The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

"Pfft—"

Before the village militia guarding the wall could react, a throwing knife had already precisely severed his throat. The blood, before it could even splatter, was frozen into dark red shards by the cold wind. The bandits scaled the wall, like wolves pouncing on a flock of sheep; in the flash of their blades, three more village militiamen fell silently, their wide-open eyes still frozen in the bewilderment of death.

"Enemy attack—!"

Finally, one of the village militiamen, lying in a pool of blood, used his last strength to blow the horn around his neck. The mournful sound of the horn tore through the deathly silence of the snowy night, awakening the entire Wangjiagang village.

"Quickly! Protect the granary! Protect the elderly and infirm!"

Lü Maoyi—one of the backbone of "Dark Arrow"—was only nineteen years old and was currently guarding the village with a dozen or so young and strong villagers. He wore worn leather armor and held a family heirloom iron spear, the tassel of which was wet from the wind and snow, but it could not hide the burning anger in his eyes.

"Instructor Lü, the bandits have broken through the wall from the east! There are quite a few of them, and they're all tough bastards!" A villager covered in blood staggered over, his left arm severed at the shoulder.

Lu Maoyi gritted his teeth, stabbed one of the bandits who charged at him to death with a single shot, and roared, "Retreat! Retreat to the ancestral hall! The walls there are high and the courtyard is deep, easy to defend and difficult to attack! Tell the old and weak to retreat to Lujia Village through the secret passage to the west!"

"Trying to leave? Too late!"

With a sharp whistle, Luo Tietou swooped down from the wall like a bullet. In mid-air, his twin blades transformed into two balls of silver light, aiming straight for Lü Maoyi's head. His lightness skill was superb, and his attacks were ruthless. His twelve-style "Whirlwind Blade Technique" had earned him a fearsome reputation in the Lushan area, and there were at least eighty or a hundred dead under his blade.

Although Lü Maoyi was decisive and resourceful, he lacked practical experience and was far weaker than Luo Tietou. He raised his spear to parry, but Luo Tietou's subtle yet powerful force caused his blood to surge, his tiger's mouth to split open, and he almost dropped the iron spear.

"Such superb marksmanship, but a bit too green!" Luo Tietou grinned maliciously, his figure swift as the wind as he circled around to Lü Maoyi's side, his serpentine scimitar slashing back, aiming straight for Lü's ribs.

At the critical moment, two local militiamen rushed to the rescue with their guns drawn, but Luo Tietou struck them with a "whirlwind sweep of leaves." As the blade flashed, two heads flew into the sky, blood splattering everywhere.

"Aaaaah—!" Lu Maoyi's eyes were bloodshot as he desperately thrust out his spear, only to have it easily deflected by Luo Tietou. The difference in their strength was like heaven and earth.

"Instructor Lü, hold on!"

Several more able-bodied men rushed forward, using their bodies to shield the bandits from their blades. One young village militiaman was hacked to the ground, but before dying, he clung tightly to a bandit's leg, shouting, "Instructor, run—!"

Outside the ancestral hall, the snow was stained red with blood. More than half of the thirty-odd local militiamen were dead or wounded, and the remaining seven or eight were forced into a corner of the courtyard by the bandits. Lü Maoyi had five or six wounds on his body, his leather armor was torn, and blood soaked half of his body. He stood leaning on his spear, panting heavily, but his eyes were like those of a wounded wolf king, showing no sign of retreat.

"You surnamed Lü, surrender!" Luo Tietou licked the blood from his knife, a black wart at the corner of his eye glistening in the firelight. His tone was mocking. "I'll spare your corpse, that'll do justice to your reputation!"

"Bullshit!" Lü Maoyi spat out a mouthful of bloody foam. "Wangjiagang only has Lü Maoyi who died in battle, not spineless cowards who surrendered!"

Before he finished speaking, he charged forward again with his gun, seemingly determined to die with his enemy.

Luo Tietou sneered, crossing his twin swords, ready to cut the young man in two. Just then—

A calm, almost indifferent voice came from the shadows of the ancestral hall:

"Mao Yi, you may step down now."

Everyone was taken aback and turned to look.

An old man, hunched over and wearing a coarse cotton-padded coat patched countless times, slowly emerged from behind the woodpile. His hair and beard were white, and his face was deeply lined, like a farmer half-buried in the earth. He leaned on a long, black spear, the shaft worn smooth and shiny from being rubbed, the tassel a faded dark red, swaying slightly in the wind and snow.

It was Wang Zhuacai, the most inconspicuous "peasant" from Wangjiagang.

"Arrest Uncle Cai?!" Lu Maoyi exclaimed in astonishment, "You..."

