Chapter 469

The wind howled fiercely, slashing against their faces; Yue Pengwu wiped the blood clinging to the tip of his spear, the Li Quan Divine Spear—after prolonged battle, its edge remained as sharp as ever—and his divine steed showed no sign of fatigue—

He had concealed his form beyond the northern frontier, crossed the Ying Kingdom, and headed toward the Jiangnan region.

For Yue Pengwu, this was no difficulty.

As a Ninefold Heaven Divine General, if alone he were trapped among ten thousand troops led by a famed general, death would be certain—but if he had no intention of revealing himself or seizing cities and lands, he could move as freely as the mightiest rogue of the martial world, going wherever he pleased.

Yet this world was trembling, chaos reigned, and the common folk suffered in solitude.

Yue Pengwu had originally planned to rush swiftly to Jiangnan alone, avoiding unnecessary complications; he had already spurred his horse forward when he heard weeping cries behind him—the same old man crying out in Central Plains tongue, "Heaven above!"

Even a Divine General could not walk away.

He sighed, turned his horse, lifted his spear, and galloped forth into this chaotic age.

The way of a true man must never be broken.

Even now, Yue Pengwu had no regret for what he had done that day—a true man takes full responsibility for his own deeds, no need to drag Qin Wang and others into it; he himself could traverse this vast world and reach Jiangnan once more.

Hooves clattered beside him; Guan Shier, an elder of the Mo Clan, clad in black robes and carrying a sword, rode up. His white hair was wild and tangled; he gazed at the endless expanse ahead, sighed faintly, and said, "Marshal Yue, the sinister aura ahead surges skyward—be cautious."

"There are likely still ambushes."

Yue Pengwu replied calmly, "No matter what ambush awaits, I have only this one great spear in hand. But, Elder Guan, you need not accompany me."

Guan Shier burst into loud laughter, "What nonsense are you speaking, ahahaha!"

"Unjust deeds in this world must be addressed by those of this world."

"Are Mo Clan disciples not part of this world?"

"Moreover, Marshal Yue is heading to Jiangnan, and so am I. Qin Wang has issued the Mo Juzi's Command to all corners of the land, summoning every Mo Clan member to gather in Qin. The command was long ago sent out, but this old man has been traveling and never had time to go."

"When you helped us deal with those scum just now, you saved our Mo Clan disciples from casualties. Morally and rationally, we must ride together—how could we accept your aid and then simply leave?"

Guan Shier tilted his head up, genuinely puzzled.

Because the Mo Juzi's Command targeting him had been issued long ago—he simply kept traveling, too lazy to go.

He was not skilled in battlefield machinery for sieges and conquests.

Nor in agricultural machinery; what he pursued was the fusion of medicine and machinery—like his former disciple Yu Junyue—using machinery, medicine, and esoteric Wu Gong to attempt replicating mechanical meridians.

He could only craft mechanical arms.

Or design mechanical legs and such—he saw no use for such skills under Qin Wang's command, among those striving to seize the world and shape the age.

Yet the Mo Juzi kept writing letters urging him.

Guan Shier asked what the matter was.

That old bastard wouldn't say—he asked many times, claiming the matter was complex, fearing exposure might cause grave problems or disrupt the world's balance, and so on.

He also wildly praised him: "Your mechanical arms, your machinery—unrivaled in the world. Among all Mo Clan branches, your mastery in this field leads them all."

"You must come!"

But Guan Shier had a fiery temper—if you won't tell me, I won't ask.

Do whatever you want!

What, can a mechanical man alter the course of the world?!

I'll shit on your nonsense!

Alter the world's course? Are you asking me to rebuild ancient generals with machinery? Or dig up corpses and stuff them into machines? Damn it, my machinery is meant to restore the disabled to wholeness!

Helping the common folk is fine—but altering the world?

Hahaha, that old bastard's up to some more empty, pretentious nonsense again.

But this time, Qin Wang summoning all Mo Clan members—such a commotion was unprecedented in Mo Clan history, even for Guan Shier, who now felt interest and decided to go along, even writing to his disciple to assure him not to worry.

Behind Yue Pengwu rode several valiant men.

One, named Niu Wei, sighed deeply, "Marshal Yue, once we cross this land and pass a few more cities, we'll reach the border—but the resistance along the way has been especially fierce."

Yue Pengwu exhaled a long breath and said slowly, "Brothers, thank you for coming with me. The road ahead is perilous—I will lead the way, and I will not fail you!"

All replied, "Yes!"

