Chapter 92: Wounded

Guards at the landing field, several Dark Flame officers, regarded with some confusion the company of individuals descending from the airship. One officer quietly remarked, “For some reason, I sense something amiss about these people. They could perhaps be from one of those aristocratic families.”

“Perhaps descendants from prominent lineage,” another offered.

A bearded officer spat and remarked, “That isn’t possible. Who of prominence would dare come to this forsaken place at such a time? Here is a place where men die every single day in constant wars and those pampered elites could certainly never bring themselves here! Grandees usually keep their noses up in the sky anyway and hardly deign to glance our way. This bunch doesn’t feel like them.”

Only the major among the company spoke in rebuke: “Enough chitter-chatter! Does it matter who they are? Complete whatever tasks lie ahead of us first. Even if the newcomers are of noble birth, the protocol must not deviate.”

The others complied, one of them jesting, “I reckon, should they be the Zhao branch, perhaps lenience could be allowed. Elsewise, my lady brigade commander might wear an unsightly countenance.”

With an exclamation, the major cut short the jest: “Unimpartial handling regardless of identity! Besides, what business would Zhao family members have coming here anyway? No useless drivel more from ye; do ye tasks! Slack off further and ye will guard this post full watch for three additional months!”

Startled at once, the jest-teller waved his hands frantically: “Not in three moons! We’d grow so restless here without conflict that we’d lose all sanity indeed!”

While their playful exchange was low murmuring still to the group descending forthwith from the aerostat—each among them possessed superior skills that allowed them to catch these idle utterance with curious changes in their countenances as if amused, while that ancient one alone remained nonchalant as morning mist over mountains.

Nonchalant officers dispatched now briskly retracted their relaxed posture, huddled with company, strode forward toward the floating aerostat for procedure registration—executed with rigid thoroughness, not overly indulgent neither unduly severe. At observation, the sage nodded approvingly, muttering, “Their commander’s disciple training appears commendable.”

In surprise, youth’s face twitched as he knows seldom had this ancient bestowed praise to a soul. Within his eyes as of an aristocrat raised among rigorous traditions, these troopers were rough-humored at best, hence could never be accounted “commendable.”

Yet no sooner did Qian Ye complete nearing two days of serene retreat, was it unexpectedly interrupted—arrived now honorable visitors—was a Count Yuyang of Yuyang domain, and simultaneously younger sibling to Duke Yan of Yan. From any perspective considered—this noble was certainly one of high rank. Meanwhile, presented credentials further declared him representing Zhao faction authority.

Still before entering the guest hall, Qian Ye puzzled over reasons for his visit; likely he came on account of Zhao Yuzhang, though currently unoccupied and absent momentarily, yet insistent still on meeting him specifically?

Already within, a gaunt old man sat straight-backed within; eyelids cast lowermost ’til hearing someone’s entrance. As Qian Ye stepped through the entry gateway, instantly, upon meeting direct gaze, it was as a brilliant electric lightning stroke his vision; the shock rendered Qian temporarily senseless momentarily.

Qian Ye startled sharply. His reflexive instinct summoned origin power roaring violently forthwith, like typhoon torrents, instantly bursting bonds which previously restrained the form.

Across the old sage’s visage flickered brief astonishment, nodding once while affirming tone, “That skill—so aggressive, so forceful in nature, well practiced.”

Within mind now also shaken—profound depth of strength this old master possessed indeed formidable. Single piercing gaze alone froze even him on spot. Though broken immediately, the effort still drained significant inner strength—more crucially, were conflict genuine, the slightest restraint like that alone sufficed to slay him more than several times over. Regarding pure might alone, such an opponent bearing title of Count appeared indeed an understatement.

“You’ve practiced the Battle Discipline?” whispered an astounded young man—the one following behind the elder one—muttering this aloud spontaneously.

Despite the latter’s youth, he discerned well that which was occurring before his eyes—the martial discipline practiced. Since the Art of Combat was notoriously infamous for use on disposable pawns effective primarily under General rank yet seldom observed challenging Masters, particularly one of same calibre with old master standing here—so unexpected that youth could but feel awe.

Seated straight still while eyeing Qian Ye, the elder said calmly, “To cultivate so formidable and powerful application to such a stage; this is rare, commendable. Additionally your Origin Force possesses a refinement not seen frequently, impressive as rare.”

