Chapter 102: All Are Experts!

In the instant the three guards leapt from the carriage, the previously silent Ox Pen Street erupted into chaos.

A roaring howl came from above; the three guards instantly tensed, looking up to see a massive stone millstone hurled over the alley wall, crashing toward the carriage with violent force.

Judging by its size, the millstone weighed at least several thousand jin.

To hurl such a millstone over a courtyard wall and still maintain that speed—only a natural-born brute of immense strength could do it!

Yet even so, the three guards showed not the slightest panic.

Especially the tallest and most burly among them, the scar-faced guard, who not only felt no fear but clenched his fist and snarled as he punched straight at the millstone.

“Boom!”

In an instant, the massive stone millstone shattered into countless fragments, spraying outward in all directions.

Dust and stone chips rained down; the scar-faced guard stood unharmed, raised his right hand—the one that had shattered the millstone—and brushed the powder from his body, glancing at his two comrades:

“If there’s no objection, this one’s mine!”

“...”

The two comrades exchanged a glance; the middle-aged guard on the left, calm and composed, nodded in agreement.

The long-haired youth beside him, clutching his scabbard, chuckled lightly and teased: “If Brother Fu is willing, not just this one—even if you took on every assassin on this street, it’d be no problem!”

“Hmph, always trying to slack off. I wonder why Young Master ever picked someone like you...”

The scar-faced guard snorted, then strode forward toward where the millstone had come from.

As he walked, faint blue light shimmered through his collar and sleeves; upon closer look, it was the glow of intricate patterns etched across his arms and torso.

His name was Fu Hao. Naturally endowed with an astonishing physique and immense strength, in another world he’d have been at least a fearsome frontline general.

But unfortunately, this was Qing Yu Nian, where radiation Qi existed—and Fu Hao was perfect in every way except his Qi talent, which was abysmal. No matter how hard he trained, he remained trapped at the Sixth Rank.

Until not long ago, Fan Xian took him in as a retainer, used the Three-Chariot Method to open his Ren and Du Meridians, combined with brute-force cultivation techniques and enhancement runes, forcibly elevating his power to an astonishing level.

Now his body was nearly invulnerable to blades and arrows; while not matching a Grand Master, his overall strength was at least Ninth Rank Upper!

As Fu Hao stepped beyond the carriage’s range, dark shadows suddenly emerged from both sides of the courtyard walls.

Each wore black cloth over their faces, bows drawn and arrows nocked, all aimed at the carriage and the three guards.

“Shhh-shhh-shhh—”

In an instant, a dense rain of arrows pierced the air, clattering against Fu Hao’s body.

Fu Hao frowned, casually grabbed an arrow, and hurled it backward—immediately piercing the skull of a head that had peeked over the wall.

At the same moment, the other two beside the carriage moved.

The young swordsman shed his earlier laziness; his blade flashed like lightning as it unsheathed, slicing through the air and unleashing dazzling, swirling swordlight.

“Ding-ding-dang-dang!”

In an instant, countless arrows were deflected by the young swordsman’s blade.

The seemingly gentle swordwind swept across the arrow shafts, effortlessly shredding them into wooden splinters that drifted through the air.

The middle-aged guard’s eyes turned cold; his right hand gripped his saber’s hilt, stomped forward, and slashed horizontally.

“Clang—”

As the blade hummed, its curved edge glowed blue, unleashing a solid blade aura.

Before the archers on the wall could comprehend what had happened, their vision was filled with brilliant swordlight—and their consciousness plunged into eternal darkness.

“Thud! Thud!”

Headless bodies tumbled from the wall, blood gushing out like a crimson rain.

The young swordsman frowned, spun his blade, and used the air current to intercept the blood, preventing filth from soiling Young Master’s carriage.

“Nie Kang, protect Young Master!”

“If even one arrow lands on the carriage, I’ll rip your head off and kick it like a ball!”

Fu Hao roared like an enraged bear, sprinting toward the left courtyard wall.

“Boom!”

With a thunderous crash, Fu Hao smashed through the stone wall with his shoulder, charging into the courtyard where the assassins lay in wait.

“Like you need to tell me?”

Nie Kang sneered, his blade spinning faster, seeming to merge with the wind.

Each swing summoned a gust; the blade’s gleaming surface now bore faint green patterns, twisting the air within a three-meter radius into an impenetrable vortex.

Like Fu Hao, Nie Kang was a man of misfortune and unfulfilled potential.

He was a disciple of a Seventh Rank swordsman, famed since childhood as a sword prodigy—yet he suffered from chronic illness and asthma, his frail body unable to withstand Qi, his strength far below even average peers.

Because of this, he endured constant scorn and ridicule.

Even his own master, after years of failed medical attempts, gently urged him to abandon martial arts.