Guan Shier smirked. Perhaps chaos breeds monsters—he had traveled the world with his Mo Clan sword, seen countless tyrants running rampant in this storm-tossed age, yet also met men like Yue Pengwu.

Though traveling alone as a fugitive, he had won over thirty-six bandit lords and seventy-two outlaws. Most weren't top-tier heroes, yet several possessed Fifth or Sixth Heaven-level power—insignificant in the grand scheme, but enough to dominate any mountain or valley.

Another broad-chested, dark-faced man rode a black warhorse, wielding a horse spear, radiating formidable aura; his brows lifted as he said, "Brother, the road ahead is treacherous. Because of Qin Wang, the checkpoints ahead are stricter than ever."

"Almost every checkpoint is guarded by elite generals and entire battalions."

"We must detour through back roads to avoid clashes—not that I'm dimming our brothers' glory; we're a hundred men, each with skill and ability—ordinary soldiers can't match us."

"But if the enemy forms a wall of spears, hundreds or thousands in unison, pressing with heavy shields, spears, and crossbows, we'll suffer losses. Even if we can barely defend ourselves, we'll be pinned down."

"Once pinned, we can't break free quickly—then, when their falcons carry word and their main army arrives, we'll be in grave danger."

Yue Pengwu said, "Brother Dan's words are wise."

Another solemn man, named Dou De, had been brave since youth, possessing Wu Gong; now in his forties, he had reached the Seventh Heaven Master realm. But six months ago, he met Yu Langwang, who personally instructed him in Wu Gong and bestowed upon him his military strategies.

In the past half-year, the barriers that once trapped him had been shattered and severed.

His Wu Gong now reached Eighth Heaven; his military tactics, directly taught by Yu Langwang; his following had swelled to thousands, hidden among mountains and rivers, quietly forming a great force. The dark-faced man beside him was Dan Xiong, his sworn brother.

The two had lain low in this turbulent age, waiting for the moment to rise—until a few days ago, they descended the mountains and saw a gang of bandits who, unlike themselves, dared not raise rebellion against the government, yet slaughtered and looted the common folk without restraint.

They went to aid the people, only to see a man clad in tight-fitting sleeves and an outer robe, wielding a great spear, charging through two or three hundred bandits alone. The two were stunned—they had never imagined such a hero existed in this world.

Dou De and Dan Xiong, both men of fierce hearts, assumed he was a government general.

Yue Pengwu assumed he was a bandit colluding with the looters.

The three clashed in a standoff—had Guan Shier not arrived in time, they would have settled it in moments. Later, once the misunderstanding cleared, they became fast friends, bound by mutual admiration.

Hearing Yue Pengwu intended to cross the Ying Kingdom and reach Qin Wang's domain,

Dou De and Dan Xiong, though each had their own domains and wouldn't follow Yue Pengwu to Jiangnan like other outlaws, still possessed knightly spirit and decided to personally escort him all the way.

With these Ying Kingdom outlaws aiding them, their journey had been smooth—until they were discovered. After much inquiry, they learned the truth: one of the common folk Yue Pengwu had saved had betrayed them to the authorities.

Niu Wei, upon hearing this, flew into a rage, his hand gripping his knife trembling with fury.

He snatched up his blade and leapt onto his horse, desperate to wheel around and ride back to cut down those who had spread the news—he had a fiery temper, but Yue Pengwu gripped the reins and held him fast.

It was a spirited steed indeed, yet Yue Pengwu held the reins with one hand; no matter how hard Niu Wei strained, the warhorse stood utterly still. Niu Wei cried, "General Yue!!"

"We saved them, and they betrayed us by telling those Ying soldiers our whereabouts! Such ungrateful wretches—we should turn back and slice them all to pieces!"

Yue Pengwu held the warhorse steady with one hand, his voice calm.

"Then what distinguishes us from those who slaughter civilians by force?"

Niu Wei grunted for a long while, then spat in fury:

"But they betrayed our kindness!"

Yue Pengwu looked around at them all, speaking slowly:

"To us, perhaps it seems so; but to the common folk, struggling to survive in this chaotic age, swept up by countless calamities—bandits plundering, officials interrogating—they are terrified, overwhelmed, and cannot remain calm."

"Moreover, to them, having been captured by bandits and then returned by us, the officials will surely question them intensely: why did they leave? How did they return?"

"Faced with such trauma, the people are naturally terrified and helpless; their instinctive answers are common—not betrayal, but fear."

"When we act, we must consider the plight of the common folk. We must never vent our frustrations recklessly, ignoring the suffering and circumstances of ordinary people."

"Precisely because we hold blades, we must be more cautious."

