Chapter 69: First Clash

As the Northern Liao scouts fired their arrows, Fang Hetong rose swiftly, nocked and drew his bow; the bow’s runes glowed, and a single arrow shot like lightning, piercing straight through the chest of one Liao scout.

As a Foundation Establishment cultivator, Fang Hetong’s arrow was far beyond the capability of ordinary Liao scouts. But after firing one shot, his spiritual power fluctuated—he needed to draw a breath before he could fire again.

In that moment of respite, the rear Liao scouts reacted, three of them drawing their bows simultaneously to return fire at Fang Hetong.

Fang Hetong reacted just as swiftly, dropping flat. Two arrows whistled past over the wall—if he hadn’t ducked, one would have struck his skull, the other his chest and abdomen. The third arrow flew much lower, striking the parapet and piercing clean through it!

Fortunately, the walls of Shayang Village were built with great care—actually stepped, with a ledge behind the parapet, then another lower one behind that. Fang Hetong crouched on the lowest ledge, perfectly avoiding the arrow that had pierced through the wall.

After narrowly evading the three arrows, Fang Hetong rose again and shot down another scout.

This enraged the Liao men—they sent over a dozen riders forward, closing in on Shayang Village. They now used heavy arrows, capable of piercing through a one-and-a-half-foot-thick parapet from a hundred zhang away. If they closed to within fifty zhang, the arrows’ power would multiply further; even Fang Hetong, a Foundation Establishment cultivator, dared not catch one barehanded.

Xiang Weiyuan had held back all along; before Fang Hetong moved, he had whispered to Xiang Weiyuan to wait, to strike only when the Liao drew near. The Liao scouts had come to Shayang Village several times before—they likely believed only Fang Hetong remained as a cultivator here, and that suppressing him posed no problem.

Perhaps enraged by the deaths of two comrades, the Liao scouts pressed all the way to thirty zhang. Whenever Fang Hetong dared to show his head, several arrows came whistling at him, pinning him down.

Then Xiang Weiyuan rose, hurling his short spear! The spear flew like lightning—no sooner left his hand than it appeared before the Liao scout; before the man could react, the spear pierced clean through him, then both his chest and back erupted in bloody wounds, leaving a gaping hole.

Xiang Weiyuan activated his iron case with spiritual power; it continuously ejected short spears. He snatched them midair and hurled them in one seamless motion—in the blink of an eye, he brought down seven or eight Liao scouts from their mounts.

The Liao reacted swiftly—sharp whistles filled the air as several heavy arrows streaked toward Xiang Weiyuan, aimed precisely at vital points. He dodged only after hurling another spear to kill one scout. But the heavy arrows flew faster than he’d anticipated—one grazed his side, slicing through his shoulder armor, then his inner lining, his cultivation robe, and finally leaving a fine scratch on his translucent, jade-like skin.

The power of that arrow equaled that of a Foundation Establishment magic treasure—even the strike by Xu Du that had once pierced Xiang Weiyuan’s body fell slightly short.

Xiang Weiyuan immediately locked onto the archer, hurling two short spears in succession—but he dodged both. The Liao scout moved as if fused to his horse, twisting and rolling with effortless grace. Yet the moment he flipped back onto his saddle, three spheres of aquamarine light flew toward him in rapid succession!

The first sphere struck the horse, exploding into dozens of razor-sharp water blades, instantly lacerating the beast’s entire body and cutting the rider as well. Two more spheres followed instantly—the wounded rider could no longer dodge; he and his horse were instantly drowned in a storm of water blades.

The horse reared in panic, galloped a hundred zhang, then collapsed suddenly, leaving a long trail of blood behind. The rider was thrown clear, rolled several times upon landing, and lay motionless on his back, a wide pool of blood spreading beneath him.

The remaining scouts shouted in unison—one wheeled and fled; the rest charged Shayang Village like madmen. One rider triggered a hidden pit, his horse’s front legs snapping instantly—he was thrown into the air, flipped mid-flight, landed steadily, then refused to flee. He drew his waist saber and roared as he charged the wall. Before he reached it, he leapt high, diving straight at Xiang Weiyuan.

A twelve-foot spear descended like a dragon from the heavens, piercing through the air and pinning the Liao scout mid-flight.

The Liao scout struggled to look around—he saw all his comrades already lying in pools of blood; he was the last. He gasped, but only spat out a mouthful of blood, unable to speak.

Xiang Weiyuan swung his spear, flinging the scout beyond the wall.

Most of the final charging scouts were killed by Xiang Weiyuan’s thrown spears; two were felled by Fang Hetong. One more scaled the wall—Fang Hetong slew him with a sweep of his sword. With that, save for the one who fled, the entire Liao scouting party was annihilated.

Though it sounds long, the battle lasted mere moments—in the blink of an eye, the entire Liao patrol was wiped out. Fang Hetong leaned on the parapet, gasping heavily, drenched in sweat. His repeated bursts of power had nearly drained his spiritual energy; he felt faint. Xiang Weiyuan’s spiritual power surged violently within him, still unsteady long after.

After catching his breath, Fang Hetong said to Xiang Weiyuan: “The one you killed with your technique was likely their officer. The Liao tradition holds: if an officer dies without wiping out the enemy, the entire unit is executed. That’s why these Liao men went mad. The one who fled just now will return to report—and then kill himself.”

Xiang Weiyuan had heard of this tradition, but only now, facing a Liao force in true death-charge, did he truly feel its pressure.

Though this Liao officer had not yet reached Foundation Establishment, his strength equaled that of a perfected Body Casting cultivator. Liao Body Casting differs from human methods: the Liao are born with naturally robust physiques; they forge flesh, blood, bone, and spirit simultaneously, not one by one as humans do, until their bodies reach perfection. Thus, even early in Body Casting, the Liao possess some magic power—though faint, enough to wield one or two low-grade magic treasures.

This Liao officer’s body was extraordinarily tough. Xiang Weiyuan pressed him with relentless attacks, seized the initiative, and still needed three Water Blade techniques to finish him. The officer’s physical resilience rivaled that of many disciples in Taichu Palace nearing perfected Body Casting—many Foundation Establishment cultivators from minor sects were weaker.

Xiang Weiyuan’s Water Blade techniques differed from the ordinary kind. Years ago, during a dispute with Zhigu Sect, a disciple had thrown a Water Blade at him—it contained seven or eight blades. Now, each of Xiang Weiyuan’s Water Blades contained seventy or eighty blades; even ordinary Foundation Establishment cultivators from minor sects couldn’t withstand even one of his.

Agula was merely an ordinary Northern Liao tribe; this scouting party was one of the most common units among the hundred thousand mounted archers. Yet even their officer approached the combat strength of a beginner disciple from an immortal sect, and each scout equaled a human cultivator who had completed over half of Blood Fusion.

The Liao excel at mounted archery—their bow and arrow craftsmanship surpasses that of humans. Each cavalryman carries multiple types of arrows: initially, they used light arrows—swift and silent—for ambushes; later, they switched to heavy arrows, capable of shattering defenses. They also carry armor-piercing arrows, spell-disrupting arrows, wind-speed arrows, and more.

In this battle, Xiang Weiyuan had already seen that a dozen ordinary Northern Liao scouts could suppress a common human Foundation Establishment cultivator. No wonder, in ancient times, humans were enslaved for two hundred thousand years.

(End of Chapter)