The Lantern Festival of the second year of Xiangfu era, Youzhou Prefecture of Beiliang, the prefectural city Changgeng. The lanterns were just lit, and the sky was ablaze with fireworks. The entire city was immersed in joy, with every household hanging red lanterns at their gates. The bustling market was filled with a dazzling array of performances: sword swallowers, tongue cutters, magicians drawing rivers on the ground, and conjurers planting melons by pulling up wells. The common folk who came out to enjoy the festival were amazed by these spectacles, especially the most spectacular performance of the night—the Huanglong Transformation. In this illusion, giant whales transformed into dragons, and water creatures like fish and insects spread across the ground, creating an illusion of a fairyland that stirred the hearts of the spectators.
Among the crowd was a middle-aged man dressed in the robes of a scholar, accompanied by his family. This man, Tang Wenzhen, was not particularly notable within Youzhou’s officialdom. Holding the rank of a fifth-grade civil official, he was overshadowed by the numerous military families that thrived in Youzhou. Born into a humble family, Tang served as an assistant to Hong Xinjia, whose recent rise to prominence within the central government of Liyang, especially the Ministry of War, was attributed to the favor of Gu Jiantang. Yet, few in Youzhou had even heard of Tang Wenzhen. However, Tang’s significance to Youzhou, particularly in terms of border defense, could not be underestimated. The fortress system in the Hulukou region, reputed to be capable of annihilating 150,000 to 160,000 northern barbarians, owed much to Tang Wenzhen’s efforts. He had accompanied Hong Xinjia on countless inspections of Hulukou, participating in every step of the process—from surveying and mapping to selecting sites for the fortresses and breaking ground for construction. One could even say that Tang Wenzhen carried within his mind the most detailed and comprehensive military map of the region. Without Hong Xinjia and Tang Wenzhen during a war in Youzhou, the effectiveness of the fortress system would be severely diminished.
Years of exposure to the elements had darkened Tang Wenzhen’s skin, giving him a weathered appearance. His wife, a beautiful woman from the Yanzhi Prefecture with fair skin, only accentuated his rugged look, making him seem like a giant black charcoal.
Tang Wenzhen had returned to Changgeng from the border to report detailed military intelligence to Youzhou’s general, Huangfu Cheng. His decision to take his wife and children to enjoy the Lantern Festival was not born of leisurely whim but rather a sense of foreboding. Tang feared that if he missed this chance for family unity, the next time might be a permanent separation. Though a civil official, nearly nine out of ten Beiliang civil officials were capable of riding and archery, ready to fight in battle. Yanzhi Prefecture had long been known for producing beautiful women, and there was a popular anecdote in unofficial histories that a seductive woman from Yanzhi had brought about the downfall of the Qin dynasty in just two generations. Hence, the saying among Beiliang people: “When choosing a wife, marry a wealthy girl from Linzhou; when taking a concubine, choose a Yanzhi maiden.” Tang Wenzhen had married a woman from Yanzhi and had no concubines, and their marriage had been harmonious for many years. Their only regret was that they had only two daughters and no sons. However, Tang Wenzhen did not feel any regret and doted on his daughters. His wife, however, always felt guilty toward the Tang family. Tang would often joke and comfort her, saying that the watchtowers and fortresses of Hulukou were his sons.
If one were to describe the hardships of raising children as a parent, then Tang Wenzhen, who had personally overseen the countless details of the fortress system, could truly be called the father and mother of the Hulukou defense line.
Tang Wenzhen possessed a certain level of martial skill. He could easily deal with three or four northern barbarians, though such skills were usually only meaningful in the context of battlefield tactics. They would be insufficient against top martial artists. At heart, Tang was a scholar with aspirations of self-cultivation, family harmony, and state governance. He had no intention of engaging in duels with martial experts in this lifetime.
