Chapter 192: A Narrow Path Through the Woods

The moment those words were shouted, the ambushers, whose faces had shown fear, immediately stirred with agitation. A savage courage crept into their expressions, and someone else yelled, "Brothers, we're all gambling on this one job! The unlucky die, the lucky get a bigger share — kill them!"

Before the shout had faded, someone roared and charged forward, blade raised. For these desperadoes who dared commit murder in broad daylight, talk of gambling on luck didn't make them calculate the odds — it only stoked their viciousness.

Wang Zhaojing halted his steps, then slid downhill in a charge. His narrow-edged longsword was light, and his style was all speed and swiftness. The charging man hadn't even swung his blade before his wrist was stabbed, his weapon clattering to the ground. Before he could react further, his throat was pierced. The momentum of the pursuers who had just rushed forward faltered again — but by the same token, Zhao Jin and the others' charge also slowed.

"Go, go!" a figure who seemed to be the ringleader shouted urgently.

Though the trees were sparse, they still hindered movement — and Zhao Jin's group of three was advancing side by side uphill. That brief pause put them in danger of being encircled again.

Just then, a shriek suddenly rang out from downhill — a scream of utter agony. Everyone looked over and saw one of the ambushers standing on the outer edge, his calf severed, lying on the ground howling in pain.

The ambushers had all been moving with extreme caution, terrified of being struck by the enemy's cold arrows — but this attack was no cold arrow!

The man's howl had barely sounded, and as the others' attention turned toward him, a figure suddenly flashed out from behind a tree trunk and pounced, blade swinging. Too close, too fast — there was no time to raise a weapon. The attacker tackled the man straight to the ground, his knife stabbing desperately at the pinned ambusher.

By the time the two hit the ground, the snow had already turned to a bloody mess. The sudden attacker rolled backward, scrambled to his feet, and bolted. The nearest men cursed and gave chase — when suddenly someone rose from a hollow in the snow. This one was small and wiry, but in his hand he held an axe, and he aimed only for the calf, swift and precise!

Crack! The man's calf was severed clean through, and another one went down. This sudden assault sent the ambushers stumbling backward in fright. Seizing that opening, the leg-cutter turned and fled as well.

"After them—!" These hit-and-run ambushes had the downhill attackers fuming with rage, and they roared as they prepared to pursue.

The shrill whistle of tearing air, silent for a while, rang out again — and struck dead center into the chest of the man at the very front. The enemy still had an archer shooting cold arrows. The ambushers hastily retreated once more.

The chaos downhill drew considerable attention. Zhao Jin laughed loudly, swung his long spear to parry the goose-quill saber of the man before him, then thrust sharply upward. The man was quick — he dodged straight backward — but the spear darted forward like a viper's tongue, lunging ahead and piercing him through.

"Xiaoyong and Daxiang, well done! Let's charge!" That chaos downhill was the handiwork of Liu Yong and Ji Xiang. The commotion below only fueled their momentum.

Zhao Jin advanced two steps, but more men closed in from behind. Chen Sheng turned, raised his blade above his head, and with a thunderous roar, brought both arms swinging down in a chop — a straightforward, honorable stroke, yet carrying an unstoppable force. The few pursuers instinctively recoiled. One man had no way to dodge and desperately raised his single saber to block. Crack! The blade was cleaved in two, and Chen Sheng's long saber, its momentum undiminished, hacked straight through half the man's body.

Blood sprayed directly from the body. Faced with such ferocious momentum and such a gruesome sight, the pursuers all halted in their tracks. Someone even cursed under his breath, "These little brats are way too tough to crack!"

Chen Sheng stood there like a mountain, but Zhao Jin could not spare a thought for the companion behind him. He pressed on upward. The archers had already noticed this side, but Zhao Jin advanced by weaving around the trees, giving them no clear shot.

He had only taken a few steps when some of the rear pursuers moved to entangle Chen Sheng, while others bypassed him and gave chase. Wang Zhaojing glanced back, gritted his teeth, and turned around, sword in hand, to meet them.

Less than ten paces remained. Swoosh — a shrill whistle, and the archer ahead loosed his arrow. Zhao Jin's movements stiffened, but the arrow collided with a tree trunk mid-flight and was deflected.

Any further advance would leave no trees between him and the archers. Archers were the most valuable asset and would never engage in close combat. To ensure the effectiveness and accuracy of their shots, they had deliberately positioned themselves at this high point on the slope — the most open ground. Charging to the top would inevitably leave a brief window where the archers could fire.

Zhao Jin did not charge straight up. Instead, his body swayed and he suddenly dashed toward the trees on the other side. He heard the repeated swoosh behind him — some incoming arrows missed, others struck the trees. Zhao Jin used this tree for cover, and from this tree he edged closer still.

"Get over here, quick! This kid's breaking through!" The archers sensed the danger and shouted at the top of their lungs.

But the ambushers below were either guarding against cold arrows or locked in combat with Chen Sheng and the others — none could charge up. A few who tried to circle around were still far away.

No matter how much cover he used, he would still have to charge into the arrows. Zhao Jin paused behind that tree for only a moment, then stepped out. Though exhausted and aching all over from the repeated charges and kills, he still assumed the most textbook spear-charging stance. With a great roar of "Kill!" he charged forward in great strides.

