Chapter 59

Still, this principle holds: such a charge is most convenient if White Wolf does it himself—riding a horse is ultimately not agile enough, and a horse cannot move exactly as one wishes. White Wolf himself is small in target and quick in motion; launching a charge, he can get closer to Zhang Xianzhong's central command tent faster than on horseback.

Many tried to intercept him, but most had not seen Bai Lang's ferocious slaughter ahead, and now they had the courage to step forward and fight—who let this guy charge so fast that even the routed troops ahead were flung behind him? Bai Lang fought bare-handed, yet the killing aura on his body was so thick he felt as if a tiger might condense outside his flesh.

"Just a psychological effect, nothing but a psychological effect...... but the thirst for blood and slaughter is growing stronger; it seems that cultivating martial arts through war and slaughter may also have shortcomings?" Bai Lang suppressed his killing intent for a moment, thought it over, then gave himself over to unrestrained frenzy.

His lunging motion remained from low to high, striking from the waist down, claws and fists flailing wildly, and every now and then he threw a whirlwind sweep kick. With his current martial skill, a graze meant death, a solid hit meant injury. Opponents struck by his fists or claws were mostly dead, while those hit by his sweep kick ended up with torn tendons and broken bones, clutching their thighs and calves as they rolled on the ground. If Bai Lang launched a mid‑high sweep kick, it would be a clean break—kicking the waist so hard it snapped in two, leaving a corpse.

Even those wearing chainmail or cotton armor were, due to insufficient hardness, as fragile as a reed staff before Bai Lang—especially since his fists and feet were no different from a great hammer or spiked club. As for their swords and spears, Bai Lang paid them no heed; his armor was first a finely crafted mountain‑pattern armor, with chainmail underneath, and ordinary weapons could not easily pierce it, let alone the Golden Bell Cover, which made it hard to injure him even if breached.

"A steel‑tipped spear, aided by a running start and a full‑force thrust, might pierce skin and flesh an inch—still far from enough to kill me!" Bai Lang resembled a great beast leaping and lunging through the crowd; wherever he pounced, carnage ensued. A lone fighter on foot has a drawback: it's easy for the struck side to focus attention on close combat, so they hardly notice how many of their own have fallen here; thus their ability to withstand blows can be said to be passively increased—because many attack one, nobody can relax and look around.

But after several of White Wolf's lunges, someone finally caught on—morale collapsed at astonishing speed; after just a few screams, the troops who had formed ranks and were fighting White Wolf scattered in disarray. White Wolf couldn't be bothered to chase these worthless soldiers; he simply lunged toward Zhang Xianzhong's central command tent, and with his present hearing he could detect someone inside.

Zhang Xianzhong should be easy to identify, for this rebel's appearance is peculiar—indeed, the reason he wasn't killed outright by officials at first was his looks, so "If you see someone with a strange face, just kill him—no mistake!" White Wolf thought, and the figure now before him truly was a general‑dressed man with a somewhat odd appearance.

White Wolf broke through the heavy encirclement in the time it takes to sip a cup of tea; even if any warriors still tried to block him, they had already been left behind. The man before him looked relatively young, his age not matching Zhang Xianzhong's, but White Wolf didn't care—could there be any decent people in Zhang Xianzhong's army? Maybe someday, but certainly not now.

Thus Bai Lang charged straight at him; the general saw he didn't have time to mount and flee, so he instantly drew his long sword to engage. This man could be called extremely valiant—his sword bore tremendous momentum, his technique quite impressive—had he been on horseback charging, he might well have been a warrior capable of ten victories in ten engagements.

Bai Lang finally tore off this man's head. A footman who had been serving this general to mount his horse now lay limp aside; "Who is this?" Bai Lang gazed at the footman.

"Zhang... Zhang Ke wang..." the soldier uttered, then his face turned ashen and he died outright. "What? Scared to death?" White Wolf cursed, "Zhang Ke wang? Damn useless head!" He flung the head away, "Ha! This must certainly be Zhang Xianzhong!"

A dozen or so horsemen escorted a person in a desperate flight, not even wearing armor. "Damn it!" Bai Lang heard the man cursing as he ran; overjoyed, Bai Lang unleashed a tiger's roar that shook heaven and earth, shouting, "Rebel Zhang, don't run! Lend me your head for merit!" He bellowed, and the sound wave made the warhorses startle in confusion.

White Wolf grabbed and tore off his mountain‑pattern armor; there was no time to remove the chainmail. He exerted the Grass Flying Lightness Skill to its fullest, kicking up a bloody gale as he pursued the fleeing Zhang Xianzhong and his guards. In just a few steps he caught up to the galloping horse, seized its haunches with a claw, and without tearing off that flesh he used the grip to vault onto the last rider's back.

Stepping down to add momentum, he of course trampled the man together with his own warhorse with a thud, rolling over and over—it looked as if both man and horse were done for. White Wolf used that force to lunge forward, clasping the shoulders of the preceding horseman with both claws, and with a shove he crushed the man's shoulder blades and ribs on both sides, then pushed off again to surge in—this time he truly reached Zhang Xianzhong's horseback.

White Wolf let out a heh‑heh smirk; Zhang Xianzhong's flight had been utterly single‑minded, never glancing back, yet now he broke out in a cold sweat, his back feeling as if a great beast were pressed against him. This Zhang Xianzhong was also a ruthless man—without a word he drew his blade, didn't look back, and thrust it backward in a backhand stab.

That thrust directly split Zhang Xianzhong's tiger's mouth— the blade was like stabbing an iron plate, and instead it shocked his own hand. "Hero! Spare me! I have……"

"You're going to say you've got money, right?" White Wolf chuckled, twisting Zhang Xianzhong's head a full 180 degrees, and said while watching blood trickle from the man's mouth, "Kill you and you'll get promotion and wealth; riches will naturally follow. You lot agree?" He asked the Zhang Xianzhong personal guards who were fleeing for their lives on horseback—these people, seeing the scene, didn't even try to help, they just ran.

"Right, are you really Zhang Xianzhong or not?" White Wolf asked, "Damn it, you kill too fast—this guy can't speak!" Zhang Xianzhong's neck was twisted 180 degrees; by the medicine of the era he was as good as dead, though not yet expired, but certainly unable to speak. After cursing, White Wolf hurled Zhang Xianzhong to the ground in a flash, then leapt out and snatched a slower personal guard.

"Is this Zhang Xianzhong? Speak the truth and I'll spare your life; lie and I'll flay your skin!" White Wolf didn't yet realize he was essentially a white tiger descended to earth; this guard, merely hearing his voice and seeing his face, had his soul flee and his courage gone. "He is the Eighth King," he bellowed.