Therefore, Tang Wenzhen was unaware that among the bustling crowd, no fewer than ten pairs of eyes were watching him. These gazes were fleeting, experienced, and not enough to trigger any instinctive suspicion in Tang. At most, he might mistake them for the lustful stares of lecherous men toward his wife.
Holding the hands of his two daughters, Tang was somewhat absent-minded, his thoughts preoccupied with Hulukou. He was thinking about which fortress needed its walls reinforced, which watchtower required more personnel, and which The Post Road (postal road) or pass needed scouts dispatched. In the Beiliang military, officials like Hong Xinjia and Tang Wenzhen, along with the newly appointed Honglu General Cao Xiaojiao, were forcibly categorized as part of the “Chen faction.” These border officials, besides being relatively young and in their prime, were more influenced by the previous Beiliang commander, Chen Zhibao, who had subtly shaped their approach to warfare, emphasizing the importance of details in determining the outcome of battles. Their understanding and execution of warfare differed significantly from veteran generals like Yan Wenluan and Chen Yunchui. When Beiliang changed rulers, many feared they would be suppressed or purged. Fortunately, after Xu Fengnian took power, he never crossed the line with these key officials. On the contrary, many of them received promotions to varying degrees. Cao Xiaojiao, the most notorious figure in Youzhou, was undoubtedly a prime example. In return, these officials reciprocated by actively supporting the eight-character policy of “pacifying the border troops and mobilizing the regional armies,” which was tacitly approved by Xu Fengnian and specifically implemented by Xu Beizhi and Chen Xiliang.
Tang Wenzhen had no particular feelings toward the Beiliang King. He neither admired nor disliked him. As long as the king did not interfere with the Hulukou defense line, Tang would continue to work diligently without complaint.
Suddenly, Tang Wenzhen smiled, somewhat proudly. It was true that Hulukou had consumed a vast amount of Beiliang’s grain and funds, but he and General Hong were using those stones to buy the lives of the northern barbarians. No matter how one calculated it, Beiliang was not at a loss in this transaction.
During the reign of the late Liyang Emperor Zhao Dun, governance was enlightened. Although the emperor and empress lived simply, they did not prohibit women throughout the empire from wearing cosmetics and fine clothes. Beiliang, being far from the imperial court, paid little heed to such matters. The common people might be poor, but the military families were not. On festive occasions, wealthy women vied to outshine each other in beauty. As long as they had the money and the audacity to wear it, even women donning phoenix coronets and embroidered robes would face no restrictions.
At this moment in the bustling crowd, a young woman dressed in the “Tianbao Makeup” style, reminiscent of the Southern Tang palace, caught many eyes. Her figure was graceful, and she was accompanied by a maid wearing a “Manhuan” bun. The two women, one plump and the other slender, complemented each other beautifully and drew much attention. Many idle men, eager for an opportunity to take advantage, swarmed around them. In trying to shield her mistress from harassment, the maid had already dropped several exquisite small combs made of gold, silver, rhinoceros horn, and jade from her Manhuan bun. Still, she could not prevent the inevitable. The young lady’s delicate bottom was lightly patted by a thin, yellow-toothed monkey-like man, his touch lingering with familiarity, clearly an expert in such matters. Startled, the young lady’s face paled, and she hurried away in a flurry of small steps, her high-heeled shoes clattering nervously.
This scene happened to catch the eye of Tang Wenzhen’s wife. While she felt sympathy and anger, there was also a hint of teasing jealousy in her tone as she whispered to her husband, “Dressing so flamboyantly without even a strong servant or Arrogant Servant (powerful slave) to guard her—of course she’s asking for trouble. Whose fault is it?”
Tang Wenzhen was not particularly concerned with such trivial matters and merely nodded absentmindedly, with no intention of playing the hero. Women of Beiliang were often fierce and bold, no less so than men. Though they might appear gentle and timid on the surface, once provoked, they could roll up their sleeves and fight fiercely, scratching blood from someone’s face. His wife was a prime example—when she first came to the prefectural city from a small village in Yanzhi, she had joined the lantern festival for the first time and landed a vicious crotch kick on a playboy.
