The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

The first arrow wasn't aimed at a person, but at a lamp.

Duan Gong is growing rapidly after experiencing numerous battles. He releases the bowstring, and the eagle-feathered arrow, tempered with the killing intent of three days and nights, tears through the night sky and accurately pierces the swaying "King" character lantern.

The light was suddenly extinguished.

In an instant, darkness closed its massive jaws like a monstrous beast, swallowing everything.

Immediately afterwards, the bowstring vibrated like the whispers of death.

Arrows whistled down from the beacon tower on the north bank, their sharp, cold whistling sound piercing the air, precisely striking the throats, hearts, and eye sockets of every thug charging at the forefront and shouting the loudest!

"ah--!!!"

The first scream ripped through the night sky, followed by a second, a third, and a continuous wailing.

The seven or eight ruthless bandits at the forefront, like harvested wheat stalks, suddenly stiffened and fell straight down, splashing up a large amount of mud and water.

"Don't panic! Charge!" Sun Kui roared, his eyes bloodshot, brandishing his knife. "How many of them are there? Crush them all!"

Before the words were finished—

Suddenly, the ground beneath my feet gave way to emptiness.

"not good--!"

"Ah—! My leg!"

"A trap! A trap—!"

The dozen or so forwards fell into the pit almost simultaneously. Sharpened wooden stakes at the bottom of the pit mercilessly pierced their feet and calves, causing screams to rise sharply, as shrill as pigs being slaughtered. Some struggled to climb out, but with each effort, the barbs of the stakes dug even deeper into their flesh, causing them to convulse in agony. They could only lie on the edge of the pit, emitting wild, animalistic howls.

Those who had narrowly escaped the pit were still in shock when they tripped over their own feet again—Lu Maoyi's reconnaissance team was on the move!

Like true demons of the night, they emerged from the reeds like ghosts, rolling along the ground, their short knives and daggers aimed at their lower bodies! Wherever the blades flashed, the sound of tendons snapping was incessant, like taut ropes breaking one by one.

"My feet! My feet—!"

"I can't see them! Where are they!"

The darkness was amplified infinitely by fear. These usually fearless desperados could not even catch a glimpse of their enemies. They could only hear the screams of their comrades, feel the sharp pain in their feet, lose their balance, and fall heavily into the cold mud.

Lu Maoyi severed one of the thugs' Achilles tendons with a single stroke, then rolled away to avoid a blade slashing from the side. He was no longer the boy who only knew how to hide in the shadows and fire arrows. Wang Zhonghua had taught him: "The first principle of an assassin is not killing, but returning alive." He remembered it. At this moment, he was like a slippery eel, weaving through the chaotic crowd. With each flash of his blade, someone would fall with a scream.

Sun Kui has completely gone mad!

He ignored everything, stepping on the groaning bodies of his men—some of whose fingers he had broken, emitting inhuman screams—but he paid no heed, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the awning boat so close at hand!

He wants to kill! He wants to see blood!

"Bang!"

He kicked open the cabin door.

The cabin was completely empty.

There were only mountains of haystacks, and tung oil soaked through the haystacks, emitting a strong, pungent odor.

Without gunpowder, landmines, or grenades, these things remained unrealized in Wang Zhonghua's dream.

There was only a hut soaked in tung oil.

Duan Gong slowly stood up on the beacon tower.

He nocked his last arrow—the arrowhead was wrapped in linen soaked in grease.

Zhang Simao, standing beside him, silently handed him a tinderbox.

Duan Gong took it and lit the arrowhead.

The flames licked at the night wind, making a soft crackling sound.

He drew the bowstring and released the arrow.

The rocket streaked across the night sky, leaving a brilliant golden-red trail, and like a falling meteor, it precisely struck the open cabin.

"boom--!"

When tung oil comes into contact with fire, it instantly turns into a sea of ​​flames!

Flames erupted from the cabin doors and windows, and the entire awning boat transformed into a giant torch in the blink of an eye! The intense heat swept across the riverbank, illuminating the surroundings as bright as day!

Sun Kui roared and rolled out of the cabin, his whole body engulfed in flames! Like a burning human torch, he tumbled wildly on the riverbank, his heart-wrenching screams piercing the night sky. Only when he rolled into the river with a "hiss" and a cloud of white steam rose did he stagger to his feet, dragging his charred and smoking body.

Half of his face was burned and peeled back, revealing the scarlet muscles beneath. His hair was charred and bald, and only half of his left ear remained. He leaned on the almost deformed ghost-head knife, its blade blackened by the flames, yet he still gripped it tightly in his hand.

He trembled all over, but stubbornly refused to fall.

He roared hoarsely, his throat completely cracked, like two pieces of rusted iron rubbing together: "Wang—Zhong—Hua—! Get the hell out here—!"

In the firelight, his face no longer resembled a human, yet it was grotesquely hideous, like a vengeful ghost.

South bank.

Torches suddenly lit up, one row, two rows, three rows.

Qin Tiedan, Ma Nao, and others slowly walked down the slope. Behind him, thirty main members of the "Dark Arrow" gang stood in three rows, their long staffs striking the ground in unison.

"Thump, thump, thump."

The dull thud of the iron mace striking the soil was rhythmic and heavy, like the slow beating of a war drum.

Thirty dark figures advanced silently, their oppressive presence almost tangible, crushing the groaning, struggling remnants of the army on the riverbank inch by inch.

Of Sun Kui's thirty-six mad dogs, fewer than ten were still standing. They stared at the silently advancing black wall of men, at those eyes that, in the firelight, were expressionless but filled with murderous intent, and finally collapsed.