After steadying flow of his Origin energy slowly once more, Qian Ye gradually resumed seat opposing the elder’s and replied, expressing gratitude for such praise coming from such dignitary.

Gently nodded Yuyang Bo before gesturing closer and introducing youth seated closely, “This younger relation be younger nephew Zhao Fenglei of this elder’s. Taking him on travels this visit, offering practical experience; otherwise idle practice at home dulls the wisdom and world experience.”

Hearing that introduction, Qian Ye suddenly recollected information browsed previously—asking, with a tilt of question in the air:“Could Elder Fenglei be by chance Grandson of Duke Wei?”

“That very one,” Yuyang affirmed; “direct bloodline offspring to that older brother, indeed!”

Formidable in poise with refined speech and bearing, Zhao Fenglei conveyed a few courtesic pleasantries—yet Qian Ye sensed subtle hostility, veiled within—yes, even traces of intent to slay concealed ever so faint in atmosphere. Perturbance creased across him with uncertainty; sure of no prior encounter with Fenglei before and utterly unsure what caused offense.

Amid his perplexity arose again Yuyang’s voice as he began, “I come this way with an important message to the young Lady Marquise, concerning the upcoming Iron Curtain Bloodwar which sees the Empire assembling for battle an unprecedented number of aristocracy elites. Zhao Clan considers this war highly critical and invested deeply. Yuzhang’s decision lingering thus here implies definite favor upon Qian. Thus compelled by natural inquisitiveness compelled old man to insist upon meeting—you did not disappoint me!”

Then he paused slightly before continued softly with words still grave, “May I encourage you still further, lend your support fully while accompanying Lady Yuzhang. This conflict shall bring forth abundant recognition worthy many glories! Allow the elder me this further remark—that rewards shall this time be beyond even previous standards. Even rewards issued from within Clan Zhao shall be even better than that issued under Imperial Decree! As long as contributions remain sufficient, even secrets passed across generations by direct blood descendants under Yan House might yet find their way to reach even the humblest servant among us… Should one but prove their worthiness!”

Astonishingly moved was Zhao Fenglei’s reaction, sputtering a startled inhaled word; yet raised hand from the elder halted all utterances—respect and submission clearly shown by silence henceforth.

Qian sat silent as thought processed; silence prolonged. Eventually he answered slowly: “Deeply honored—rest assured I shall try earnestly!”

Between noble Empires and the Clans themselves—bigger reward indeed signified heightened level of impending calamity. As he listened between the elder’s words, Zhao had heavily invested their forces deep within for this war already.

Though uncertain on exact why the Zhao would expend effort seeking out one mere small contractor—Qian Ye had previously settled the course ahead well. Lately having established foothold himself, first priority remains preservation. Therefore never would he offer life on reckless whim solely for temporary gain of honors and fame on faction behalf.

No matter further refined or alluring such an inheritance, in truth still belonged to later stages far ahead. Until reaching Masterhood, this Combat Art will suffice surpass almost all other practices available under this rank. Also, with condition so special within body, even ascendance past this grade might yet carve his singular path never traversed ordinary warriors. Hence his caution not unfounded.

Watching this interaction, the face of Zhao Fenglei darkened in visible frustration—plainly detecting in Qian’s tone clear lack of commitment, longing to voice something himself—but catching gaze upon elder’s face silenced him finally in deferences.

But Yuyang maintained his still outward composure, nodding solemnly: “If you have such thoughts then, best I take leave!”

Qian Ye arose and saw them both out. Stepping beyond corridor entrance, came one aide swiftly with urgency in his step and cried “My lord! That noblewoman lady has suffered grave hurt upon her return.!”

Incredulous shock surged throughout Qian’s body—“She is hurt?!”

“Location—quickly, direct!”

Still near, old Count Yuyang—who always hid inner emotions behind mask-like visage—expressed visible amazement. Zhao Fenglei similarly changed hue abruptly—off the heels of this courier, they swiftly ran for Zhao Yuzhang dwelling’s direction.

