The bizarre figure clad in crimson armor stood like a divine warrior in the middle of the narrow path, weaponless yet imposing. The heavy visor seemed to cover the entire face, and amidst the torrential rain, a dense mist swirled around the towering armored figure.
The old Daoist Wei Shuyang of the Nine Dou Sect gasped in shock, “The Crimson Armored General of the Southern Kingdom was said to have perished long ago—assassinating the late emperor, only to be skinned alive, armor and all, by that detestable eunuch known as the ‘Human Cat.’ His corpse and armor were hung on a royal banner, witnessed by countless martial artists who flocked to see the gruesome sight. That crimson armor was one of a kind, verified by the Scholar Cao himself—no forgery! So what is this Crimson Armored General doing here?!”
The convoy had halted. Shu Xiu and Yang Qingfeng rode swiftly to Lü Qiantang’s side, their expressions tense. The three secret manuals they had obtained were not easily earned, and any assassin bold enough to challenge the Young Master must be formidable. Moreover, this one had appeared openly on the road—such audacity alone left them feeling inadequate. In the treacherous world of politics, one must master the art of reading people; in the martial world, one must learn to gauge an opponent’s aura. The gravest mistake is misjudgment, for even the mightiest can fall unexpectedly. Hadn’t the legendary Sword God Li Chungang, peerless in his mastery of the arcane, been defeated by the then-unknown Wang Xianzhi? More recently, the young swordsman Wu Liuding from the Wu Family Sword Mausoleum had cut a bloody path southward, never announcing his name or lineage—those who fell to his withered blade were all victims of their own arrogance.
Xu Fengnian remained unruffled, merely widening his eyes with interest at the crimson-armored figure. “Grandpa Wei, what exactly is this Crimson Armored General? Does the armor make him stronger? Maybe I should get myself a set.”
The old Daoist chuckled bitterly. “Young Master, this isn’t something you can just wear. The origins of that armor are shrouded in mystery—some say it’s an ancient relic from the Dragon-Tiger Mountain’s Celestial Master Sect, inscribed with countless talismans over generations. It was likely a divine artifact meant to suppress demons, but somehow it ended up in the martial world, first claimed by the Shangyin Academy’s Hall of Heavenly Secrets. The Dragon-Tiger Mountain nearly went to war over it. When it resurfaced, it was worn by the Crimson Armored General, impervious to blades and flames, though the wearer seemed like a mindless puppet. His death at the hands of the eunuch Han Shengxuan might have been a mercy. This one before us seems slightly different from the legends.”
Waving off Qing Niao’s offer of an umbrella, Xu Fengnian called his falcon, Liunian Feng, onto his arm. Drenched by the rain, he still found the mood to tease the bird with a finger, joking, “Maybe this is the offspring of the original Crimson Armored General. If the elder was the ‘General,’ this one could be the ‘Soldier.’ What do you think, Grandpa Wei?”
Wei Shuyang’s once-immaculate white beard was now drenched into three tiny braids. He reached up to stroke it, only to realize the gesture lacked its usual dignified effect. Embarrassed, he withdrew his hand and said slowly, “Young Master, your imagination is truly boundless.”
Xu Fengnian grinned mischievously. “Grandpa Wei, your flattery is as subtle as an antelope’s horns.”
The two burst into laughter, dispelling the tension that had loomed at the end of the path.
Xu Fengnian narrowed his eyes and murmured, “Lü Qiantang with his Red Glow Sword, Shu Xiu with her ‘Embrace Simplicity’ technique, Yang Qingfeng with his ghost-summoning arts—let’s see if these three are worthy of surviving to Wudi City.”
The old Daoist pretended not to hear the ruthless remark and rode forward, surpassing the carriage by a dozen paces. With a flick of his sleeves, the rain above him struck an invisible barrier and scattered.
