Frontier Hero: From Receiving a Convicted Woman to Becoming an Emperor for All Time

A masked man in black stood in the middle of the mountain path, the tip of his knife pointing diagonally at the ground.

He didn't speak, but the murderous aura he exuded was overwhelming. It wasn't bluffing; it was the aura of someone who had truly survived mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

Shen Chuxiao narrowed his eyes.

He had seen many masters, but the person in front of him was different.

The opponent was almost flawless, and with his center of gravity slightly lowered, the tip of his blade blocked all his paths of advance.

"Do you know what you just burned?" The masked man's voice was very low, so low it sounded like it was being ground out from the depths of his throat.

"The barbarians' food supplies."

Shen Chuxiao, having gotten the better deal, feigned innocence, even with a slight smile on his lips.

"Yes, the supply line, the provisions for three thousand troops," the masked man repeated, each word seemingly squeezed out from between his teeth, "and you burned it all down with a single fire."

His voice began to tremble.

It wasn't fear, it was anger—the kind of almost insane anger that comes from having everything you've painstakingly built up uprooted by an outsider.

"Do you know how long I've waited for this battle?" His voice suddenly rose. "Three years! A full three years! Do you know how I've spent these three years?"

He became more and more agitated as he spoke, his chest heaving violently, as if he was trying to suppress something, but he couldn't.

"The original plan was flawless. As long as the Black Stone tribe killed Lu Chenzhou, I could become the commander of Ling Shuang Pass. But your fire has destroyed three years of my hard work! Completely destroyed!"

When he said the last two words, his voice had turned into a roar.

Then he moved.

Incredibly fast.

Shen Chuxiao only saw the other person's shoulder sag slightly, and the next second, the blade was already in front of him.

That wasn't a brute-force chop, but an extreme speed combined with a precise angle—the blade slashed down from an angle, heading straight for his left carotid artery.

Shen Chuxiao suddenly turned to the side. The blade grazed his ear, the wind it generated stinging his cheek. He quickly stepped back three paces, barely dodging the first strike.

The masked man gave him no chance to catch his breath.

The instant his first strike missed, he flicked his wrist, the blade arcing through the air before slashing horizontally towards Shen Chuxiao's waist. This strike was even faster than the previous one, as if he had calculated Shen Chuxiao's retreating trajectory beforehand.

Shen Chuxiao didn't have time to completely dodge, so he could only suddenly pull in his stomach and use the armor on his left arm to block it.

"clang--"

The clang of metal rang out, and sparks flew everywhere.

A deep gash was slashed through the armor, and a sharp pain shot through my left arm. Although no bones were broken, my entire arm was numb from the shock, and I couldn't lift it for a moment.

Shen Chuxiao felt a chill run down his spine.

This man's swordsmanship was unconventional—fast and ruthless, each strike aimed at a vital point, without any superfluous or fancy movements. This was a battlefield killing technique, and the most elite kind at that.

Near Ling Shuang Pass, you can count the number of people with such skills on one hand.

The masked man gave him no time to think, and the third slash came down immediately.

The blade cut through the wind with a sharp whistling sound.

This time, Shen Chuxiao didn't retreat; instead, he charged forward to meet the blade. Fighting such a master, simply retreating only leads to death—you must get close and disrupt their rhythm.

He ducked sharply the moment the blade fell, the blade sweeping across his head and severing several strands of hair. At the same time, his right hand reached for the dagger at his waist, pulled it out, and stabbed it into the masked man's abdomen.

The masked man snorted coldly and suddenly raised his knee, slamming it into Shen Chuxiao's wrist.

The dagger flew out of his hand and landed in the grass beside the mountain path with a muffled thud.

Without hesitation, Shen Chuxiao immediately retreated, creating distance once more. His right wrist was throbbing with pain from the impact; his thumb and forefinger were split open, and blood dripped down his fingers, falling drop by drop onto the withered grass.

The masked man sneered, the tip of his knife once again aimed at Shen Chuxiao's throat: "Is that all you've got? You dared to burn my supplies? This time I won't let you off the hook. I'll tear you to pieces and let everyone see what happens when you oppose me."

Shen Chuxiao didn't speak, but simply adjusted his breathing.

He was waiting for an opportunity.

The opponent's swordsmanship is indeed strong; he has almost no chance of winning in a head-on confrontation.

