The Iron Gate Pass, where the sand flows like a thin line between cliffs, gathered the most concentrated assembly of top martial cultivators in the past hundred years of Jianghu. The sheer number was enough to shake both the Liyang and Beiman factions of the martial world, and almost all of them were ready to fight to the death without retreating. This was vastly different from the time when Cao Changqing and Deng Tai’a ascended to Wudi City. Back then, although many came to watch, hiding dragons and crouching tigers among them, in the end only two actually fought. The spectators never joined the fray. Compared to the unfamiliar terrain of Iron Gate Pass, that event paled in comparison. In this battle at Iron Gate, no one could remain outside the fray—if you appeared within sight, you were already involved!
Among those who had already surfaced and joined the battle were: Chen Zhibao, the latecomer with his plum wine spear; Han Diaosi, the so-called “Human Cat” famed for his Heaven-Sundering Finger Mysticism; Yang Taishui, the sickly tiger who once collapsed half of the Longhu Demon-Slaying Platform; Yuan Zuo’zong, the White Bear, third in command of the Liyang army; Dan Ying, the Yin entity who had perfected the Finger Mysticism; Xu Fengnian, a pseudo-expert in the Finger Mysticism; Xu Wei’xiong, bearing the Red Chibi Sword; the Mi Sect’s Six-Pearl Bodhisattva; the Golden Armor Figure, the original body of the Fu-Jiang Armor Sect and once one of the Four Grand Masters; Xu Longxiang, born with Diamond Qi; and Qing Niao, wielding the Moment Spear.
They were engaged in the most treasonous and rebellious of plots—mutual slaughter between those who could possibly ascend the Dragon Throne and become the next heir to the Northern Liang throne!
This impending battle, which would soon determine the future of Northern Liang, the Western Regions, and Xishu, left no one daring to claim they could be the last one standing.
Xu Fengnian led the charge. His twelve fully matured flying swords, woven into a silk-like formation, created a Thunder Pool Sword Array inspired by the sword techniques of the Peach Blossom Sword Sage, Deng Tai’a.
He charged straight at Yang Taishui, the black-robed old monk who had been a major accomplice in the previous capital’s White Robe Massacre.
Yuan Zuo’zong followed closely on horseback, supporting the young prince, but keeping a distance of fifty paces, circling on the arc’s perimeter.
During the gallop, the Zhu Pao Yin Wu, its four arms and dual faces previously shrouded and concealed, finally revealed its hideous true form. It bypassed Xu Fengnian and the black-robed monk, soaring directly toward the entrance of Iron Gate Valley. Its intentions were clear—whomever made suitable bait, it would devour entirely, flesh and aura alike. The Fifth Mo was a grim precedent. Now, Dan Ying’s dual golden eyes gleamed with an ominous glow, unlike any ordinary malevolent entity.
Qing Niao tilted the Moment Spear and charged forward on horseback, still ignoring the famed black-robed national master. She directly led eight hundred White Horse Righteous Cavalry (White Horse Volunteers) against the two hundred Imperial Guards. Back in the Rouran Mountains, before the battle, the young master had smiled and said to leave the Fifth Mo to her. Qing Niao never doubted that he could sever the Fifth Mo’s head. Today, with the young master engaging Yang Taishui, she would not overcomplicate things either.
The black-clothed youth had abandoned his horse and was now running, yet his form moved like rolling thunder across flat ground, surpassing even the fastest steeds. Once again, he demonstrated what it meant to be the vanguard of a battlefield capable of slaying ten thousand foes!
Wang Chong of the Fengzi Squadron, riding side by side with the young prince, glanced sideways instinctively, gripping his spear tightly. He murmured softly, “Lin Heng, take a good look. This time again, the Your Highness is charging alone against Yang Taishui, that bald old monk, and he hasn’t let us down.”
The White Horse Righteous Cavalry (White Horse Volunteers) surged forward, leaving behind the three figures—Xu Fengnian, Yuan Zuo’zong, and the black-robed monk—who had fallen behind. Their blood boiled, their bodies trembling with excitement. Seven hundred of them had followed this unscrupulous young master who had never even set foot in a military camp before. Many said all he could do was bully delicate young girls and squander fortunes in pleasure houses. Who among them hadn’t felt bitter resentment all these years? But now, galloping westward in haste, the eldest son of Northern Liang, wearing both sword and saber, had not uttered a single word. He never tried to say anything warm or comforting to ease their hearts. Not once. Yet just before reaching two li from Iron Gate Pass, he had spoken one sentence with a heavy voice: “Today, follow me and kill Liyang’s imperial prince, Zhao Kai.”
