Chapter 76: He Really Is a Barbarian

Li Zhi and Xiang Weiyuan rode side by side, gazing at the rolling yellow mist ahead, and sighed: “The Liao lands are more than ten times larger than Da Tang. In their realm, the Liao barbarians are blessed by heaven—everywhere, the power of heaven and earth supports them, while we are bound by countless restrictions. Fortunately, those few outposts lie on the Liao frontier; otherwise, I’d truly hesitate to venture deeper.”

Xiang Weiyuan had studied much about the Hanhai Liao people in the Annals of Human History, the General Knowledge of the Immortal Path, and Tang History, and now replied: “The Liao lands have unique celestial energies; the Liao barbarians and their horses can inhale and exhale this heavenly energy, so they can gallop thousands of li without tiring. Last night, when the Liao attacked, I saw firsthand how darkness followed them, concealing their movements.”

“Once we enter the Liao lands, we must use Dao power to shield ourselves against the realm’s natural forces. So we cannot linger—we must strike swiftly, sweep the enemy away with thunderous force, and retreat quickly,” Li Zhi said.

Xiang Weiyuan nodded. This was common military knowledge—saying it was as good as saying nothing.

Li Zhi suddenly sighed: “When I studied at the Academy, I sometimes wondered: the Liao lands are so vast, and the Liao barbarians harness heavenly power far more easily than our people. Sometimes, I have to admit—they seem more like the true children of this world.”

Xiang Weiyuan added: “Not just the Liao. The Wu Yu, the Mountain Folk, the Che Li, and the Ghost Rong lands are all broader than ours—and in their realms, they too are the favored children. Looking at a map, we’re just a small nation.”

Li Zhi let out a long laugh: “Small has its advantages! Expanding our borders—that’s our task now!”

The iron cavalry rolled forward and soon reached the Liao border. It was an invisible boundary: on the human side, the sky was clear and the air pure; beyond it, yellow mist churned. At the line, the warhorses hesitated, reluctant to advance. Xiang Weiyuan pressed his knees, urging them forward—and only then did they cross.

As soon as they entered the Liao lands, Xiang Weiyuan felt as if a layer of grime had settled over his body, like he hadn’t bathed in days—all his pores clogged with oil and dirt, utterly stifling. His vision blurred; his sight dropped from eighty li to fifty. Li Zhi’s voice beside him grew fainter.

“Brother Wei, don’t forget the Pure Qi Technique,” Li Zhi reminded.

The Pure Qi Technique was a low-level Dao spell, widely known. Xiang Weiyuan didn’t even need to chant—he activated it with a flick of his spiritual sense. As soon as the spell took effect, it felt as if a basin of cold water had poured over him, washing away every greasy, sluggish sensation. But the spell only lasted a while; he’d have to cast it repeatedly while in the Liao lands.

Compared to other races’ territories, the Liao lands were relatively mild—even ordinary humans could survive here for a time. Many ancient humans once lived among them. But those who stayed too long fell ill, their lifespans shortened—few lived past forty.

So all the riders had cast the Pure Qi Technique. Xiang Weiyuan, using his Spirit-Viewing Art, saw each rider enveloped in a faint, hazy glow. The yellow energies of the land struck their bodies but were instantly washed clean by the light.

Once inside the Liao lands, the formation accelerated. Soon, they reached the first encampment. It was empty—no signs of habitation, no traces of camp. Li Zhi and Xiang Weiyuan didn’t pause; they pressed on to the next.

Still over ten li from the second encampment, Xiang Weiyuan spotted a wisp of smoke curling into the sky.

Several Liao riders sat around a campfire, roasting a massive wild beast’s hind leg. A few tents stood nearby—iron-framed, reinforced with frost- and insect-repelling arrays, cumbersome to set up and dismantle, typical of semi-permanent northern Liao military tents. Loud snores drifted from within—dozens of Liao soldiers slept inside.

The moment Xiang Weiyuan saw the smoke, the Liao riders turned in unison—and spotted him.

Humans and the Hanhai Liao had coexisted for hundreds of thousands of years, fought for tens of thousands. They knew Liao customs intimately. Disciples of Tai Chu Palace received a handbook before battle, detailing the northern Liao military hierarchy: the attire and cultivation realms of each rank, and standard battlefield scenarios with their responses.

A surprise attack would work. Xiang Weiyuan immediately cast the Spirit Step and Mighty Strength spells on his warhorse—the beast’s speed surged by half!

Li Zhi and the other riders likewise blessed their mounts with Dao spells. All surged forward at full speed. Ten li vanished in an instant. Though they couldn’t stop the northern Liao cavalry from mounting up, they could prevent them from forming ranks in time—forcing them into the first wave of helpless defense.

The Liao riders shouted wildly, scrambling for their horses. A few soldiers burst from the tents, dazed from sleep, still confused. Before they could react, a dozen arrows hissed through the air and pinned them like porcupines.