Not far away, a tall elderly man in a felt hat tossed a string of copper coins to a dwarf performing fire-spitting.
At the same time, a traveling monk, increasingly common in Beiliang, was making his way through the crowd, carrying a bamboo rack for storing scriptures on his back.
A young couple in coarse hemp clothes, unremarkable in appearance, were buying a stick of candied hawthorn for their child from a vendor.
In the northeast corner of the bustling market stood the Dongfu Temple, a place of thriving incense offerings. From the rooftop of its bell tower, one could overlook half the market. There, a young nobleman and his lady laughed and chatted, while a poor scholar scratched his head, trying to compose a couplet or two. An elderly man, moved by the scene, stood silently, lost in thought.
On the outer corridor of a pavilion, a short Taoist priest holding a horsehair flywhisk glanced toward the spot where Tang Wenzhen stood. Then he pulled a small booklet from his robe, moistened his finger with saliva, and flipped through the pages under the light, which was almost as bright as day. He found the name “Tang Wenzhen” and chuckled softly, “Wenzhen, what a grand name. I’ve heard that in the central court, only a rare few among the palace scholars receive such an honorable posthumous title. You should be more careful with your name in your next life.”
Just as the flywhisk-wielding Taoist finished his muttering, a series of subtle changes occurred in the bustling market.
The “Tianbao Makeup” noblewoman, who had been slighted by the monkey-like man, fled with her head bowed, reaching a few steps away from Tang Wenzhen. Her waist twisted gracefully, and despite her awkward situation, she still exuded a natural charm. The maid with the Manhuan bun had somehow removed a small silver hairpin from her head. She should have flicked her wrist and swept the pin upward as her mistress turned left, aiming precisely at Tang Wenzhen’s heart. However, at that very moment, the monkey-like man, who looked no different from any common ruffian, seized her wrist tightly. The maid feigned panic, her left elbow flipping outward to strike the side of the man’s temple. But in an instant, her body went limp.
The monkey-like man, who seemed only capable of being lecherous, suddenly displayed his true nature. After gripping the maid’s wrist, he unleashed a sudden burst of force within the short distance between himself and the woman’s back. This was the signature move of the Liu family, a renowned martial arts sect in Beiliang—the Mountain-Splitting Cannon Fist (Splitting Mountain Cannon Fist). With this strike, he shattered the woman’s spine. Then, he threw her over his shoulder and shouted, “I’m taking my bride home!” As he sprinted away, the onlookers laughed heartily, thinking they had witnessed a man so bold as to flirt in public, only to end up in jail later.
The monkey-like man, with a lewd grin on his face, had eyes that were deep and calculating. As a direct disciple of the Liu family, known as the “First Master of External Martial Arts” in Beiliang, though his name was not recorded in the Liu family genealogy, his skills and temperament were of the highest caliber. In fact, he was an elite agent of the Fushui House, secretly operating in the city of Changgeng in Youzhou for many years. At just over twenty years old, he was already a third-grade martial artist, proficient in both internal and external techniques. The “maid” he had just killed was no ordinary woman but a “Butterfly Catcher” from the Zhongwang network of the Northern Liang.
After successfully eliminating his target, the monkey-like man wasted no time on unnecessary actions and immediately withdrew from this unconventional “battlefield.” He vividly remembered the lesson imparted by his mentor in the Fushui House when he first joined: the line between killing and being killed was razor-thin. After saying this, his mentor had smiled and asked if he understood. Before he could nod, he was sent flying backward, spending two months in bed before he could walk again. That was when he began to understand.