Two hundred paces from the enemy.
Yuan Meng let out a thunderous roar: “ White Horse Righteous Cavalry! To the death!”
The two hundred Imperial Guards simultaneously launched their charge. Sixteen golden-sabre guards rode forth without hesitation.
Zhao Kai remained seated as the carriage driver, squinting into the distance. Fu-Jiang’s Golden Armor stood silently before the carriage, gripping the ancient greatsword’s hilt with both hands, planted into the earth. This Cursed Blade (Ominous Sword) had been forged with the lives of a renowned swordsmith’s entire family. Inside the armor was a puppet, once a Grand Master whose skin had been peeled by Han Diaosi’s hands. Its individual combat strength alone could crush the other four discarded Fu Armors.
A white-robed Mi Sect woman Bodhisattva formed a mudra with one hand at her chest and held an imaginary bottle with the other. Yellow sand swirled violently above her palm, forming a tower-like vortex, slowly shaping into a constellation-like spiral.
Zhao Kai gripped his horsewhip and stood up, taking a deep breath. “Will I die here?”
The sturdy whip in his hand suddenly snapped inch by inch. The prince whispered with a snarl, “How can I die here!”
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Historical records, especially unofficial ones, often use the term “Ten Thousand Men’s Enemy” to describe elite generals capable of breaking enemy formations. But no one truly takes it literally. However, the concept of a “Thousand Men’s Enemy” does exist within the Liyang military. Though rare, there have been precedents. In the past, when the Xu family conquered Xishu for the emperor, aside from the Xishu monarch and countless officials who vowed to defend their gates to the death rather than submit or flee, there was even a Sword Emperor of the Xishu royal family who guarded the city gate with a single sword. Unfortunately, after a fierce battle, he grew weary and was eventually crushed by Northern Liang’s cavalry. In that battle, the Xishu Sword Emperor killed eight hundred elite riders within three incense sticks’ time. After his death, his body was trampled, and General Chu Luxian planted a flag atop his corpse. The long Spring and Autumn Wars left the military with valuable experience in fighting top Jianghu experts. They learned to exhaust the opponent before their own morale collapsed, not giving them a moment to recover. These lessons, paid for with blood and bones, were passed down from veteran soldiers to recruits, generation after generation.
Wang Zhi, the cavalry commander of Jian Ge, had grown up in the south, where the Sword Emperor had perished in Xishu. In Northern Liang, there was Chen Zhibao and Yuan Zuo’zong, who survived the Concubine’s Grave. Both were true Thousand Men’s Enemies. Naturally, Wang Zhi often trained his cavalry using these legendary figures as hypothetical opponents.
But the red-robed eunuch on the opposing side, with his terrifying combat prowess and sinister killing techniques, still caught Wang Zhi off guard.
Han Diaosi charged straight ahead, his crimson robe billowing. More than a hundred red threads emerged from his hands, severing heads with a flick of his fingers, dismembering foes in an instant.
Only Wang Zhi’s Northern Liang saber managed to sever some red threads, and a few lucky warriors survived. More than thirty cavalry were slaughtered by this “Human Cat.” Fortunately, the cavalry formation had never aimed for prolonged duels from the start. They focused on solid, overwhelming force, even if it meant sacrificing some of the cavalry’s charging advantage. Even if it meant giving Han Diaosi’s two thousand elite riders a natural advantage, they still strived to encircle and intercept the old eunuch by maneuvering around him!
Wang Zhi had received a secret order just days ago. It was simple: two words—“Hold him!” How? Wang Zhi had kept a thousand fresh riders in reserve, avoiding an all-out clash with the two thousand enemy riders who already knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses. The two thousand riders did not charge in a chaotic swarm but were divided into twenty units of a hundred riders each, ensuring flexible advances and retreats, maximizing the advantage of numerical superiority in a relentless attrition war.
Wang Zhi had already clashed with Han Diaosi three times. Once, he had fought head-on with his saber. The other two times, he had picked up fallen comrades’ spears, launching return shots while turning his horse. One spear was aimed directly at the red cat’s back, but the red threads, as if with eyes of their own, coiled around and shattered the spear mid-air. For the third throw, Wang Zhi abandoned targeting the person and aimed for the horse instead. The blood-red figure actually pulled his mount into the air, dodging the spear, and at the same time, sent the heads of five surrounding riders flying skyward.