As the rushing entered within that house Qian Ye found Yuzhang did not recline on resting couch—but posture still gave no comfort at all sight to ease. Sitting beside table was Yuzhang, before her two vials resting—one lid still unopened, upon sensing another entering she concealed hands within lap and returned gaze.

Pale as paper was Lady Zhao her skin lacked the faintest hue blood once offered—though feigned careless mien remained, eyes of Qian Ye sharp indeed—immediately caught sight of trembling hand laid atop her knee underneath the surface tabletop. With such power residing in her normally, to fail such simple bodily control suggested injuries beyond comprehension. Naturally not lost upon elder Count who quickly clouded countenance grew.

Startled upon noticing elder, Yuzhang addressed “Elder Sixth Uncle, what bring you here all of sudden!”

Down beneath that Iron Curtain skies—wherever stronger the presence of martial might—the more imminent the risks. Here came one critical individual from Duke family lineage venturing this far—dangerous in itself. Hardly time for explanation from elder before Qian spoke up, concern lacing his words: “How badly is my Lady hurt?!”

Without looking up, Yuzhang waved hand in dismissal:“Doesn’t matter—one tiny scratch won’t defeat…” Then she hesitated—changing her words, “Can’t defeat me anyway!”

Before such presence as Counts Yuyang, she managed slight correction of speech but Qian Ye already detected falsehood; this lie was transparent beyond his acceptance of surface level assurance.

Qian Ye narrowed darkening gaze with slow, dangerous query “Which one did that!?”

“That damned Nangong Xiaofeng, of course! Blast him—was following scent of a vampire count bloodline when ambush sprang! Took an advantage—caught old me off-guard. But that little puppy still fared worse—he received heavy retribution. Damn waste such expensive cannonball though! My whole stash!”

Now Yuzhang clearly brimming fury—more she vented forth more outrage surged. Losing restraint upon manners completely—lady like no, but rather spewing profanity with full fury. Elder Count Yuyang despite his calm discipline now showed pallor alternating to deep indignant shades of purple. Meanwhile beside him stood frozen stiff, thunder struck young Fenglei clearly astonished with such a crude tongue display never seen during his life thus lived.

Yet this outburst slightly calmed Qian—such outbursts were more like the Yuzhang Qian Ye knowed. Should words never arise with her like this—real concern might then arise. With vitality still evident in words however, wound might still remain controlled for now at least.

“Nangong Xiaofeng?” Musing frown as brows furrowed in thought upon hearing this stranger name.

Long exhaled sigh escaped Zhao Yuzhang, responding:”Top dog among young elites in Nangong family. Within past couple seasons, just barely edged my abilities somewhat. Give it couple years however…”

This time he asked only a syllable—“Whyy?”

With another sigh she answered: “About those damn small feather-brained nuisances. Can’t imagine alternative reason!.”

Flickering murder in his eye—prompted next inquiry with heavy tension—Where met him exactly!?

Startlement crossed her face as she spoke urgently: “Wait, what you plotting this way? Think clear—don’t be reckless!”

“Since wounded gravely also—he shall suffer deserved fate!” He hissed cold words filled intent kill without hesitation.

Here arose soft cough from Count: “This affair bears weight of many implications, should thus avoid rashness unwonted. Tensions within empire remain ever high now—as political tides unseen swirl in shadows—uncertainty reigns in regard to future course within House Nangong. Therefore must proceed most carefully or risk pushing them entirely to our enemy’s side. Hence we require patience. That is, Yuhzhang grievous harm—will demand proper recompense!—but that shall transpire once we find right approach.”

Eyes narrowing into slits, in darkness of his gleaming obsidian-like gaze, flame-lit crimson flared within the pupils. He spoke with low, contemptuous chuckling “Recompense!? Only when Xiaofeng lies bleeding dead could such grievance see reparation!”

But Zhao Fenglei cried suddenly with disbelief evident within voice: Are you suggesting you can challenge Xiangfeng even? Despite still bearing injuries he still isn`t easily overcome by all-comers. What do you have to face him with but battle technique alone? Also—if Zhao refuses to confront him directly, just who are you to even dare confront powerful house like House Nangong!?”

Qian Ye slowly shifted gaze to rest squarely on Zhao Fenglei before abruptly commanding in frigid finality—“Outside now! Leave this place! Get gone from before me now, I say.”