Li Zhi’s men were elite—expert horse archers. Their first volley used magical arrowheads. At three hundred zhang, not a single shot missed—several sleeping Liao riders dropped dead.

The Liao riders by the fire had mounted up. Unafraid, they charged straight at them. One rider swung his saber, charging directly at Xiang Weiyuan.

Xiang Weiyuan’s face was calm as stone. He thrust his spear, his horse racing as if flying. The two riders closed the distance in an instant—within a hundred zhang. Simultaneously, the Liao rider nocked an arrow; Xiang Weiyuan drew his short spear. Heavy arrow and short spear launched together—neither intended to close to melee.

The moment Xiang Weiyuan released his spear, the recoil nearly halted his horse’s charge. That split-second pause let the Liao’s heavy arrow graze past his body—while his own spear pierced straight through the Liao horse’s chest.

Xiang Weiyuan was the kind of man the Lord of Mingwang Palace had personally intervened to recruit, regardless of cost. His spear’s throw carried immense force—it pierced the Liao horse clean through, then flew over a hundred zhang before hitting the ground. The rider, no matter how skilled, was flung off. He heard a strange whistle—and a second short spear tore through his body.

Li Zhi drew his bow, both bow and arrow glowing golden. The arrow vanished the instant it left the string, striking dead center between the visor slits of a Liao rider’s helmet.

Li Zhi’s bow was a top-tier magic treasure; his arrows, high-grade. He held the upper hand in ranged combat. He drew calmly—when the bowstring reached full tension, a golden heavy arrow materialized on it. At that moment, his spiritual sense, amplified by the bow, expanded instantly. This was the bow’s ability: under its aid, his spiritual sense could scan three hundred zhang in every direction, and the moment he sensed an enemy, he could fire. Once his spiritual sense locked onto a target, no matter the arrow’s initial direction, it would strike true.

But when Li Zhi swept his spiritual sense, the area was empty—not a single target.

He was startled, looked around—and saw all the Liao riders had fallen. One had been killed by his guards’ combined arrows; the other five had been slain by Xiang Weiyuan’s short spears.

Li Zhi was stunned. “Brother Wei, truly formidable!”

Xiang Weiyuan didn’t answer. He reached out, grabbed a spear, and hurled it—it pierced a riderless Liao horse. Li Zhi’s heart tightened—he remembered: Liao horses couldn’t be left alive!

The guards, experienced, rained arrows down and killed every riderless Liao horse.

Liao horses bonded with their riders. Once their master died, they would return instinctively to the last encampment they’d rested at. If they escaped, the Liao would know this outpost had been attacked.

The battle ended. Xiang Weiyuan’s body steamed with heat. He exhaled a scorching breath, then hung his two-zhang spear back on his saddle. Throughout the fight, he’d used only thrown short spears—unrivaled within a hundred zhang, turning the area into a death zone. The two-zhang spear had never been drawn—it was mere decoration.

As for the Heaven’s Frenzy, which relied on fate’s flow, using it here might drain his fate. So unless absolutely necessary, Xiang Weiyuan wouldn’t use it. Though thousands of black threads still floated in his mind-sea, he’d conserve them—thrift was a virtue.

Li Zhi rode over, studying Xiang Weiyuan. “Brother Wei, your might hasn’t faded since those days!”

Xiang Weiyuan sighed: “I cultivate slowly. I’ve only got brute strength—I still haven’t formed a Dao Foundation. Don’t mock me, Brother Li.”

Li Zhi’s eyelid twitched. Just brute strength?

That spear weighed thirty jin. Xiang Weiyuan threw it nearly as fast as Li Zhi’s own magical arrows. That’s “just brute strength”?

Li Zhi’s eyes were sharp. He saw the short spears weren’t true magic treasures—just slightly reinforced. No sharpness enhancement, nothing. The only magic treasure was the spear case—its inner space could hold thirty spears. In rank, the case was bottom-tier magic treasure—barely decent even for Li Zhi’s personal guards. The spear’s devastating power came entirely from Xiang Weiyuan’s physical strength.

Xiang Weiyuan’s thrown spears had no other magic—no spiritual lock, no special effects. Just speed and weight. Where they passed, everything shattered. Even Li Zhi, with his Immortal Foundation and top-tier magic treasure, wouldn’t dare face Xiang Weiyuan’s spears within a hundred zhang.

Li Zhi was suddenly reminded of that terrifying figure seated atop the mountain boar during the martial assessment years ago. Back then, Xiang Weiyuan had shattered his supreme fate technique with a single spear. Even now, recalling it sent shivers through him.

“He really is a barbarian…” Li Zhi thought—but he kept it to himself.

After the battle, the guards’ eyes toward Xiang Weiyuan changed. In the blink of an eye, half the Liao riders had fallen to him alone—no survivors within a hundred zhang. Li Zhi and his men had each claimed only one kill.

(End of Chapter)