Qin Tiedan in a desperate battle, finding himself locked in a fierce struggle.

"Thud—" A battle axe grazed Wang Zhonghua's left shoulder, spraying blood. Qin Tiedan swept his iron rod across three assassins, but their relentless counterattack left his hands split open. Du Ziteng's crossbow bolts struck the heavy armor, only sending sparks flying; the puppets' defenses were terrifying.

Lu Laojiu stood in the center of the formation, his face, which resembled a demonic bodhisattva, becoming even more ferocious in the phosphorescent light: "Today we will take your heads first, and another day we will wash Caizhou and Chenzhou in blood and march straight to Bianjing!" He raised his scepter high, about to order a general attack, when suddenly he heard a sharp whistle coming from the direction of the water fortress—it was the signal for the agreed retreat!

The old demon's eyes flickered as he instantly weighed the pros and cons. He stared menacingly at the blood-soaked Wang Zhonghua, then grinned, revealing a set of yellowed, sharp teeth: "Boy, you weren't meant to die tonight. But remember, the sacred fire of the Fire Worship Cult will begin burning from your entire family!"

Before he finished speaking, he suddenly plunged his scepter into the crevice of the altar, and the sacred fire stone at the top of the scepter exploded with a deafening roar! Poisonous smoke and phosphorescent flames instantly enveloped the entire area, forming a deathly fog with the help of the wind and snow. Wang Zhonghua held his breath and retreated hastily, but still inhaled a trace of poisonous gas, feeling as if his internal organs were burning.

"Chase!" He held his breath, suppressing the poison, and charged into the smoke with his sword. But all he heard from the poisonous fog was the maniacal laughter of the Eight Kingdoms: "Want to keep the leader? Get past me first!" The ghost-headed sword danced like a blood-red halo, a desperate fight to the death.

As Wang Zhonghua cleaved back the eight nations with a single strike and broke through the poisonous fog, he saw Lu Laojiu's slender figure leap onto the speedboat. The Old Demon stood at the stern, his scepter broken, yet still pointed at him with a throat-slitting gesture. His vulture-like eyes gleamed with a venomous green light in the wind and snow, as if saying: Just wait, this grudge will be repaid a hundredfold.

Like an arrow released from a bow, the speedboat vanished in an instant into the vast, snowy expanse of Qinxiang Lake.

Wang Zhonghua stood on the dock, leaning on his sword, blood streaming down his shoulder, yet he seemed oblivious. He stared intently at the dark lake, feeling a profound chill for the first time—this old devil was not only strangely skilled in martial arts, but even more terrifying was his cunning and ruthless ability to assess situations. Although he had severely damaged the Zoroastrian Cult tonight, letting a tiger return to the mountains would bring endless trouble!

Just as Wang Zhonghua led the left flank vanguard like divine soldiers descending from the sky, rappelling down the steep cliff that was "difficult for even birds to cross," and heading straight for the heart of the bandit's lair.

Outside the cave, the battlefield presented yet another strange sight.

"Enemy attack—!"

The roars of the sentries on the stockade wall and the deafening battle cries rang out at the same time!

War drums thundered on the right flank, and torches flew like dragons. Zhang Biao led two thousand soldiers in a feint attack along the narrow mountain ridge. However, what happened next caused Wang Zhonghua, watching from the cliff, to shrink back in shock—

The army formation below shifted abruptly with the sound of drums: the front-line swordsmen and shield bearers abruptly halted, their shields interlocking to form an impenetrable wall; twelve-foot-long spears shot out like a forest, while archers and crossbowmen in the rear unleashed a barrage of arrows, each with a precisely calculated arc of death, covering the stockade walls. Even more terrifying was the roar of several ballistae; massive crossbows, as thick as a child's arm, pounded against the stockade gate, sending splinters of wood and metal flying everywhere!

"This is... the true art of war!"

Wang Zhonghua, who had just defeated the bandit leader and was now watching from outside the cave, was utterly shaken. All the imaginings he had gained from movies and games in his previous life paled in comparison to this ruthless and efficient killing machine. His fingers, gripping "Snow Chant," turned slightly white—he realized that individual bravery was so insignificant before such a steel torrent; to survive in this chaotic world, one had to master the power of such a military formation!

The bandit stronghold was in complete chaos. In their disorientation, the bandits unleashed a flurry of sword strikes, instantly killing several fleeing soldiers: "Deserters in the face of battle, kill, kill, kill!"

The bloody crackdown temporarily stabilized the situation, but the bandits, taking advantage of the terrain, launched a desperate counterattack. Wang Zhonghua led his troops in a fierce charge, the "Snowy Chant" blade flashing and waves of blood surging. Qin Tiedan stood like an iron tower, his iron cudgel sweeping across the battlefield. Du Ziteng led the "Dark Arrows," roaming and sniping, targeting the leaders and archers.

The battle was exceptionally fierce. The wind and snow carried the stench of blood, and the clashing of swords and the cries of the dying echoed endlessly. Just as the government troops were about to encircle them, the Eight Kingdoms suddenly escorted Lu Lao Jiu towards a certain spot in the water fortress. The vast Qin Xiang Lake, stretching five hundred miles, rarely froze completely even in winter; that was their last hiding place and escape route!

A waterway has mysteriously appeared in Qinxiang Lake at the foot of the mountain. Could it be that Jiang Ping's naval forces are all corrupt officials?

"Jiang Ping is behind this!" Wang Zhonghua instantly realized and led his troops in hot pursuit.

They were too late. Lu Laojiu and the others jumped onto the speedboat, cursed the eight nations, cut the mooring ropes, and the boat quickly disappeared into the snowy lake.

Wang Zhonghua stood on the dock, gazing at the dark lake surface as he heavily pounded on the wooden stakes. Although this battle nearly annihilated the bandits, the ringleader escaped, posing endless future threats.

"Clean up the battlefield! Report to the Defense Commissioner of Di immediately—" His voice was as cold and resolute as iron, "The bandit leader, Lu Laojiu, and the Eight-Nation Cursing... escaped by boat!"