Lü Qiantang drew his sword, waiting for Shu Xiu and Yang Qingfeng to catch up before charging forward. From the moment he picked up the “Wolong Gang Sword Art” in the fifth floor of the Listening Tide Pavilion, he had known this day would come—a day to stake his life. It had simply arrived sooner than expected. But what did it matter? To master the art of the sword, one must temper one’s blade against formidable foes, honing the heart of the sword until it reached the pinnacle of purity. Only then could one aspire to the realm of the Sword God Li Chungang, who could “open his mouth and exhale a river of sword qi, cleaving the heavens and earth apart.”
Among the tens of thousands of young swordsmen in the world, who didn’t dream of a single stroke that even gods and demons could not withstand?!
Lü Qiantang, already a towering figure, rode a massive steed, charging down the path with such force that mud splattered violently in his wake. Man and horse, unstoppable.
Perhaps provoked by Lü Qiantang’s killing intent, even the usually seductive Shu Xiu let out a cold snort, piercing through the dull drumming of the rain.
Yang Qingfeng, not bothering with reins, controlled his horse’s speed with precision, bending low to press his pale hands against the horse’s neck.
The empty-handed Crimson Armored General stood motionless, allowing the trio to build momentum.
Through the curtain of rain, Lü Qiantang could now make out the intricate cloud-like inscriptions and Sanskrit carvings on the crimson armor—a fusion of Buddhist and Daoist motifs, so exquisitely crafted that a mere glance made his chest tighten with suppressed energy. Shaking off distractions, he roared, expelling the turbid air from his lungs, and swung his sword with unparalleled force, channeling the full momentum of his galloping steed.
The rain seemed to tear apart as his blade cleaved through it. Droplets unfortunate enough to meet the sword sizzled against the scorching metal, vanishing into steam.
The crimson-armored puppet, resembling the legendary Crimson Armored General, moved stiffly yet swiftly, raising a hand to catch Lü Qiantang’s strike—a culmination of his swordsmanship, infused with his very essence.
The Red Glow Sword scraped against the armored fingers, sparks flying, but neither side prevailed. Lü Qiantang had leveraged every advantage of terrain and timing, yet the Crimson Armored General had barely moved, effortlessly deflecting the blow.
Shu Xiu was startled to see Yang Qingfeng suddenly accelerate, his horse charging recklessly toward the armored figure.
In the blink of an eye after Lü Qiantang’s clash, Yang Qingfeng leaped from his saddle.
The horse, its eyes bleeding, crashed into the Crimson Armored General with a bone-shattering impact.
The armored figure didn’t budge, while the horse collapsed, its skull and neck shattered.
Shu Xiu, undeterred by the opponent’s might, suppressed her fear and dismounted, darting forward like a hare. Her delicate palms struck the monster’s chest, unleashing a shockwave that sent raindrops exploding outward in a perfect circle.
Shu Xiu’s internal energy was formidable, and for the first time, the Crimson Armored General swayed slightly.
Whether an inch or a foot, movement—no matter how slight—was infinitely better than none.
Shu Xiu rebounded from the impact, skidding backward in the mud, her skirt soiled.
Behind the armored figure, Lü Qiantang and his horse charged another ten paces before rearing to a halt, hooves stamping deep into the mire.
Yang Qingfeng, now standing between Lü Qiantang and the Crimson Armored General, remained expressionless, though his hands grew even paler, veins bulging unnaturally.
The combined efforts of the three had only managed to make the armored figure sway.
Wei Shuyang muttered to himself, “At least it’s not the original Crimson Armored General from the era of the Four Great Masters. Could the Young Master be right? Is this a replica?”
Xu Fengnian called out, “Grandpa Wei, go stop Ning Emie and the Fengzi Battalion. Leave these three to handle this.”
The old Daoist, about to intervene, hesitated before complying.
Xu Fengnian nudged his horse forward, stopping beside the carriage where Qing Niao held a delicate oil-paper umbrella—the only graceful sight amid the muddy path’s deadly tension.
The wind and rain lashed at Xu Fengnian’s face, but he clicked his tongue in admiration. “Only in life-and-death battles do you see a warrior’s true colors. Lü Qiantang’s sword strike was truly masterful. Yang Qingfeng’s tricks are flashy but ineffective. I underestimated Shu Xiu, though.”