Wang Zhuacai didn't say anything more, but simply raised his eyelids and glanced at Luo Tietou.

That glance was calm and still, yet it seemed as if he were looking at a dead person.

Luo Tietou was taken aback at first, then burst into laughter: "Ha! An old farmer with his neck buried in the yellow earth dares to act like a hero? Old man, go back and hug your grandson! My knife doesn't discriminate between young and old—"

Before he could finish speaking, Wang Zhuacai made his move.

It wasn't a dramatic outburst; he simply took a half-step back with his left foot, and slightly raised the long, black spear, its tip pointing towards the ground, in a posture as ordinary as if he were preparing to dig in the soil.

But this extremely ordinary starting stance brought Luo Tietou's laughter to an abrupt halt.

He felt a chilling, bone-piercing killing intent, like an icicle frozen for ten thousand years, firmly fixed on his brow. It was the concentrated killing intent possessed only by top assassins who had crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

"Playing tricks!" Luo Tietou shrieked, suppressing the inexplicable chill rising in his heart. He brandished his twin swords and pounced like a ghost, unleashing his "Snowflake Covering the Top" technique at full power, aiming it at Wang Zhuacai's spirit!

The blade flashed like snow, dense and impenetrable; this was a killing move he was confident could even shred an iron plate!

Wang Zhuacai remained unmoved.

When the blade was less than three inches from the top of his head, the black spear shaft suddenly trembled, raising its head like a lurking venomous snake, and struck the point where the two curved swords intersected with perfect precision.

"bite--!"

A crisp sound, like a silver bottle shattering, flashed across the ground like lightning.

Luo Tietou felt an extremely condensed, chilling force penetrate his blade, causing his arms to go numb and his tiger's mouth to split open instantly, almost causing his curved blade to fly out of his hand! He retreated rapidly, landing in horror, his eyes staring at Wang Zhuacai as if he had seen a ghost.

"Who...who are you?!"

Wang Zhuacai remained silent, slowly raising the tip of his spear and aiming it at the black wart at the corner of Luo Tietou's eye.

The long, black spear remained completely silent in the wind and snow, as if even the wind itself shunned it. On the tassel, two faded seal characters were faintly visible—

Gentian.

"Attack together! Kill this old bastard!" Luo Tietou roared, and the dozen or so bandits he brought swarmed forward, their blades flashing and their attacks like a pack of wolves.

"Snap!"

Wang Zhuacai finally took that step.

His steps were extremely small, moving only within a small space. His hunched figure was unpredictable and elusive, like an old tree swaying in the wind on a field ridge, each sway perfectly avoiding a fatal blow. The black spear in his hand transformed into streaks of deadly black lightning, without wind or shouts. Each thrust was as simple as an old farmer swinging a hoe or an old woman drawing thread.

Yet this seemingly clumsy marksmanship is so precise it's chilling.

The spear tip aimed for the eye, the butt swept across the chest, and the shaft jerked against the wrist. Each strike landed in the most lethal and effortless spot. The bandits often only saw a flash of black light before a chill ran down their throats or chests, and before they could even scream, they collapsed limply into the snow. The wounds were tiny, but the blood instantly soaked through their clothes, blooming into dark red flowers on the snow.

The corpses piled up silently.

Luo Tietou grew increasingly terrified as he looked at this man. This was no ordinary peasant; he was clearly a top-tier assassin from the imperial palace! His marksmanship, his footwork, and his condensed, tangible killing intent could only be honed by seasoned, battle-hardened soldiers in the army!

"Get out of here!"

He dared not linger any longer, let out a sharp whistle, and led the remaining dozen or so bandits in a disheveled escape over the wall, not even bothering to pick up the bodies of his companions.

Wang Zhuacai did not pursue, but stood leaning on his spear, his breathing as steady as ever, as if he had just gone to the field to hoe a few weeds. He looked down at the blood droplets slowly dripping from the black spear tassel, the two characters "Dragon's Gallbladder" appearing even more ferocious and even more... sorrowful under the blood.

Lu Maoyi stared blankly at the usually taciturn old man who only knew how to work silently, and after a long while, he managed to say with difficulty, "Uncle Wang...you..."

Wang Zhuacai turned his head, and his deeply lined face regained the honest and simple demeanor of a farmer. He grinned as if to laugh, but only let out a hoarse sigh:

"Mao Yi, the snow is heavy. The wounded soldiers need to be carried inside quickly, lest they freeze. Remember, today's success is all thanks to you. Go help Hulu Bay. Don't tell Zhonghua about my situation."

He turned around, his back hunched, and walked step by step back into the shadows behind the woodpile. He carefully wrapped the long, black spear with tattered strips of cloth and hid it again deep in the firewood.