The knife slipped from his hand.

"I'm not fighting anymore... I'm not fighting anymore!"

"Spare me! Spare me!"

Those who knelt and begged for mercy kowtowed repeatedly; those who cried and fled had only run a few steps before their feet were pierced by barbed wire, and they fell to the ground screaming, rolling and howling in the mud.

Those ruthless killers who once committed murder without blinking an eye are now no different from pigs and sheep waiting to be slaughtered.

Sun Kui did not turn around.

He leaned on his knife, his body covered in blood, half of his face charred black, yet he still stared intently at the figure approaching on the slope.

Qin Tiedan stopped three zhang in front of him.

The firelight illuminated his burly body, casting a long shadow on the ground. He carried the forty-pound iron rod in his bare hands, the tip of the rod dangling to the ground, his expression calm to the point of pity.

He looked at Sun Kui.

That mad dog was no longer human. Yet it was still smiling—its mouth stretched open, revealing bloodstained teeth, forming an extremely ferocious and terrifying "smile".

"Where's Wang Zhonghua?" he asked hoarsely, each word laced with blood. "Call him here. I want to fight him one-on-one."

Qin Tiedan did not answer, but just looked at him quietly.

The flickering firelight cast their shadows onto the scorched riverbank.

"You are not worthy," Qin Tiedan said.

The voice was not loud, even somewhat muffled. Yet it was like a dull knife, scraping away at Sun Kui's remaining dignity inch by inch.

Sun Kui shuddered. For the first time, a trace of confusion flashed in his bloodshot eyes, which had long been soaked in alcohol and killing.

He remembered something.

My mother said, "Kui'er, when you fight with someone, you always have to decide who wins and who loses. But in this world, some wins and losses are still losses no matter how you decide them."

He didn't understand. Now, he seemed to understand a little.

But he doesn't admit it.

"Then I'll chop you up first—!"

He roared, gathering his last remaining, burning strength, and with a desperate, upward slash of his ghost-headed blade, he was determined to perish together with his opponent!

The blade was sharp and fierce, yet it still produced the sound of thunder and lightning!

Qin Tiedan's pupils contracted slightly.

He did not back down.

He faced the knife, took a sudden step, twisted his waist, and swung his stick!

"clang--!!!"

The deafening roar was like an ancient temple bell struck by a giant log! The metallic clang echoed back and forth in the river bend, startling the roosting birds deep in the reeds, which fluttered and filled the night sky.

Sun Kui's ghost-headed saber flew out of his hand, spinning as it flew, the blade reflecting the firelight like a burning moth, tracing a long parabola before finally "thudding" into the muddy ground in the distance, the hilt still trembling.

His entire right arm hung limply, his wrist and elbow joints shattered.

He didn't howl, but instead made strange gurgling sounds from his throat, like a mad dog's last moments of madness.

Then, he used his left hand to reach for the short dagger at his waist.

A hint of genuine anger flashed in Qin Tiedan's eyes.

He sidestepped the cold glint, and the iron rod, like a venomous dragon emerging from its cave, precisely struck his left shoulder.

"Snap!"

Another crisp crack, as clear as a withered branch breaking. Sun Kui's left arm was also ruined, hanging limply at his side, unable to exert any strength anymore.

Qin Tiedan put away his staff.

He thought Sun Kui would fall.

But the mad dog, swaying and with bent knees, stubbornly refused to kneel. It held its head against the air, like a dying wild bull, refusing to bow its head.

Qin Tiedan remained silent for a moment.

Then he kicked out.

Right in the center of the chest and abdomen.

Sun Kui flew backward like a burlap sack, tracing an arc in the air before crashing into the river with a "plop," creating a huge splash.

The river was not deep, only waist-deep.

He struggled, using his knees to push against the muddy riverbed, trying to stand up. His bloodshot eyes were fixed on Qin Tiedan on the bank, filled with madness, sorrow, and resentment.

Water streamed down his charred face, washing away the blood and revealing a faint, long-faded scar—a mark from a mischievous fall when he was a child, which his mother had painstakingly treated with medicine for half a month.

Qin Tiedan strode across the water.

The river was knee-deep and icy cold. He took each step with extreme steadiness and weight.

He walked up to Sun Kui and looked down at the man who was soaking in blood and was no longer recognizable as a human.

"He's a tough guy." His voice was deep, without sarcasm, only a statement, "Unfortunately, he followed the wrong person and went down the wrong path."

Sun Kui tilted his head back, his face, now devoid of expression, facing him. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something.

Qin Tiedan did not ask him what he wanted to say.

He held the iron rod horizontally, gently pressing the tip against Sun Kui's chest—the Tanzhong acupoint.

With just a little more force, the mad dog's heart would be shattered, and it would die silently, or even quickly.

Sun Kui closed his eyes.

His mouth was still open, his Adam's apple bobbing, but no sound came out. Only faint, broken breaths could be heard, as if he were calling for someone.

Qin Tiedan bent down.

"……mother."

The breathy sound finally took shape, as light as a baby's babbling.

Qin Tiedan's hand stopped.

He stared at Sun Kui's disfigured face for a long time.

Then, he put the iron rod away.

"Tie him up tight." He turned around and instructed the team members who followed him, his voice a little hoarse, "Don't tie him too tight, if you tie him too tight... his mother might not recognize him."

Specially made cowhide and wire ropes bound Sun Kui like a pig waiting to be slaughtered. He was dragged ashore and thrown into the muddy riverbed, like a stranded, dying fish.