Chapter 151

“Tch, thought this martial artist was some big shot—just relies on being faster than us to pull cheap ambushes, made me specially transfer ten of the best marksmen in the company to deal with him.”

Hearing Ha Shi’s mockery, the captured martial artist nearly exploded with rage—but he dared not curse; after all, this was his first time as a prisoner, and what if the Revolutionary Army didn’t treat prisoners as everyone claimed?

If that were the case, he’d suffer terribly—but the Revolutionary Army’s bullying and their words just now were unbearable.

Since the Revolutionary Army arrived in this area, the bandits here have gone completely quiet—no raids for a full month—but how do bandits eat and drink if they don’t rob?

But the Revolutionary Army’s combat power was too fierce; they dared not touch anything near the county seat, so they could only pick out poor, remote villages to plunder.

The brothers had endured a month of confinement, so when they finally came down the mountain, they went wild—murder, robbery, rape—they did it all; the boss couldn’t—and wouldn’t—restrain them. Come on, these men had held back for a month—if you stepped forward to stop them, they’d kill you too.

No one thought much of it; after all, bandits raiding villages had always been ignored by the county magistrates of old—but the People’s Government didn’t just intervene, they acted fast: within two or three days, troops were sent.

These weren’t local guerrillas stationed in the area—they were regular troops who’d fought major battles, genuine field forces.

The weapons these men carried slaughtered the Jin Army’s elite Iron Cavalry like killing chickens.

They were just a band of fifty bandits; any single patrol unit stationed in the county seat could have crushed them into tears—field forces had no reason to even notice them; as for the Iron Cavalry, they didn’t even have the Zige to lay eyes on that legendary unit.

They’d never imagined anyone would send a hundred and twenty troops—each capable of slaughtering Iron Cavalry like chickens—to wipe them out. Did they even deserve it? And they had none of the elite unit’s pride—yet the attack came at midnight, a sneak assault.

They’d studied their routines, slipped in under cover of night—only because he’d trained in martial arts since childhood did he sense someone approaching at once.

But he hadn’t run far before he fainted—from pain; when he woke, he discovered over a dozen wounds—he’d been turned into a sieve by those ruthless bastards.

Now, this sieve of a man heard the company commander sneer at him, claiming he’d specially assigned ten of the best marksmen to deal with him.

He just wanted to ask: what right did he—a mediocre martial artist expelled from his sect—have to face ten soldiers who slaughtered Iron Cavalry like chickens?

And not just any ten—these were the ten best marksmen among your hundred men.

“Director Zhang, you used to be a Beggar’s Sect disciple—do you recognize this guy’s fighting style? If you know his style, his sect must harbor resentment toward our People’s Government, secretly sending disciples to aid local bandits and disrupt our public order.”

Ha Shi spoke solemnly to Zhang Ming beside him.

“Hmm, this guy’s technique resembles the Iron Mountain Shoulder from the Iron Blood Sect—he’s likely one of them. The Iron Blood Sect isn’t small; they used to be honored guests of provincial governors, with hundreds of disciples. Someone like him wouldn’t even rank among their top fighters.”

“Though such martial artists are weak in open combat, they’re excellent at fleeing and ambushing—they’ll be a serious nuisance in remote mountains and forests, and equally dangerous if they strike in crowded towns. We must handle such forces with extreme caution.”

The captured martial artist listened expressionlessly as Ha Shi spoke—had they, these martial heroes, truly sunk so low as to commit crimes in towns and ambush in wilderness?

“Director Zhang, this situation is serious. I recommend reporting immediately—this is beyond the scope of a company commander and a bureau director to resolve.”

Without hesitation, both men reported the situation to their brigade headquarters and the municipal party committee.

They didn’t know that similar reports poured in from across the Guanxi region—the municipal party committee and the stationed brigade jointly convened an emergency meeting.

Martial artists and bandits were both major threats to public order.

Some might claim to uphold justice, robbing the rich to help the poor—but such people were rare. Everyone had to eat; if martial sects and bandits wanted stable income and protection from government crackdowns, the most practical path was to become the government’s black gloves.

With official protection and financial support from local gentry and landlords, they could survive.

Once they accepted the magistrate’s shelter and the gentry’s grain and money, they had to do their bidding—murder, robbery, eliminating political rivals—all of it.

Plainly put, they were modern-day organized crime syndicates.

Such groups might include the Seven Freaks of Jiangnan—but more often, they were people like Li Mochou, Mei Chaofeng, and Sha Tongtian.

“Seven Masters, you all used to be martial artists—what suggestions do you have for eliminating such groups?” Guo Jing handed the reports from various regions to Ke Zhen’e.

Ke Zhen’e didn’t even look at them—he’d been in the martial world for decades; he knew full well the nature of most martial artists.

Forcing women, bullying the weak, coercing decent people into prostitution—that was child’s play. Some even kidnapped children, maimed them, and forced them to perform for money. He didn’t even want to list the rest.

“Now this land belongs to the people—there’s no reason to let these beasts oppress the common folk. Back when my seven brothers were weak, we still fought them to the end. Now we have three hundred thousand troops at our side—why tolerate them any longer?”

“No need for words—kill them. Before killing, hold public struggle sessions—let the people and those bastards know this isn’t a place where monsters run rampant. We’ve crushed the Jin dogs and corrupt officials—do we fear the dogs they raised?”

Ke Zhen’e refused to believe it: three hundred thousand troops armed with rifles, who’d made the Jin dogs flee in terror, couldn’t possibly fail to wipe out a bunch of martial thugs.

It wasn’t that Ke Zhen’e looked down on them—they couldn’t even stand against the Song army, let alone teach them a lesson. Though he disliked the Jurchens, he had to admit: the Jurchen forces crushed the Song army.

But the Revolutionary Army crushed the Jin Army even harder. Ke Zhen’e believed a single squad could massacre any renowned sect in the region.

Tens of thousands of Revolutionary Army troops, combined with local guerrillas, could clear the bandits and martial sects from Guanxi—let alone three hundred thousand.