Wang Zhi, his eyes bloodshot, cursed, “Damn it, you’re not even human!”
Behind Wang Zhi, eight thousand hooves thundered, growing louder.
Wang Zhi made a hand signal. The thousand riders who had remained motionless split apart, like floodwaters bypassing a central rock, charging toward He Yan’s two thousand riders. Meanwhile, six outer cavalry units, unable to immediately surround and kill the Human Cat, launched fierce head-on clashes.
Wang Zhi roughly rubbed his face, spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, and growled, “If I survive this, I’ll demand the position of Cavalry General commanding ten thousand riders from the Northern Liang King!”
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Chen Zhibao declared he would kill Xu Wei’xiong and take her corpse to Xishu to claim kingship, showing no mercy or hesitation.
Every time Mei Zi Jiu met the ancient Red Chibi Sword, a dragon-like resonance rang out, echoing with a clear and lofty tone.
With each impact, Xu Wei’xiong’s right sleeve, gripping the sword, trembled violently.
Mei Zi Jiu’s mystery went far beyond this. Chen Zhibao’s spear strikes appeared gentle and refined, without a trace of anger. Yet with every sword chime and sleeve tremor, elite riders of the Xue Long cavalry arriving nearby dropped dead without warning. They hadn’t even approached within twenty paces of the duel, yet they perished instantly, as if pierced through the chest by a spear. They didn’t even have time to feel pain before being hurled backward, falling lifelessly into the sand.
Suddenly, Chen Zhibao swung Mei Zi Jiu in a wide arc, sending Xu Wei’xiong’s Red Chibi Sword into a terrifying curve that would have shattered any ordinary blade.
Two armored riders behind Xu Wei’xiong fell victim to the same inexplicable fate, their bodies arcing like the sword before they tumbled from their mounts.
Slowly retracting Mei Zi Jiu, Chen Zhibao twirled the spear tip in a flourish, pointing it at the blood-spattered woman. He smiled faintly. “The plum is still green. You really won’t raise your left hand? The second sacred sword of Daoism, Red Chibi—it’s all about the word ‘Command.’”
Xu Wei’xiong remained silent.
Chen Zhibao turned his gaze toward Iron Gate Pass. “I had hoped to reach there, sever the serpent and dragon in one strike, and then enter Shu alone. That would have satisfied everyone.”
In his hand, Mei Zi Jiu’s plum color deepened into purple.
Xu Wei’xiong hurled the Red Chibi high into the sky.
Calling forth the heavens’ thunder.
Just as she was about to shout the command word, a spear pierced through her abdomen.
Chen Zhibao withdrew Mei Zi Jiu, drawing a stream of blood from her body, his expression unchanging.
Xu Wei’xiong still struggled to utter the command word, but Chen Zhibao spun her to the end of the spear shaft and struck her down from her horse.
It seemed merciful, but in truth, the real killing move was this shift from plum green to purple.
At that moment—
A woman soared southward on a sword.
Behind her, a scholar in green robes followed leisurely.
The young woman was exquisitely beautiful, her sword-riding posture as free and ethereal as an immortal. She glared at her second greatest enemy, Xu Wei’xiong, and coldly said, “I’m just watching. Don’t expect me to help.”
The middle-aged scholar, exuding the elegance of a thousand poets, smiled lightly and said, “When the plum turns purple, it’s perfect for wine.”
The Grand Master Cao Changqing arrived gracefully, catching the woman whose soul was nearly shattered. He pressed his fingers to her pulse, placed a pill into her mouth, and gently laid her down.
Whether she lived or died—only Heaven knew.
He had done all he could.
Even forcibly invoking heavenly lightning through human means could not escape death.
A true dead man walking.
Had he not sensed the anomaly here across thousands of miles of desert, even the Immortal of the Land, Cao Changqing, would have arrived too late.
After laying her down, Cao Changqing stood and extended a hand, asking, “May I challenge the Confucian Saint, Chen Zhibao?”
The White-robed Battle Immortal (White-Clothed War Immortal), whose silent ascension to sainthood was unknown to the world, lifted Mei Zi Jiu, its shaft wreathed in purple energy, and calmly replied, “Please.”
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