Wandering Swordsman |

The night was as dark as ink, heavily spilled across the desolate plain.

The campfire crackled in the center of the camp, sparks rising in the wind before suddenly going out, like fleeting hopes in the face of fate.

Shen Mo sat quietly by the fire, his black robes half-hidden in the shadows. His gaze swept over the surroundings with an unwavering intensity, like a deep pool. There was no wind in the forest, yet a sense of impending doom lurked beneath the surface; the occasional howl of wolves in the distance added to the chilling atmosphere.

Hua Tianyou sat on the other side, his silver robe glowing a warm gold in the firelight. He held a rough earthenware bowl in his hands, filled with freshly boiled wild vegetable soup. The steam rose gently, creating the illusion of a peaceful, everyday life.

The defeated general sat opposite them, his armor long since removed, wearing only a tattered fur coat, with a blood-soaked strip of cloth wrapped around his left arm.

His face was thin, with high brow bones and deep-set eyes, yet he still exuded an air of nobility that had not been extinguished.

At this moment, he was poking at the fire with his head down, looking tired and wary, like a wounded but unwilling lone wolf.

"How shall I address you?" Hua Tianyou finally spoke, his voice as gentle as ever, yet carrying an undeniable weight.

The man raised his eyes, his gaze lingering on Hua Tianyou's face for a moment, as if judging whether it was true or false, before finally whispering, "Louis Loren, the eldest son of Viscount Louis of Ruolan City..."

"Loren..." Hua Tianyou repeated the name softly, as if weighing its weight on his tongue, "As the eldest son, why did you go to war with Viscount Louis's army?"

Loren gave a bitter laugh, a hint of pain flashing in his eyes: "My father is old and senile, and he favors his second son, Edgar. Three years ago, he actually announced in public that Edgar would succeed him, on the grounds that... I am 'fiery-tempered and incapable of maintaining the status quo'."

He paused, his voice growing colder, "The ridiculous thing is that just seven days after the abdication ceremony, my father died suddenly in his bedchamber—the doctor said it was a sudden heart attack, but everyone knows that only Edgar was by his side that night."

A spark burst from the campfire, reflecting a chilling glint in his eyes.

"The moment my father died, Edgar seized power. First, he purged my cronies from the city's garrison, then he tripled the salt and iron taxes and imposed heavy agricultural burdens, forcing the people to sell their children and causing widespread resentment. And what about himself?" Loren gritted his teeth, his fingers digging deep into his palms. "He feasted in the golden palace every day, kept a hundred dancing girls, and even laid out carpets in the stables!"

He suddenly looked up and stared directly at Hua Tianyou: "I had already retired to the countryside, only wanting to preserve my life and live a peaceful life. But last month, an old farmer knelt in front of my door, crying and telling me that his daughter had been forcibly taken into slavery by tax collectors... At that moment, I knew that if I remained silent, I would be letting down my ancestors."

"So you raised an army in rebellion?" Shen Mo suddenly spoke, his voice low and deep, like the night wind blowing through the forest.

"Yes." Loren nodded, a faint but stubborn fire burning in his eyes. "I rallied my old troops, contacted the suffering people, and in just one month, I gathered five hundred soldiers. We captured two tax granaries, opened them to distribute grain, and the people welcomed us with open arms... But in the end..." His voice choked as he gazed at the dark wilderness in the distance, "The regular army is well-trained and well-equipped. Although we have the hearts of the people, we lack strong armor and sharp weapons. In today's battle, of the five hundred righteous men, only a little over one hundred riders remain..."

The firelight cast varying shadows on his face, revealing a young yet weathered face etched with the sorrow of ideals crushed by reality.

Hua Tianyou remained silent for a long time, then suddenly sighed softly: "You brothers killed each other... If Viscount Louis were alive, would he be at peace?"

Loren was taken aback, then gave a bitter laugh: "If he truly cared about blood ties, how could he have pushed me into the abyss with his own hands? In the Six Kingdoms, it is common for brothers to kill each other for titles, but it is rare to see someone like Edgar—whose title was already secure, yet he still wanted to exterminate everyone, even at the cost of slaughtering the commoners supported by his brother."

He looked at Hua Tianyou, a glimmer of hope suddenly appearing in his eyes: "Since you two are Holy Envoys of the Holy See, would you be willing to uphold justice for the people of Ruolan?"

Hua Tianyou lowered his eyes, his fingertips gently tracing the rim of the ceramic bowl, as if deep in thought. After a moment, he raised his eyes, his gaze clear yet distant: "The Vatican does not concern itself with secular power. Moreover..." He paused, his voice almost inaudible, "...we ourselves are also people walking on the edge of a knife."

Upon hearing this, Loren's eyes dimmed, but he wasn't disappointed. He simply nodded slowly, muttering to himself, "Indeed... in this world, who isn't just a clay Bodhisattva crossing the river?"

The night grew deeper. The wind stirred up ashes, which swirled between the three of them before quietly dissipating.

......

The night was as dark as ink, and all was silent except for the faint crackling of the embers of the campfire in the wind, like the earth's last breath.

In the camp, Loren's remnants lay scattered against rocks and withered trees, their armor still on, their swords never leaving their hands, even their dreams filled with trepidation.

Some huddled together, muttering to themselves; others gripped the reins tightly, their knuckles turning white—they were no longer soldiers, but desperate outlaws driven to the brink by fate.

Just as the deathly silence was about to freeze into ice—a burst of fire suddenly erupted on the distant horizon, like the gates of hell opening wide.

Immediately afterwards, the thunderous sound of horses' hooves tore through the night, approaching from afar and causing the ground to tremble slightly. Even the ashes of the campfire were shaken into the air, fluttering like black butterflies.

"Pursuers!" a night watchman immediately warned.

Upon hearing this news, the makeshift camp erupted in chaos!

"Quickly! Mount up!"

"Shields forward!"

"Don't carry anything too heavy; your life is the priority!"

Exclamations, the clanging of armor, and the neighing of warhorses mingled together in a chaotic scene, as tumultuous as boiling water splashed on snow.

Loren leaped to his feet, his left arm wound reopening, blood staining his fur coat, but ignoring the pain, he grabbed his helmet and shouted sharply, "Form ranks immediately! Retreat north!"

However, amidst this chaos and war, only the two remained steadfast.

Beside the campfire, Hua Tianyou slowly opened his eyes, a flash of silver light in them disappearing in an instant, like a still pool under the moonlight.

He didn't even change his posture, but his fingertips lightly brushed the folds of his silver robe on his knees, as if brushing away a speck of dust.

Shen Mo sat cross-legged on a blue stone three steps away, his eyes slightly closed and his breathing long and even.

At that moment, he opened his eyes, his gaze sharp as a blade, piercing through the darkness and striking the charging fire dragon—eight hundred riders? Under the torchlight, their black-scaled heavy armor gleamed coldly, the standard equipment of Ruolan City's regular army. The leader held aloft the Ruolan territory flag, its iron-faced blade menacing, radiating murderous intent.

The two remained calm, not even exchanging glances, as if the surging eight hundred iron cavalry were a trivial matter.

However, the calmness displayed by the two men went unnoticed by Loren and his group. Their eyes were fixed on the approaching death; they had no time to observe the expressions of the two "missionaries."

The flames drew ever closer, and the sound of horses' hooves thundered like a thousand drums beating in unison, causing the earth to tremble.

The pursuers were now clearly visible – all clad in armor and wielding spears, their bows drawn taut, clearly having planned this all along to utterly crush Loren's remaining forces in this wasteland.