Wandering Swordsman |

A strange light flashed in Shen Mo's eyes. Since becoming the Heavenly Demon God, he had not encountered an opponent of equal strength, but now, upon hearing that the 'Invincible Duke' possessed such power, he could not help but feel a stir in his heart.

He glanced sideways at Hua Tianyou, his tone calm yet probing: "Heavenly Demon Lord, with your current strength... how does it compare to the Seven Stars?"

Hua Tianyou did not answer immediately upon hearing this. He turned his head to look at the eight hundred fallen cavalrymen, as if recalling the enlightening teachings his father had given him before his death, or perhaps measuring the distance between himself and the Seven Stars.

After a long silence, he finally spoke slowly, his voice low and restrained: "I don't know."

Then, he looked up at the rising sun, a hint of reminiscence and pride flashing in his eyes: "However... my father, Hua Shenyong, once suppressed his cultivation level to the same level as Wudi Gong and fought with him. They fought for three days and three nights, and in the end... it ended in a draw."

"A draw?" Shen Mo raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Yes." Hua Tianyou nodded, then added, "After that battle, the Invincible Duke and my father became close friends."

After saying this, Hua Tianyou did not say anything more, as if he was still regretting that his father and Wudi Gong had become close friends back then.

The morning breeze swept by, stirring up ashes and tattered flags.

Eight hundred corpses lay silently on the ground, as if serving as the most silent footnote to this dialogue.

Shen Mo suddenly turned around, his black robes fluttering, and strode forward: "Let's go."

Hua Tianyou was slightly taken aback, then quickly followed.

He looked at Shen Mo's back—his figure was as straight as a sword, his steps firm, as if the legend of the "Invincible Duke" he had just heard was nothing more than a passing breeze, unable to stir up the slightest ripple.

......

Outside Ruolan City, the morning mist had not yet dissipated, and a thin frost covered the ground. As the first hint of dawn appeared on the horizon, the city gate creaked open slowly, and a troop of armored guards escorted a gilded light carriage out. Seated atop the carriage was a man in brocade robes and fine garments, embroidered with lions in gold thread, toying with a blood-jade thumb ring between his fingers—it was Edgar, the newly appointed lord of Ruolan City.

He was in an excellent mood today, and a smile hadn't left his lips since dawn.

Not long ago, he personally handed over that small bottle of "Thousand Miles of Fragrance," which he had finally obtained and was worth a fortune, to Loren's mole. This fragrance was colorless and odorless, and it would not dissipate for three days after it touched one's clothes. Even if Loren hid in the deep mountains and forests, it would be like lighting a lamp in the dark, leaving him nowhere to hide.

"Eight hundred elite troops, surrounding and wiping out one hundred remnants..." Edgar squinted at the north, sneering inwardly, "Brother, you even managed to escape in such a pathetic manner, truly disgracing the name of Louis."

He had even ordered his cooks to prepare a victory feast: roasted whole deer, chilled wine, and seven-colored candied fruit brought from the south—all to be displayed on the city tower in public when the knight commander returned with Loren's head, as a warning to others.

"From this day forward, there will be no more utter rebellion against Ruolan." He lightly stroked the jewel-encrusted short sword at his waist, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "If my father could know from beyond the grave, he would understand—only with Loren's death can I find peace in Ruolan City!"

Just as I was pondering this, dust suddenly rose on the distant horizon!

A black line, like an ink snake, slithered and quickly lengthened and thickened—it was a cavalryman!

Edgar jumped to his feet, his eyes gleaming with ecstasy: "They've arrived! I didn't expect the Knight Commander to return in triumph so quickly!"

He was so excited he almost jumped off the carriage, his hands gripping the railings so tightly his knuckles turned white, his voice trembling slightly: "Quick! Go and greet them—no, wait, let them come before me in person to present their heads!"

He straightened his clothes, straightened his back, and his face was full of a smug smile of confidence, as if he could already see Loren's head rolling to his feet.

However, the accompanying scribe narrowed his eyes, his face gradually turning pale. Over fifty years old and a seasoned military commander, he immediately noticed something amiss: "My lord..." he said, his voice strained and low, "The numbers are wrong...far from eight hundred! Judging by the dust cloud, at most...no more than two hundred cavalry!"

"Nonsense!" Edgar scoffed without turning his head. "The striker must have reported the victory first! You old, blind fool, don't spoil my fun!"

The clerk wanted to speak again, but then he saw the army getting closer and closer—their armor was tattered, their flags were dragging, and their horses were thin and bony. They showed no sign of a triumphant return. They were clearly... a defeated army!

Edgar's smile finally froze.

He narrowed his eyes, staring intently at the leading figure—a man wearing a blood-stained fur coat, his left arm wrapped in cloth, his face haggard but his eyes piercing…

---It's Loren!

"Impossible!!" Edgar screamed, his voice shrill and piercing. "How is he still alive? Where is the Knight Commander? Where are the eight hundred iron cavalry he led?!"

Just then, Loren seemed to sense something, and suddenly looked up, his gaze sharp as a knife, piercing straight at the golden chariot outside Loren City!

Their eyes met—in that instant, Edgar felt as if he had fallen into an ice cave, his blood seemingly freezing instantly. He didn't see his defeated brother, but a lion reborn from the ashes, its eyes burning with the flames of vengeance!

What's even more terrifying is that the White Cavalry behind Loren, though all wounded, stood tall and proud, showing no signs of defeat, but rather like... a triumphant army.

"Retreat! Retreat now!" Edgar screamed hoarsely, his voice tearing through the morning mist, as he fell off the golden chariot like a stray dog.

His magnificent brocade robe was splattered with mud, and his gold-threaded soft boots were stuck in the mud, but he was completely unaware—his eyes were only fixed on the figure that returned like a ghost: Loren.

The guards exchanged bewildered glances, gripping their sword hilts but daring not to move. Though they were loyal to the Viscount, who didn't know that Loren was the most suitable eldest son to become lord? Who didn't know that since Edgar took the throne, he had been tyrannical, seizing women and even demanding taxes on the last bag of wheat from an old farmer? People's hearts were already like dry tinder, just waiting for a spark.

Just then—"Young Master Loren is back!!"

An old yet loud shout rang out from inside the city gate!

It was Thomas, the old man who sold vegetables in the East Market. Leaning on his cane, he rushed out of the crowd, his white hair flying in the wind, his eyes filled with tears: "My son... was beaten to death by the tax collectors! Oppose tyranny! Welcome Young Master Loren into the city!"

Before the words were even finished, the people surged out like a tidal wave!

The blacksmith threw down his hammer, the farmer tossed aside his hoe, the weaver tore off her apron, and the children climbed onto the wall—men, women, young and old, holding wooden sticks, kitchen knives, and even fire pokers, shouted in unison:

"Welcome back to the city, Young Master Loren!"

Down with Edgar!

......

Beside the city gate winch, the guards were pulling the iron chains with all their might, and the heavy oak gate slowly closed. But dozens of civilians rushed forward and used their bodies to hold the door shut, blood seeping from between their fingers, but they did not let go.

"They've rebelled! They've all rebelled!" Edgar's face was deathly pale, his eyes flashing with madness and fear. He abruptly drew his short sword from his waist and roared, "Kill! Kill all these traitors! Leave no one alive! Close the city gates! Close the city gates immediately!"

The guard hesitated for a moment, but finally swung his sword at the civilians blocking the door.