Yesterday, Xu Fengnian unexpectedly soared onto the city walls from the south, charging alone into the fiercely contested Tiger Head City. Not only did the Northern Wilderness army find themselves bewildered by the news, but even the Beiliang soldiers like Liu Jinu were left exchanging stunned glances. After Xu Fengnian dashed from Huaiyang Pass straight toward Tiger Head City, a Northern Wilderness martial arts expert temporarily serving as a scout in the southern outskirts of the city abandoned his horse and frantically fled toward the central camp. Immediately, the Northern Wilderness’s offensive momentum faltered, retreating like a receding tide.
That night, Xu Fengnian stood atop the bloodstained northern battlements of Tiger Head City. Among the city’s commanders and officers who had once shared drinks with him, two familiar faces were missing—the boisterous Ma Jili and the refined Chu Hanqing, both cut down in the prime of their lives. In Liu Jinu’s hoarse yet emotionless recounting, Xu Fengnian learned that the city’s three thousand elite heavy cavalry and six thousand light cavalry remained intact. However, of the twenty-four thousand regular infantry and nearly ten thousand auxiliary troops, eight thousand had already perished. When Xu Fengnian inquired about the wounded, Liu Jinu simply replied, “There aren’t many injured.” Xu Fengnian fell silent, already knowing the grim truth from his time in Huaiyang Pass.
The northern, northeastern, and northwestern fronts of Tiger Head City were divided into thirty-two defensive formations, each led by a captain. If the Northern Wilderness barbarians breached the walls and couldn’t be repelled within the time it took an incense stick to burn, Liu Jinu would deploy reinforcements, and the commanding officer would be demoted on the spot, replaced by his deputy. Over nearly two months, seven entire units had been wiped out.
Chu Hanqing had died because three of his adjacent defensive captains fell within a single hour, allowing six hundred enemies to flood the city walls for the first time. As the breach widened, an enraged Liu Jinu sent a messenger to the blood-soaked Chu Hanqing, saying, “If you truly can’t hold, just say the word, and I’ll come myself.” By the time Liu Jinu arrived with eight hundred personal guards to repel the invaders, Chu Hanqing sat slumped against the wall, his face unrecognizable. Only his distinctive armor—awarded years prior by the Grand General for his valor—identified him as the scholarly officer whose daughters were said to be as delicate as porcelain, the man who had once been urged to seek glory in the imperial examinations of Tai’an City.
As dawn approached, Xu Fengnian turned his gaze along the city’s walkway—fondly called the “Horse Gallop Path” by the border troops—where the bodies from the night before had been cleared. Those now on the walls were the living. A seemingly obvious statement, yet not so here, where ordinary men could be thrust from life to death in an instant, with no coffins to lie in.
Xu Fengnian turned to Liu Jinu, who was about to return to the command tower. “General Liu, based on the Nanhai Guanyin Sect’s estimates, Tuoba Pusa is heading south from Xijing and will reach the border of Gusai and Liu Provinces by midday. Dong Zhuo’s halt in the offensive is to relay intelligence to him. Without Tantai Pingjing’s presence in Beiliang, I can’t pinpoint Tuoba’s movements. So, I can only stay in Tiger Head City for another two days at most. Frankly, my odds against Tuoba are fifty-fifty—whoever strikes second wins. I can’t reveal my full strength too soon. At best, I’ll fight at the Xuan or Heavenly Phenomena threshold until Dong Zhuo’s scouts deliver the message. Only then can I kill the most.”
Liu Jinu hesitated. “Your Highness, your mere presence here is enough. There’s no need to risk yourself.”
Xu Fengnian shook his head. “Tiger Head City doesn’t need me to wave flags and boost morale.” He smirked. “If I’m here but not killing barbarians, should I just stand here as target practice or pretend to be some lofty master? That’s more exhausting than fighting.”
Liu Jinu gripped his saber hilt and met Xu Fengnian’s gaze. “Forgive my bluntness, but in this war, anyone can die—except you. If you fall, the fight is lost.”
Xu Fengnian chuckled. “Rest assured, General Liu. I’m terrified of death.”
As Liu Jinu turned to leave, he murmured, “Ma Jili held the front line for over a month. That burly man, once a hundred eighty pounds, died barely heavier than you. Only then could he fit into the armor you once wore outside Hulukou. The men say he got the better deal.”
The Northern Wilderness siege engines, silent until now, roared to life—as if in “welcome” to the Prince of Beiliang.
Liu Jinu exhaled sharply. “Here they come.”
Xu Fengnian smiled faintly. “Lend me your blade.”
Liu Jinu unhesitatingly tossed his saber. “This saber was my daughter—untouchable by anyone. Today, I give her away in marriage!”
He strode off.
In the martial world, moonless nights were for killing.
On the battlefield—especially between Tiger Head City and the Northern Wilderness’s Dragon Eye Plain—such niceties didn’t apply.
As the Southern Court King Dong Zhuo raised his arm and brought it down, thunderous war horns blared.
A dark tide of iron-clad soldiers surged forward from the flanks of Dong Zhuo’s personal guard.
Of the thousand Northern Wilderness catapults, only seven hundred remained, but the largest were meticulously maintained. Their synchronized volleys lit the sky like falling stars.
Dong Zhuo clicked his teeth, surveying his forces. Beside his thousand elite riders stood the cream of the Northern Wilderness’s martial sects—Daoist, Chess Sword, and Princess Tomb. Beyond them, forty massive ballistae, capable of launching bolts with the force of a land-bound Sword Immortal’s strike, were manned by the strongest soldiers and guided by the last dozen Southern Court qi refiners.
“What a waste,” Dong Zhuo muttered. “We’ve gutted our own martial world before even crushing Beiliang.” Had he been allowed to concentrate all these experts on the central front, even Xu Fengnian and Xu Yanbing couldn’t have stood against them. But politics had left his forces scattered.
He smirked, watching a boulder arc toward the city. “Xu Fengnian,” he mused aloud, “come for me. Wouldn’t you love to take my head from the heart of my army? Tuoba’s still far off. Show me your full power… If you can dodge the ballistae’s ‘sword rain,’ I promise—I’ll run!”
As Dong Zhuo rambled, a streak of white light erupted from the city walls.
Dong Zhuo squinted. “One man against an army? The Western Shu Sword Emperor tried that. And how did he die? Under the hooves of your family’s cavalry. Careful—karma’s a bitch.”
Beside him, a young woman in armor frowned. “Can you kill him with words?”
Dong Zhuo grinned. “Persistent thoughts bear fruit.”
She was the daughter of the late Tipping Mountain’s Fifth He, whom Xu Fengnian had slain years ago in the Northern Wilderness—along with taking his head back to Beiliang.
Dong Zhuo suddenly chuckled. “My army’s already marching toward Liu Province. Killing his brother will be far more amusing than killing him.”
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