"Otherwise, one misstep, and we become those very bandits who act without restraint."

Hearing this, all fell into thought. Niu Wei slowly loosened his grip on his blade, dismounted, and bowed deeply. "Thanks to General Yue's restraint—I nearly let rage take me, becoming the very kind of man I once despised."

Yue Pengwu comforted and reassured them. His spear was meant only to save lives and bring peace. They marched another hundred li, passed several checkpoints, and the obstacles ahead grew few; scouts were sent ahead to report on the frontline situation.

Dan Xiong exhaled in relief. "Beyond this stretch, only the newly built Ying border pass remains—that's the real challenge. This fortress is nearly impossible to bypass; its guards are tight on all sides."

"Perhaps our best chance is to charge straight through."

At these words, silence settled over them all.

Fortress. Stronghold. Charge.

Any fortress has defenses; within a stronghold, traps, crossbows, and volleys of arrows are basic. Here, scrutiny is brutal—there's no way to hide identities and slip in. To charge means facing a storm of arrows, charging headlong into the stronghold.

For martial heroes, the army's archery and cavalry shots are an overwhelming threat.

Even if blade glows and sword qi can sever arrows, when the army unleashes a relentless, endless rain of arrows without regard for cost, ordinary cultivators will simply exhaust themselves and be pierced to death.

A deathly silence. Yue Pengwu drove his war spear into the ground, bowed deeply, and said:

"Comrades, thank you for accompanying me here. I am deeply grateful for your friendship. But the road ahead is perilous—you may stop now. Do not press forward. When we meet again on the martial road, I shall raise wine with you all!"

Yue Pengwu bowed deeply.

All the rough heroes bowed solemnly, dismounted, and said: "Brother Yue, why speak such words? We came here already defying the Ying state. In this world, we know we cannot remain free forever."

"One day, the Ying army will come—and we brothers will all die in this chaos, ha ha ha! Like stray dogs, howling wildly across winter fields, collapsing by the roadside after using our last breath."

"To meet a hero like Brother Yue is already the greatest joy of our lives. To die alongside General Yue in one final charge—that would be the ultimate thrill!"

They laughed loudly, these true heroes.

In a moment's talk, life and death are shared.

A single promise weighs a thousand gold.

Yue Pengwu gazed deeply at them—he too was a true hero—and laughed heartily. "Good! Then comrades, return with me to Jiangnan. There, I shall treat you all to a drunken feast!"

Niu Wei roared with laughter: "One feast isn't enough! At least three thousand!"

"Good! Then let us get roaring drunk in Jiangnan's spring breeze—three thousand feasts!"

Dou De and Dan Xiong watched this scene, both sighing inwardly. The more chaos ruled the land, the more warlords rose and the people yearned for change, the more ambition burned uncontrollably in the hearts of the powerful—yet such heroes would always emerge.

No need for power, no need for oppression or gold or wealth.

Such men stand there like banners in the blazing fire of chaos—straight, sharp, like spears piercing darkness, pointing to the sky. There are always those who, amid chaos, still hold their inner flame—and they gather because of it.

Tear through the darkness.

Or, after the most brilliant blaze,

be utterly swallowed by the dark.

But that instant of flame becomes the most stirring light in the long scroll of time—remembered even a thousand years hence.

Dou De, a regional hero commanding five to six thousand elite martial figures, sighed faintly to his sworn brother: "Yue Pengwu is already such a hero of this age, yet he still seeks this man—the Qin Wang."

"What manner of man is he?"

"Is General Yue going for this man's sake—or merely out of loyalty to his late lord's son?"

Dan Xiong understood Dou De's true thoughts. "Big Brother, you still can't let go, can you?"

Dou De said nothing more, his expression calm and noble.

In his youth, he was brave and bold, once holding an official post in the Ying state, and had witnessed Jiang Wanxiang's grandeur. Later, he entered the martial world, learned Wu Gong, traveled far and wide, met countless figures of the realm—but none surpassed that man.

The world was in chaos, warlords rose everywhere, and he rode across the land.

Calm and composed, he plunged deep into the Ying heartland, his entire army annihilated, dying at the ultimate limit—the Divine Martial Wang.

Dou De once believed he had seen all the heroism the world had to offer in his forty years—until he met the Wolf Wang, and realized how vast the world truly was, how many heroes still existed, and that such a man could still walk the earth!

The Divine Martial Wang personally instructed him in Wu Gong and gifted him three scrolls of military strategy.