Working for the Fushui House, meticulously crafted by Chu Lushan, required strict adherence to rules. Knowing exactly when and where to kill, using the fastest method, and knowing precisely when and where to withdraw were paramount. Any unexpected situations were handled by others in the shadows, and personal improvisation was strictly forbidden. The Fushui House had a deep aversion to self-righteousness. Anyone who violated the rules would face a myriad of punishments devised by the head of the house, Master Chu. Over the years, the assassinations carried out by Fushui House agents and assassins were executed flawlessly, without a trace of hesitation or mess. As a result, “accidents” became increasingly rare.
The felt-hatted old man who had tossed a string of copper coins to the dwarf performer noticed the “butterfly catcher” being carried away. He deliberately positioned himself in front of a young couple dressed in coarse hemp clothes, preventing them from getting closer to Tang Wenzhen and his wife. The old man smiled and approached them as if greeting a younger generation with whom he shared a familial bond. In an instant, he exchanged six blows with the young man. Eventually, the “kindly smiling” old man embraced the latter’s shoulder, swiftly plunging a poisoned dagger into the waist of this Northern Liang “dragonfly catcher.” He pulled it out quickly and struck again!
The young woman, disguised as a butterfly catcher, watched the scene unfold with an expressionless face. Even as the felt-hatted old man supported her “husband” and quickly moved away from her, she made no move. However, a slight smile curled her lips. When the felt-hatted old man realized something was wrong, it was too late. It felt as if his head had been struck violently. He tilted his head back, and blood began to seep from his forehead. In his dying moments, he saw a young child standing not far away—his face was youthful, but his eyes were cold and ruthless. The seemingly innocent child tilted his head and gently spat out a second hawthorn seed.
Then, the felt-hatted old man smiled as his vision blurred. The butterfly catcher hurried into the crowd and vanished in an instant. However, the “child” whose true age was impossible to guess was left behind forever, a wooden skewer, originally used for threading candied hawthorns, embedded in his forehead.
An honest old man selling candied hawthorns on the street picked up the child and quickly walked to the side of the old friend who was about to fall backward. He inserted the stick, which was full of candied hawthorns, into the ground and used one hand to support his old friend and the already lifeless dragonfly catcher.
The felt-hatted old man could no longer speak. Looking at his lifelong friend, his lips trembled, but no words came out.
His friend, his eyes red, first wiped the blood from his forehead, then pulled the old friend’s felt hat down to cover the wound. In a hoarse, soft voice, he said, “Old Rong, when Qingming comes, I’ll definitely bring you that jar of good wine that Master Chu gave me last year. Rest easy.”
Leaning against the stick of candied hawthorns, the felt-hatted old man slowly closed his eyes.
A dozen steps to Tang Wenzhen’s right, a hawk of the Wutong Academy, rivaling the Youfan of the Fushui House, perished alongside a Northern Liang dragonfly catcher. Both had fatally wounded each other with short daggers hidden in their sleeves. Sitting side by side on the ground, they looked like two good brothers sharing a drunken conversation.
That day, the young woman adorned in precious gems remained indifferent to the surrounding chaos, her sole target being Tang Wenzhen.
The web that Li Mibi painstakingly constructed had one Chieftain, six Battalion Chiefs, three hundred Catching-Dragon Boys, and eighty Butterfly Catchers, and she was the finest among the Butterfly Catchers, even with the potential to become the first female Battalion Chief in Northern Desolation.
The prerequisite was that she must kill Tang Wenzhen tonight. The sixteen Youzhou officials she had personally killed before were all combined, yet none could compare to Tang Wenzhen.
Therefore, the deaths of those Butterfly Catchers and Dragon Boys were worthwhile.
One step.
Only one step remained between her and the unsuspecting Tang Wenzhen.
Suddenly, an unremarkable young woman beside Tang Wenzhen crashed into her arms.
Outside the bell tower corridor, a short Taoist priest was joined by a tall and robust youth bearing a sword. Leaning against the railing, the youth squinted at the covert killings unfolding amidst the bustling market below, and sneered, “All for naught.”