Qing Niao nodded, then asked the crucial question: “Young Master, is this the only armored figure? Is it unwise to keep the Fengzi Battalion away?”
Xu Fengnian smiled. “There’s no way there’s only one. There could be a second or third hiding in the woods—maybe even four or five. I’ve calculated: two could easily take down Lü Qiantang’s trio, one could handle the hundred Fengzi Battalion riders—even with Ning Emie leading them, it’d be a bloody stalemate. Add another, and we’d have to step in ourselves. The person in the carriage is a top-secret figure—even I don’t know his identity. Whoever controls these armored puppets couldn’t have anticipated him. So, counting on my fingers, the remaining puppet and its master could easily take my head. Without that old man in the sheepskin coat, I’d be in real trouble. Even if you, as the ‘C’-rank deathsworn trained by Xu Xiao, could take down one puppet, you might not keep me alive all the way to Yingluan.”
Qing Niao lowered her head. “This Qing Niao is useless.”
Xu Fengnian shook his head. “To me, ‘useless’ doesn’t mean lacking skill—it means unwilling to give me your life. Lift your head, Qing Niao. I like your cold, aloof demeanor. It’s far more captivating than those so-called ‘heroines.'”
Qing Niao’s cheeks flushed slightly.
Xu Fengnian turned back to the battlefield, shaking his arm to release Liunian Feng. Gripping both Xiudong and Chunlei, he smirked. “This might be the worst-case scenario, but given my status, it’s worth their caution. Damn it, five puppets? Are they playing with the five elements—metal, wood, water, fire, and earth?”
Behind Qing Niao, the carriage curtain lifted slightly, revealing two heads—one above the other.
Jiang Ni said nothing, merely staring wide-eyed.
The old man, who had replaced his sandalwood hairpin with something Xu Fengnian never expected—the Divine Talisman!
What were these two up to?!
The old man squinted. “Kid, your brain’s not bad. Those three useless subordinates of yours are facing the Water Armor. Look at this weather—perfect for it, no? Let me warn you: the Earth Armor might just pop up under your horse and tear you apart. The Fire Armor is standing on the slope northeast of here, six hundred paces away. The Wood Armor is crouching in a tree three hundred paces southwest. As for the Metal Armor… Hmm, either it’s not here, or its aura’s concealed. Or maybe it’s gone after your Fengzi Battalion. What a headache. How about this: give me the word, and the girl and I will head back to Liangzhou. All this fighting is tiresome. At most, I’ll send someone to collect your corpse.”
Xu Fengnian grinned. “Let me guess—did Xu Xiao make you promise not to wield a weapon?”
The old man widened his eyes, raising his lone arm in innocence. “Kid, what do you see in my hand?”
Xu Fengnian extended a hand. “Hand over the Divine Talisman for safekeeping.”
Jiang Ni protested loudly, “That’s mine! Mine!”
Ignoring her, Xu Fengnian stared at the old man.
The old man sighed. “Fine, fine. Remember—I’m not doing this for you. It’s for the girl.”
Xu Fengnian withdrew his hand, his meaning clear. Jiang Ni puffed her cheeks in anger, wishing she could stab his smug face a hundred times with the talisman.
In a blink, the old man stepped out of the carriage, bending slightly. With a flick of his finger—
*Tap.*
A single droplet of water was sent flying.
Xu Fengnian whipped his head around, tracking the droplet as it soared toward the Crimson Armored General.
One drop.
Two.
Ten.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
They linked into a line.
A thread.
A sword.
Stretching from Xu Fengnian’s position straight to the Crimson Armored General’s chest.
The water sword pierced the supposedly indestructible Water Armor effortlessly.
The sky seemed to shatter as sword qi erupted, and the puppet collapsed.
Xu Fengnian stared, dumbfounded, then quickly closed his eyes.
The world fell silent.
In his mind, he replayed the trajectory of that sword—like a dragon emerging from water.
Water sword against Water Armor.
*Grandpa Wei, you said the first rank has four tiers—Vajra, then Finger Mystery.*
*So this is Finger Mystery—a single flick, unraveling the arcane.*
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