Nie Kang refused to surrender. He bade farewell to his master, came to the capital, sought renowned physicians while teaching swordplay for a living.

But his combat skills were poor—he couldn’t fend off challengers, his business collapsed, he was mocked constantly, and eventually sank to teaching children their first strokes.

Even so, Nie Kang was not broken.

He learned to ignore scorn and ridicule, dismissing them all with a lazy, indifferent attitude.

Fan Xian recognized his spirit and sword talent, cured his asthma, opened his Ren and Du Meridians, and gifted him a wind-enchanted sword forged by Lin Yu, instantly elevating him to true sword mastery.

In raw power alone, Nie Kang was the weakest of the three.

But with that enchanted sword, even Fu Hao might not be his match!

At the same moment, the middle-aged swordsman stomped the ground, leapt five meters high, and landed within the courtyard wall.

The next instant, brilliant swordlight flared within the wall.

Countless severed limbs and arms flew through the air, staining the entire courtyard a blinding crimson.

“Ahh!”

The assassins’ agonized screams echoed around him, yet the middle-aged guard remained unmoved, coldly swinging his blade, slaughtering every living thing within sight.

His name was Shi Hanwu, a retired veteran of the Qing state’s frontline.

Unlike Fu Hao and Nie Kang, his early life had been relatively smooth—he earned many military merits on the border—until injury left him disabled, and he finally saw the true nature of human coldness.

To be fair, Qing state treated veterans decently—but he’d lost a hand and a leg, making movement difficult, rendering him unable to earn a living.

His wife, whom he’d married through an introduction, was a mercenary soul; seeing their fortunes plummet, she left the capital one afternoon with a traveling merchant.

Fan Xian noticed this disabled veteran, bought a healing scroll from Lin Yu, and restored his body, rebuilding his flesh.

Afterwards, Fan Xian followed protocol to open Shi Hanwu’s Ren and Du Meridians.

But when Shi Hanwu gained Qi, Fan Xian was astonished to discover his Qi resonated with his sword!

After pressing him, Fan Xian learned the blade had been passed down through his family—estimated to have been in their possession for at least three generations.

The Shi family had served in the military for generations; the sword had fought alongside them across three generations of battlefields, fusing with their bloodline, gaining a degree of sentience, perfectly suited for the Art of Materialization.

Without hesitation, Fan Xian taught Shi Hanwu the Art of Materialization.

Shi Hanwu proved remarkably gifted; upon first attempt, he could already summon blade aura from his ancestral sword—truly a prodigy.

Of the three, Shi Hanwu’s loyalty to Fan Xian was the highest; he was a soldier by nature, accustomed to serving others, and now that Fan Xian had given him rebirth, he willingly surrendered his life.

“Ssshh—”

As the blade cut through flesh, Shi Hanwu swept his swordlight, swiftly slaughtering the assassins before him.

In the shadows of the corner, two figures crouched silently, staring in awe at the middle-aged guard’s massacre.

From his current display, he was at least a Ninth Rank expert!

Experts of this caliber were exceedingly rare across the entire realm.

Fan Xian was merely a bastard—where in the world did he get so many experts?!

The two figures in the shadows were baffled, but orders were orders—even if it cost them their lives, they had to try.

They exchanged glances, and seized the moment when the middle-aged guard turned his back—launching their attack.

“Ssshh—”

Two faint whistles came from behind his head.

The middle-aged guard’s expression didn’t change; he drew power from the ground, twisted his waist and hips, and slashed a blade aura toward the attackers.

But at that instant, he caught sight of their figures—though masked in black cloth, their slender silhouettes betrayed their gender.

“The female swordswomen Young Master mentioned!”

Shi Hanwu frowned, instantly redirected his blade aura—letting it pass harmlessly over the two women’s heads.

Seeing this, the two female swordswomen were puzzled.

But as assassins, they had no qualms exploiting this tiny “mistake.”

In an instant, they accelerated again, their slender blades turning into dark glimmers—like two black venomous snakes, striking left and right toward his neck and temples.

But as the swordtips neared his skin, the middle-aged guard’s blade flared blue.

The blue light surged across his body like a tide, covering him completely in an instant.

“Dang!”

The next moment, the poisoned swordtips struck a translucent blue Qi barrier.

The solid resistance startled both women; before they could retreat, the middle-aged guard lifted his right leg—like twin bolts of blue lightning—kicking them squarely in the abdomen.

“Boom!”

Two dull thuds echoed simultaneously; the two women flew backward like cannonballs, slamming hard into the wall.

“Surrender!”

The middle-aged guard’s body shimmered with blue light; he swung his blade, pointing it at the two women, blood trickling from their lips, and said calmly: “Young Master is merciful—he’s willing to spare your lives. Think carefully, don’t force my hand...”

(End of chapter)