The aged Taoist priest withdrew his gaze, seemingly reluctant but still closed his ledger, the flywhisk resting on his arm as he spoke in a grating Liyang official dialect, “Blame your web for erroneous intelligence; you couldn’t even uncover that Tang Wenzhen’s wife is a Northern Liang spy.”
The sword-bearing youth’s Liyang accent was much smoother, sounding entirely like a Central Plains native, “I’m just a Battalion Chief doing dirty work, not a god. Truth be told, you, the Grand Preceptor of the Daoist Sect, are the one called a god.”
The elder immortal didn’t get angry, “There were one hundred and thirty-five targets on the ledger, yet only thirty-seven have been eliminated. Not to mention the imperial martial artists and Northern Liang scouts and riders—irrelevant roles—but even your web has already lost one Battalion Chief, twelve Butterfly Catchers, and thirty-one Dragon Boys. Isn’t this a losing proposition?”
The Northern Desolation Battalion Chief didn’t speak.
The Daoist Grand Preceptor furrowed his brows, “On this trip to Changgeng City, we’ve exhausted all our options. Are you and I really going to try to kill General Huangfu Ping of Youzhou, who is heavily guarded?”
The young-looking swordsman with age spots on his hands snorted, “Other than you, the Daoist Cui Wazi, who came along just to watch, the Yin-Yang Face from Princess Tomb, the Grand Prefect from Chess and Zither Bureau, and the two from the Demonic Cultivators’ List didn’t even show up. Aren’t you curious where they are? Why have the five of us barely acted? You should know that at the Hulukou front, Northern Liang had people stationed there. Half of the Tide-Listening Pavilion’s elite were hiding there, waiting to ambush.”
The immortal figure, highly revered within the Daoist Sect, was adept at cultivation but clueless about these underhanded schemes. Although Cui Wazi had a grand reputation outside the Daoist Sect, his reputation within was mediocre. His talent was nothing special—compared to the Sect Leader Yuan Qingshan, who had already attained immortality, or even his senior brother who had been hiding in the Western Capital’s pavilion alongside the dragon in hibernation for twenty years, he was far behind. However, this time Empress assigned tasks to the sects, and the Daoist Sect had no choice but to push him forward as the Grand Preceptor. Cui Wazi was self-aware; the web Battalion Chief beside him might not even have reached the Fingers’ Mystery level, and whether he had achieved the Diamond level was unclear. But if they truly fought, he, the authentic Fingers’ Mystery expert of the Daoist Sect, would surely die. Thus, the other four first-rate martial experts clearly looked down on Cui Wazi, leaving him to merely act as an accountant.
The elder immortal cautiously asked, “Could it be that Master Li had targeted Huangfu Ping from the start?”
He quickly added, “Or perhaps the Youzhou governor Hu Kui, who is even more respected in the Northern Liang border army?”
The web Battalion Chief, skilled in disguise, couldn’t help rolling his eyes, “Playing the lute to a cow.”
Cui Wazi gripped his flywhisk tightly, his voice dark, “I respect Master Li, not you! Don’t push your luck!”
But the sword-bearing Battalion Chief completely ignored the venerable Grand Preceptor and turned instead, locking his gaze on a frail woman who had previously been accompanying a nobleman in a show of refinement.
In the Youzhou General’s mansion, Huangfu Ping, dressed in official robes, sat sprawled in a sandalwood chair. In the hall, only an elderly swordsman stood, eyes closed in meditation, carrying a heavy sword case on his back—the Fingers’ Mystery expert Mi Fengjie, personally recruited by the Northern Liang King.
Compared to Cui Wazi, the Daoist Fingers’ Mystery expert on the bell tower, Mi Fengjie’s Fingers’ Mystery was attained through swordsmanship, truly making him a top martial artist in the world.