In Dou De's heart, no hero surpassed the Divine Martial Wang, no ruler matched his grandeur. Thus, for the Qin Wang—who had defeated the Divine Martial Wang on the western battlefield and had many ties to him—

he could not help but care.

He at least wanted to see what manner of man he was.

He now replied: "Brother Yue, don't worry. Though we must return to the mountains, we will escort you safely to Jiangnan before turning back."

They pressed forward, and ahead, a great number of blocking troops suddenly surged forth. All were startled—they had been careful, chosen their route wisely, yet the Ying state had still found them.

Yue Pengwu, Dou De, and Dan Xiong led the charge.

But as they clashed, they suddenly realized these pursuers had little fighting spirit—their faces were panicked, and upon seeing them, they grew even more astonished and terrified, retreating in disarray, quickly scattered.

Elder Guan Shier was startled, but had no time to ponder further.

Dou De's expression darkened. "Since we've been discovered, the front is surely prepared. All we can do is charge forward with this momentum, before they can fully react!"

The momentary relief of breaking through these ambushers tightened into taut tension.

Ordinary pursuers were nothing—the real terror lay ahead, where the city and fortress would surely unleash volleys of arrows. There, arrows would fall like rain. The men clenched their lips, gripped their weapons, and watched Yue Pengwu and Dou De charge ahead, a solemn, fierce resolve rising within them.

A true man lives as he must, dies as he must!

Is this the hour of our death!?

It was deep winter, nearing the coldest days, snow and wind raging. The men charged forward with heroic resolve to die—but saw no archers, no volleys, no defenses. The gate of the unfinished fortress ahead stood tightly shut.

Dozens of bodies lay sprawled across the ground, most incapacitated. One commander knelt half-dead, grievously wounded by a battle halberd, collapsing backward. This scene, thick with the scent of war and battle scars, struck the bandits and heroes dumb.

Weapons, arrows, flames, and slashes of sword qi littered the ground. A fierce, bloody aura rose to the heavens. On the fortress walls, mechanisms lay shattered. Archers turned pale with terror; officers and soldiers alike trembled with dread.

One man held the pass!

Who is he!?

Could there be reinforcements!?

Niu Wei and the others froze. Dou De stared fixedly at the figure before the fortress gate.

He wore a black cloak, its hem adorned with the unmistakable crimson Fire Qilin cloud patterns. His black hair was tied back, secured with a jade hairpin, strands fluttering at his temples. Bloodstains marred his sleeves and body—clearly, he had fought hard.

None knew who the man was—but Yue Pengwu froze, whispering in disbelief: "... Qin Wang?"

Dou De's pupils shrank sharply.

Qin Wang!?

Who?!?!

The bandits and heroes stood frozen in thought.

They had only hoped to return south with Marshal Yue and accomplish great deeds. They knew the journey would be perilous, that they would face archer volleys—the deadly military tactic most feared by martial folk.

Even if they died, it was their own choice.

They would not regret it.

They had once dared to dream of reinforcements—but instantly, they dismissed the fantasy as absurd.

How could it be!?

They knew the mighty lords of this world, the shifting tides of this age, the rigid hierarchy of power. How could any noble send troops for a rabble like them?

But reinforcements had come.

One man had come.

Enough.

Snow swirled in the wind, white flakes settling on his ink-black sleeves. Qin Wang held the Tiger Roar Halberd, his expression calm. The aura of recent battle still surged from him. He lowered the halberd and looked at Yue Pengwu.

Yue Pengwu was lost in memory. Before him stood the young lord—and he saw again, five years ago, the boy in the dungeon, grinning.

"Those who carry fire for others must not freeze to death in the snow."

"The general's life—"

"Li Guanyi took it upon himself!"

Now, five years later, seeing Li Guanyi again, the sixteen-year-old boy from memory merged with the nineteen-year-old youth before him.

Only now did he realize how many years had truly passed.

Only now did he realize that, despite the years, the boy before him was still the same.

The bandits and heroes saw Qin Wang, standing alone at the pass.

He asked nothing of their path, their origins, or whether pursuers followed behind.

Qin Wang merely held his weapon, sleeves hanging low. Snow fell across heaven and earth, dusting his shoulders and sleeves. Amid the carnage, on the road he had carved himself, he smiled and asked them:

"The snowstorm is fierce, Marshal Yue, all of you—why so late?"

All fell silent. Why had Yue Pengwu come? Why had the fire of the world burned? The legendary Wu Wang had entrusted the future, the world's possibilities, the grand and glorious dream—to whom? No further words were needed.

How fierce the weapons!

Qin Wang held the pass.

He came to meet them!

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