But even masters have their weaknesses—this kind of person is too confident, so confident that they don't think a young person can threaten them. Those last few strikes, while ruthless, clearly didn't come from the masked man's full strength; he was toying with his prey.

This disregard is an opportunity.

Shen Chuxiao took a deep breath and launched an attack.

He lunged forward, drawing a short knife from his waist with his right hand, and thrust it straight at the masked man's face. The move looked fierce, but he held back some of his strength—it was a feint.

The masked man was indeed drawn to the attack, and with a flick of his blade, he parried the short knife.

In that instant, Shen Chuxiao drew a repeating crossbow from his waist with his left hand. Instead of firing from the front, he used the rotation of his body to conceal the crossbow at his side. When the two were closest and the masked man's blade was still in its upward trajectory and he had no time to react, he suddenly pulled the trigger.

"Whoosh whoosh-"

Three crossbow bolts were fired in quick succession, at extremely tricky angles: one aimed straight for the throat, one for the chest, and the last for the thigh.

The masked man reacted incredibly quickly.

He began to dodge the instant he heard the trigger—his body jerked backward, the arrow grazing his chin and drawing a trail of blood; at the same time, his blade was held across his chest, and a second crossbow bolt struck the blade with a crisp metallic clang.

But he didn't completely dodge the third arrow.

The arrow pierced deep into his outer thigh, penetrating three inches into the flesh. Blood immediately gushed out, flowing down his calf and pooling into a small dark red puddle in the soil beneath his feet.

The masked man grunted, his body swayed, and he knelt on one knee. But he gritted his teeth, stubbornly refusing to fall, using his long sword as a support, staring intently at Shen Chuxiao. His eyes were bloodshot, like a trapped beast cornered at the end of its rope.

Shen Chuxiao did not give him any chance.

He tossed aside his dagger, strode over, and kicked the long sword still clutched in the masked man's hand. The sword tumbled through the air a few times before crashing to a rock some distance away.

Then he bent down and reached out to tear off the mask.

A face in his forties appeared.

With a fair complexion, a light beard, and fine lines around his eyes, his appearance could even be described as refined. But at this moment, his face was filled with ferocity and disbelief—he couldn't believe that he had lost to a young man, to an unknown nobody.

Shen Chuxiao straightened up, took two steps back, and looked down at the person kneeling on the ground.

Rapid footsteps sounded behind him. Tie Niu, his nerves on edge, stood three steps away, hand on his knife hilt, barely daring to breathe. Finally, he dared to approach and take a look. When his gaze fell upon that face, he froze, as if struck by lightning.

"Zhou...Deputy General Zhou?!" Tie Niu's voice trembled, his lips shaking, and all the color drained from his face. "This...how is this possible? Deputy General Zhou, how could you...how could you be here?"

Ling Shuangguan, Zhou Henian.

In this pass, this name carries second only weight to Lu Chenzhou.

He joined the army at the age of sixteen and spent more than twenty years fighting on the frontier, commanding a large army and enjoying extremely high prestige within the military. Before Lu Chenzhou came to Ling Shuang Pass, he was the de facto master of this place.

Now, this number two figure of Ling Shuang Pass is kneeling on the mountain path, covered in blood, with a crossbow bolt stuck in his thigh, and is being trampled under Shen Chuxiao's feet.

Tie Niu felt like his head was about to explode.

He looked at Zhou Henian, then at Shen Chuxiao, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly before finally managing to squeeze out a complete sentence: "Deputy General Zhou, you and the barbarian..."

He couldn't continue.

Because the answer is already clearly laid out before us.

Zhou Henian didn't even look at Tie Niu.

From beginning to end, his gaze never left Shen Chuxiao.

He raised his head and stared intently at the young man in front of him. There was no shame or fear in his eyes, only a pure, intense hatred that was almost tangible.

That look sent chills down Tie Niu's spine—he had never seen such an expression on anyone's face before. It wasn't anger, nor resentment, but a utter madness born from having destroyed everything and no longer caring about anything.

Shen Chuxiao looked down at Zhou Henian, his voice not loud, but every word was clear and distinct, like nails driven into the other's ears:

"Your three years of hard work, I burned it all. Don't you hate me?"

Zhou Henian did not speak.

But his teeth were clenched so hard they were grinding together, and the muscles in his cheeks bulged out. His hands were clenched into fists, his nails digging into his flesh, and blood seeped from between his fingers, dripping onto the dry soil.

He hates.

I'm so angry I'm going crazy.