Huangfu Ping tapped the table with one hand, holding a teacup lid in the other, gently fanning the rising steam from the bitter tea. This influential general was both praised and criticized in Northern Liang, but no one could deny he was one of the Northern Liang King’s most trusted men. Within Youzhou, perhaps only Huangfu Ping himself could bear the title “confidant.” Huangfu Ping could drink wine, but he didn’t like it. He only drank bitter tea so strong it left a dry taste in the mouth.
Huangfu Ping remained silent. According to the intelligence reports from both the Wutong Courtyard and the Fushui Bureau, the Northern Desolation web and martial forces had infiltrated deep into Youzhou. Aside from the initial widespread attacks that kept the covert hawks and falcons and the local garrison busy and caused heavy casualties, these desperados later chose a central southern route, then abruptly turned, launching a direct assault on Changgeng City under heavy cover from large-scale assassinations on both flanks. The assassination target was obvious—either him, the Youzhou General, or Governor Hu Kui.
Besides Mi Fengjie, hidden in the General’s mansion of Changgeng City, Hu Kui’s residence was also guarded by numerous second-tier masters.
And there was that madwoman, Fan Xiaocha, lurking in the city.
For Northern Desolation to strike at the heavily guarded but tempting Changgeng City seemed quite reasonable, after all, the life or death of Huangfu Ping and Hu Kui could influence the power dynamics in Youzhou.
Suddenly, Huangfu Ping slammed the teacup shut, his voice deep, “No, something’s wrong!”
At the same time, on the bell tower corridor, the Northern Desolation Battalion Chief, realizing his identity had been exposed, leapt Without hesitationly, leaving the Daoist Grand Preceptor alone to face the deeply hidden dangerous woman. He laughed loudly, “Cui Wazi, it’s time for you to die for your country. Once our web successfully kills General Yan Wenluan, I will personally deliver the compensation gift from the Emperor to the Daoist Sect.”
※※※
General Yan Wenluan’s headquarters were not deep in Youzhou territory, merely one hundred and fifty li from Hulukou. Initially, upon hearing that a large number of Northern Desolation assassins had infiltrated, the Youzhou border army sent out twenty squads of fifty scouts each, radiating out from the headquarters. Gu Dazu, unlike Chen Yunchui, the infantry deputy commander stationed in Youzhou, was in charge of the Liangzhou border. Worried about the safety of the commander-in-chief, he even begged the cavalry deputy commander Zhou Kang for three elite squads of the most skilled riders, disregarding Yan Wenluan’s objections, and dispatched them to the old general’s side to prevent any mishap. As intelligence reports continued to arrive urgently, showing that Northern Desolation assassins were continuously moving south, especially after a fierce night attack on the camp of the infantry deputy commander Chen Yunchui, which resulted in heavy casualties for the Youzhou army, had it not been for the pre-arranged ambush of sufficient numbers of third-tier experts and minor masters, the consequences would have been unimaginable. Although the security around Yan Wenluan’s headquarters had not been relaxed, everyone was visibly more at ease.
On this day, it happened to be the time when the Northern Desolation cavalry poured into the Hulukou area, and the beacon fires began to flare up.
Yan Wenluan led a thousand personal riders rushing to the front line.
Surrounding the thousand riders were three squads of White Horse Crossbow Cavalry (Baima You Nv Shou, White Horse Longbow Riders) and elite scouts from the Youzhou infantry, cautiously and skillfully scouting the area.
The more so, when ten people blocked the path of the thousand riders advancing like a A mantis trying to stop a chariot. (Tang Bi Dang Che, a mantis trying to stop a chariot), the more uneasy the general’s guards felt.
At the end of the road, the central figure was a woman partially veiled in white gauze.
Beside her stood a middle-aged scholar with narrow eyes and a long beard, wearing a carefree headpiece and a deep purple flute tied at his waist, exuding elegance.
They were respectively from Princess Tomb, Xiao Nian Tou (Little Thought), and from the Chess and Zither Bureau, Da Le Fu (Grand Musician).
