Volume One, Chapter 20: Squad Leader? A Swift Slash All the Same!

The biting wind whipped snowflakes against the military banner, producing a sharp, crackling sound. Qi Zhiyuan gripped his battle knife tightly, his eyes swirling with an unmistakable ferocity.

“A duel?” Wei Wentong raised an eyebrow, his voice cold and cutting like a blade. “A duel in the army requires signing a death pact—any injury or death is at your own risk.”

“I’ll sign it!”

Without hesitation, Qi Zhiyuan immediately signed the death pact, biting his fingertip to leave a blood seal. “Zhang Muyang, do you dare?”

Dare? Of course.

Zhang Muyang’s voice was calm and steady as water. “Sergeant Qi, please enlighten me.”

The moment the Cold Feather Blade was drawn from its sheath, frost patterns shimmered along its blade in the sunlight, exhaling a faint white mist as if the cold had solidified.

Qi Zhiyuan took a deep breath, raised his battle knife horizontally, and, surprisingly, his eyes revealed a kind of peaceful release.

“Kill!”

The battle knife sliced through the air with a roar like thunder, but at the final moment... it veered three degrees off!

Zhang Muyang’s gaze sharpened.

He saw through it.

Qi Zhiyuan never intended to win.

The Cold Feather Blade became a pale shadow, striking precisely at the back of Qi Zhiyuan’s knife—neither off to one side nor the other.

“Clang!”

The resounding clash of metal was so loud it made the surrounding soldiers’ eardrums ache.

Qi Zhiyuan’s battle knife was shaken high into the air; the flesh between his thumb and index finger split open, blood dripping down the hilt. His steps staggered, deliberately losing balance, and he charged straight toward the blade’s edge.

“Sorry.”

Zhang Muyang did not relent.

The military camp was no place for mercy. If he hesitated even slightly today, tomorrow it would be himself and his nineteen comrades who would die.

Thrust!

As the blade pierced Qi Zhiyuan’s chest, he smiled as if finally shedding a thousand-pound burden. “You... you are the sergeant now.”

Blood splattered vividly on the snow.

Zhang Muyang’s hand holding the blade stiffened slightly.

This was the first person he had killed, yet it was someone he felt... he should not have killed, but could not avoid killing.

Thud!

Qi Zhiyuan’s body collapsed with a heavy crash, snow and blood mixing into a tragic red snowfall.

Silence enveloped the camp.

The soldiers stared at Zhang Muyang in shock. This recruit, who had only been enlisted for a little over a month, had first slain Corporal Zhang Kui and then Sergeant Qi Zhiyuan. Such accomplishments were unprecedented in the century-long history of the Jingbian Army!

Some gasped, some clenched their knives tightly, and many began to look at Zhang Muyang with newfound respect and wariness.

Taking several deep breaths, Zhang Muyang knelt on one knee before Chen Xiucheng. “Your subordinate has not failed in his mission.”

Chen Xiucheng stared at Qi Zhiyuan’s corpse, his expression complex. Finally, he nodded. “From this day forth, Zhang Muyang is promoted to sergeant, commanding the ten soldiers previously under Qi Zhiyuan.”

[Ding!]

[Host promoted to Sergeant. Constitution +1. Current Constitution: 2.0. [Expression] 3.0]

[Special Trait: Cold Resistance +30%]

“Thank you, sir!” Zhang Muyang cupped his fists. “I dare to request the promotion of two corporals.”

“Oh? Three hundred-pound stone locks—can they even lift them?”

“Please, sir, verify for yourself!”

Zhang Muyang gestured, and under the gaze of hundreds of eyes, Su Ying and Zhang Xiaobei stepped forward in unison, bending down to lift the three hundred-pound stone locks steadily.

Light Wubujing!

Such strength was more solid than many seasoned soldiers!

Chen Xiucheng narrowed his eyes, glancing between Zhang Muyang and Wei Wentong, his lips curling into a barely perceptible cold smile.

A fine blade indeed.

A blade sharp enough to cut through one’s own troubles.

The Jingbian Army belonged to the imperial court. Wei Wentong, relying on his uncle Wei Song’s position as advisor to the Northern Jing King, had long held sway and even dared to meddle in the recruit camp. It was time to give him a lesson.

“Approved!”

Chen Xiucheng deliberately raised his voice. “Zhang Ying, Zhang Xiaobei, you are hereby promoted to Corporal... Our unit values real battlefield achievements above all!”

His final words were heavy, his gaze slicing like a knife toward Wei Wentong.

Su Ying and Zhang Xiaobei knelt on one knee and respectfully cupped their fists. “Thank you, sir!”

Wei Wentong stood frozen, eyes fixed on Zhang Muyang, filled with murderous intent.

Qi Zhiyuan was dead, Liu Wu was dead.

He had lost two trusted men, yet failed to bring down Zhang Muyang. Instead, Zhang had stepped on their corpses to rise two ranks.

He would remember this blood debt.

Zhang Muyang naturally felt the icy glare but remained unfazed. “Sir, we have yet to receive armor.”

That was an easy matter!

Chen Xiucheng immediately promoted a corporal to sergeant.

Zhang Muyang and the new sergeant each received the scale-patterned armor of Liu Wu and Qi Zhiyuan. Su Ying and Lin Xiaobei were given the tanned leather armor of Zhang Muyang and the corporal—though Su Ying’s was a bit large on her.

But who cared about these trivial details?

“Thank you, sir!”

The three bowed and, with the youths of Zhangjia Village, set off on sleds, soon disappearing into the vast snowstorm.

Chen Xiucheng glanced at the bodies of Liu Wu and his guards and said gravely, “Duke Wei, these men disguised themselves as bandits, undermining military discipline. By law, they should be beheaded and their heads displayed... I entrust you to personally oversee this matter.”

“Yes, sir.”

Wei Wentong’s face turned ashen, veins twitching visibly on his forehead.

“They were slaughtered so thoroughly it scattered their souls and shattered their courage. Xiahou Yuan is like a tiger broken at the spine! Old Huang Zhong is spirited today; he will sweep through Dingjun Mountain completely...”

Chen Xiucheng hummed the tune of "Dingjun Mountain" as he walked back.

This tale told of the old general Huang Zhong’s decisive defeat of Xiahou Yuan. Singing it now was like stabbing a knife into Wei Wentong’s lungs... The men he sent were cut down, and he had to personally clean up the mess—a blow to his pride that rang loudly and painfully.

Wei Wentong clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood without noticing.

What could he do?

Would he confess to everyone that these personal guards were his own men? Even with Wei Song backing him, he dared not openly expose his flaws in the camp. That would be like handing the hilt of a knife directly to Chen Xiucheng—signing his own death warrant.

“Duke, what shall we do now?” a bodyguard asked cautiously.

“Do?!” Wei Wentong turned sharply, eyes fierce as a wolf’s. “Cut off the heads of Liu Wu and those useless fools, and hang them on the city walls! Let everyone see the fate of betraying me!”

“Yes!”

The guards hurriedly lifted the bodies and dragged them to the execution block by the drill ground.

Blades rose and fell. Thirty heads rolled to the ground before being hung on the South Gate, long hair dangling, eyes wide open.

Yet in this chaotic age, no one paused.

The sugar sellers still shouted their wares; the porters hurried on their way.

Only the wind and snow grew fiercer.

Wei Wentong could not swallow his anger. