Volume One: The King's Command Chapter 88: The Edge of Langya

Columns of smoke rose from the four great camps, billowing high into the sky—a striking sight when viewed from the walls of Changle City. The King of Qin himself did not come; instead, he sent his formidable general, Xun Yong, a man of both intellect and martial prowess, whose extraordinary talent and virtue had earned the king’s personal favor. Xun Yong rested his chin in his hand, gazing out at the battlefields where flashes of sword energy danced—the sword disciples from Langya were truly formidable! To dare attack four camps at once, and to cause such chaos at that, meant that Changle City would need to be well prepared should they ever attempt a raid.

Two hundred thousand troops were stationed in Changle City, a force painstakingly assembled by the King of Qin and entrusted to Xun Yong—a testament to the king’s confidence in him. This trust compelled Xun Yong to repeatedly remind himself to act with utmost caution. Each day, over a hundred scouting parties were dispatched to gather intelligence day and night, supplemented by spies spread throughout the region, whose frequent reports gave him the most comprehensive understanding of the situation. To guard against Yongqing’s cavalry breaking through the lines, pits had been dug outside the city long in advance, filled with bamboo stakes and covered by a thin layer of sand.

The city magistrate of Changle paced anxiously inside his residence, unable to remain seated, and so decided to ascend the city wall to observe the situation for himself. At the foot of the wall, he happened to encounter General Li Qing.

“Master Song, why are you here instead of in your private quarters? This place is fraught with danger,” Li Qing remarked. Since the last incident in Changle City, he and Song Shuzai had had a fierce dispute; had he not intervened, Xu Yin would not have met such a tragic end.

Song Shuzai, for his part, least wished to see Li Qing, yet now they had run into each other, he could hardly ignore him. “My heart is with the battle; how can I sit idly indoors? Coming up here for a look will hardly cost me my life,” he replied, stepping toward the parapet.

No sooner had he poked his head above the wall than something whistled past. Song Shuzai instinctively ducked, his official hat sliced cleanly in two, the pieces sliding from his head. Trembling, he nearly tumbled down the stairs.

“Enemy attack! The enemy is assaulting the city! Protect me, quickly!” Song Shuzai cried out in panic.

Guards rushed up to the wall, scanning the surroundings warily, but saw no sign of the enemy. Li Qing burst into laughter and mounted the wall ahead of him. “With such courage, Master Song, you still dare to come up here? I am most impressed!”

Even the faintest trace of the Langya sword disciples’ energy could reach the city’s defenders—truly astonishing. What kind of prodigies was Langya producing?

Ordinary martial artists were divided by levels of internal energy; though there were rare instances of the weak overcoming the strong, those were few and far between. The sword disciples of Langya, however, defied such conventions. Every three years, the Sword Mountain of Langya opened its gates for a selection, welcoming people from all corners of the Nine Provinces, regardless of age. To be chosen was a tremendous honor, elevating one’s status above even the Iron Dynasty itself; every hero took pride in being associated with Langya’s Sword Mountain.

The very words “upright sect” might as well have been carved into the stones of Sword Mountain. It was a holy land for sword cultivators, a colossal institution with over a thousand years of heritage. None of the Nine Provinces’ sects dared provoke Langya, for every disciple possessed the power to defeat opponents far above their own level. The swords forged in Langya were far sharper than any other.

Even the Crown Prince, when making his formal visit, was required to follow the rites of Langya step by step. Here, he was not the prince of the Iron Dynasty, but merely a common candidate for selection.

Now, with eight great swordsmen and five thousand disciples at the prince’s command, Langya’s resolve was clear. The four great camps, thrown into chaos by an enemy force a mere fraction of their own, bore witness to Langya’s overwhelming might.

Xun Yong stepped aside, allowing Song Shuzai and Li Qing to stand at the battlement, giving them an unobstructed view of the scene beyond the city walls.

“This place is dangerous, Magistrate Song. Best to return—lest a stray blade put your life in jeopardy,” Xun Yong said kindly. If another wave of sword energy struck, Song Shuzai would surely not escape unscathed.

Song Shuzai, thinking himself mocked, retorted indignantly, “I am, after all, the magistrate of Changle City. Do I not have the right to observe the enemy myself?”

“That’s not what I meant. Look—here it comes again!” Xun Yong exclaimed, swiftly placing himself in front of Song Shuzai and shattering the incoming sword energy with his bare hand.

A bitter wind swept past Song Shuzai once more. This time, prepared, he managed only a change in expression, not disgrace.

“Let’s speak of serious matters. If the Langya sword disciples are here, then the Crown Prince can’t be far away. Would he dare enter the imperial city openly, unafraid that the King of Qin might destroy him?”

Although the prince and the King of Qin were kin, at this point, even blood ties mattered little; the fate of the dynasty hung by a thread, and the king would show no mercy for the sake of family.

“With these sword disciples, it’s hard to say who will destroy whom. Does Magistrate Song truly believe these hundreds of thousands of soldiers can stop them? Surely not.” Xun Yong pointed toward the camp of Yanliang Prefecture.

Within that camp, where the sword disciples had struck first, the ground was already littered with a thousand corpses, severed limbs scattered everywhere, the earth stained red with blood. The Yanliang soldiers, driven to frenzy, hurled themselves at the sword blades in a desperate, hopeless charge.