Behind them stood two of the ten greatest villains of the Northern Desolation martial world. A dwarf sat on the shoulders of a giant, a bizarre sight.
The Northern Desolation martial world knew them only by their nicknames, “Iron Rider” and “Thirsty Child.” The latter was particularly notorious, comparable to Xie Ling, a fellow villain known for his fondness for eating human hearts and livers, and he had a preference for drinking the blood of the living.
At the most incongruous position at the back, an old woman with white hair was coughing heavily, a vibrant and out-of-season flower stuck in her hair.
The remaining five were all top-tier martial experts from the Northern Desolation.
Yan Wenluan raised his arm, and the thousand riders halted abruptly. The old general chuckled, “This time, the Northern Desolation barbarians have quite the appetite.”
The cavalry commander, filled with concern, rode to Yan Wenluan’s side, but before he could speak, Yan Wenluan laughed, “Don’t rush; today isn’t our day. Just enjoy the show. After all, there are still those who can take on ten thousand men. We generals who rely on our troops’ strength have no choice but to admit defeat.”
As the cavalry commander was left puzzled, one rider silently rode out from the cavalry ranks.
A man holding a long spear removed his helmet.
This man, hailed by the world-renowned general Yan Wenluan as a warrior capable of defeating ten thousand, rode forward after leaving the ranks.
Many years ago, during the era when the Sword God Li Chungan dominated the martial world, there was a Northern Liang man who, alone with his horse and spear, repeatedly entered the Northern Desolation grasslands as if they were uninhabited.
He was known as the Spear Immortal, Wang Xiu.
Later generations only knew that Wang Xiu trained a disciple who surpassed his master, the White-Clothed Chen Zhibao.
But even the people of Northern Liang, and even the Northern Liang King Xu Fengnian himself, did not know that when Chen Zhibao killed his master Wang Xiu back then, he ultimately failed to take the famous spear ” Moment” (Shina).
It was because someone blocked Chen Zhibao, who was holding the ” Plum Green” (Meizi Qing), with an ordinary wooden spear.
Looking afar at that seemingly unremarkable rider charging forward with his spear, Da Le Fu, standing at the forefront, let out a helpless sigh, “It’s Xu Yanbing. All our previous plans have become jokes.”
A strong gust of wind swept past him and Xiao Nian Tou.
Da Le Fu became even more helpless, “Are they trying to die?”
It was seen that the mighty Iron Rider rushed past them like thunder, the dwarf cackling.
At about fifty paces apart, the Thirsty Child pushed off the giant’s shoulders with his legs, using the momentum to lunge forward.
The dwarf’s trajectory through the air was ghostly and flamboyant.
But it was just a passing encounter.
The thousand riders behind Yan Wenluan didn’t even see how the spearman had thrust his spear, only witnessing the villainous dwarf explode into a mist of blood mid-air. Then the giant turned to flee desperately, yet still didn’t see the spearman on horseback manipulate his long spear. The enemy dared not run in a straight line, zigzagging in a pitiful manner. The next scene was even more inconceivable. The Northern Desolation villain, known as Iron Rider, seemed to be inexplicably forced into a desperate situation, turning back to collide with the rider.
In the end, like a fool committing suicide, he ran straight onto the spear tip, allowing the spear to pierce through his skull.
Xu Yanbing lightly flicked his wrist, flinging the giant corpse away.
He continued charging.
It wasn’t that the villains Iron Rider and Thirsty Child were too easy to defeat, but their chosen opponent, once he had drawn his spear, left no possibility for both sides to survive.
In the past, when Wang Xiu, one of the Four Great Masters, faced enemies, even many opponents whose cultivation levels were close to his own rarely survived a single clash.
Xu Yanbing had already surpassed the peak cultivation level of Wang Xiu by a significant margin.
Even more so!
This meant that in the future, when Xu Yanbing faced off against Chen Zhibao, it would surely be decided in a single spear strike.
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