All six bows turned toward Zhao Jin. Every bow was drawn to its limit — and every bow was trembling. The distance between them was less than ten paces. The archers could clearly see the bloodstains on the spear, but what made them shudder even more was Zhao Jin's aura: one man, yet he bore down like an army of thousands.

As archers, they drew fat pay and heavy bonuses without ever having to fight in blood — naturally, they cherished their lives. Watching this blood-drenched god of slaughter charge at them, not one of them could draw and shoot as they normally would.

"Mama!" one man shrieked, throwing down his bow and fleeing. But the others still loosed their arrows.

Hands trembling, minds on dodging and fleeing — naturally, there was no accuracy. But at this range, even the wildest shot would still hit its mark.

Zhao Jin's pace did not slow, but his movements were stiff and taut. His full attention was fixed on the archers ahead. The long spear in his hands swung in wide arcs — not from trembling, but to deflect arrows.

"When arrows fly at you, swinging your spear can always knock aside a few. It may not guarantee your life, but when life and death are at stake, you have to try." Zhao Jin clearly remembered his uncle Zhao Zhenxing's teaching.

Smack! The spear shaft vibrated — one arrow had been knocked flying. But Zhao Jin had no attention to spare for that. A fierce gust of wind rushed at his face; he jerked his head aside in desperation. The arrow grazed his cheek, leaving a spreading warmth and a searing, burning pain.

Of the five remaining archers, one more threw down his bow and fled. The other four were frantically nocking new arrows — but Zhao Jin was already upon them.

A scream — one man was run through. A thrust, a withdrawal — another was stabbed in the abdomen. The third had drawn his bow, but at such close range his courage had shattered; several times he failed to set the arrow on the string. Zhao Jin roared and drove his spear straight through the man. The fourth archer simply dropped his bow and reached for his short weapon. Zhao Jin did not pull the spear free — instead, he surged forward several more steps, closing the distance with the momentum. Holding the spear one-handed, he drew his own short blade with the other and stabbed the fourth archer several times. Blood gushed — he was as good as dead.

It still wasn't over. Zhao Jin kicked the corpse off his spear, strode forward quickly, and saw the archer who had just fled — he had tripped on the slope in his panic and was now pushing himself up. Zhao Jin sprinted after him and brought his short blade down viciously on the archer's neck.

The one who had fled first was nowhere to be seen. Zhao Jin ran back up to the top of the slope at a quick pace, used his short blade to sever every bowstring, and only then drew a deep breath and straightened his body.

Breaking through to the archers, killing five in a row — not to mention the bloody battle before. Every part of Zhao Jin's body ached, and his arms even showed signs of impending cramps. He wiped his face casually — his hand came away covered in blood. That arrow had grazed his cheek open.

Only now did two ambushers charge up to the top of the slope. Seeing Zhao Jin standing there, and the archers' corpses strewn across the ground, they instinctively retreated. Zhao Jin quickened his pace. The two men backed up several steps; one turned and fled, while the other tripped over something behind him and scrambled away on all fours.

On the other side of the slope, Chen Sheng and Wang Zhaojing were both already surrounded. Farther away, Liu Yong and Ji Xiang fought as they ran, with not many pursuers behind them — for any lapse in caution could mean being struck by a sudden arrow.

Zhao Jin had not run far before he stopped. He took several deep breaths, then advanced downward, spear in hand.

"The archers are gone?" "That kid, all by himself..."

In the midst of such a fierce battle and encirclement, a sudden silence fell. Even the ambushers besieging Chen Sheng and Wang Zhaojing were retreating, staring at Zhao Jin with looks of utter disbelief.

A few half-grown kids, ambushed on the road without any suspense. Though the bait had been killed, a full hundred men had come — each with real skill, each having seen bloody slaughter — and they even had six archers on their side. Yet after all this fighting, nearly half their own were dead, and these half-grown kids were still fighting!

Right now, in the ambushers' eyes, Zhao Jin and his companions were no longer half-grown youths. They were gods of slaughter — gods of slaughter drenched in blood!

Zhao Jin had only taken two steps downward when he suddenly saw Wang Zhaojing and Chen Sheng's expressions change drastically. Wang Zhaojing even shouted urgently, "Watch out!"

The shout had barely sounded when a fierce gust of wind rushed at his side. He turned his head — a large man was bringing a pole-blade down on him. In his haste, Zhao Jin raised his spear to block, but this time the blade struck the shaft and cleaved the spear in two.

Every ambusher's face lit up with savage glee. After this bitter fight, a sneak attack was about to end it. The man raised his blade to strike again. Zhao Jin did not retreat — he dropped the broken half and charged forward holding only the spearhead end.

The attacker's blade did not fall. Seeing Zhao Jin rush at him, he hastily retreated two steps. But then, unexpectedly, Zhao Jin took one more step forward and dropped to one knee on the ground. The attacker was overjoyed and moved to strike at once.

The fighting across the slope had actually come to a halt. Everyone was staring at this sudden, desperate clash. Just as the blade was about to come down, Zhao Jin let out a furious roar, launched himself from the ground, wrapped his arms around the attacker's waist, and the two of them tumbled together into the snow.