Jin Xifeng on the left, Gu Nanli on the right, divided the sword disciples and cut down the enemy in a pincer movement. Their swords, made of the finest steel, lived up to their reputation as “able to slice through iron as if it were mud.” The soldiers’ thick armor was nothing before the disciples’ blades—easily rent apart, offering no protection. Guan Sixi unleashed his true skill: his own shadow slipped away from his body and, upon the ground, struck a blow at Feng Nanjue.

When the shadow was wounded, so too was Feng Nanjue’s right arm—something he had not anticipated. Even a shadow could wound!

Guan Sixi laughed. “Coward! Now you see my power!” He and his shadow attacked together. Feng Nanjue raised his blade to block, but his own shadow could not move and was beheaded in a single stroke.

The headless shadow collapsed to the ground, and Feng Nanjue, unable to speak, could only feel his own tongue fail him as he tried to utter a word.

“Brother Feng!” Zhang Yi cried in alarm, but was himself entangled in combat with Xie Dongting, unable to aid his companion and forced to watch as Feng Nanjue lost his life.

“You dare kill a disciple of the Heavenly King Sect? I’ll have your life!” Zhang Yi was no ordinary member—he split his staff in two, forming twin short rods, deflecting every thrown weapon as he drove straight for Xie Dongting’s chest.

Xie Dongting, among his peers, was renowned for his speed. He darted out of reach, causing Zhang Yi’s attack to miss.

Barely had Xie Dongting caught his breath when he saw Zhang Yi duck his head and, suddenly, two more arms shot out, seizing Xie Dongting by the shoulders.

“How do you have four arms?!” Xie Dongting exclaimed, as the twin rods drove through his chest, killing him instantly.

The four hands gripped Xie Dongting and, with a powerful pull, tore his body apart. Blood and viscera splattered everywhere, dyeing Zhang Yi a ghastly red.

“And you, you treacherous villain—your life is forfeit as well!” Zhang Yi dropped his rods and strode forward, two more arms growing from his back, thicker and stronger than the original pair. When Guan Sixi slashed at him, the four arms seized both blades at once.

Guan Sixi was shocked. His shadow transformed into dark mist, enveloping Zhang Yi’s shadow, but it lasted only a moment before Zhang Yi tore through it.

Seizing the brief cover, Guan Sixi’s sword struck Zhang Yi’s abdomen. A metallic clang rang out—Zhang Yi’s body had withstood the blade, only his robe was cut.

Tensing his abdominal muscles, Zhang Yi trapped the blade, preventing Guan Sixi from withdrawing it, and reached with all four arms to repeat his earlier attack.

But the unexpected occurred again—the shadow leaped into the air, landed in Guan Sixi’s hand, and became a sword once more. Guan Sixi himself sank into the ground and vanished. Zhang Yi, grasping at empty air, felt a chill at his back as the shadow sword struck the nape of his neck.

Sparks flew, and though he was not harmed, the blow to such a vulnerable spot was deeply unsettling. Enraged, Zhang Yi tried to seize the shadow sword, but how could a shadow be grasped by hand? It slipped between his fingers, merging with his own shadow.

“If you have any honor, come out and fight me openly! Hiding like this is no man’s way!” No matter what he tried, Zhang Yi could do nothing to his own shadow. All his strength was useless as he watched Guan Sixi attack from within his shadow.

Guan Sixi ignored him. Since Zhang Yi’s body could withstand so much, he would simply see how much more it could take. The shadow sword struck again and again against Zhang Yi’s body, sounding like blows on an iron anvil.

Some soldiers, seeing their senior brother in distress, tried to help, but the other sword disciples blocked their way, encircling Zhang Yi.

As time passed, Zhang Yi’s defeat became inevitable. His four arms pounded desperately at the shadow on the ground, hoping to strike Guan Sixi through it.

“Take this opportunity to leave your last words, lest people say I fought unfairly,” Guan Sixi taunted, noting that the shadow sword now left marks on Zhang Yi’s body—his strength was fading fast, and death was close at hand.

“We shall see if you are up to the task!” Zhang Yi remained calm. Suddenly, his four arms slammed the ground, and his body shot like an arrow through the crowd, plunging into a nearby water cistern within the camp.

On the plains, such large wooden cisterns were often used to store water. Inspiration struck Zhang Yi at the last moment.

Once submerged, his shadow was gone, leaving Guan Sixi helpless in the water, unable to breathe and forced to reveal his true form.

“Got you now! Let’s see where you run!” Four arms seized Guan Sixi as he surfaced, pinning him beneath the water.

Barehanded and underwater, Guan Sixi’s skills were useless. Zhang Yi held him fast at the bottom of the cistern while bubbles streamed from his mouth, his muffled cries inaudible.

Water flooded Guan Sixi’s lungs and organs. His struggles grew weaker, and at last he went limp, drowned at the bottom of the cistern.

Zhang Yi hauled Guan Sixi’s corpse to the surface, gripping the rim with one hand and raising the body high. In that instant, a thin, bright line sliced across his own neck, and blood instantly stained the entire pool crimson.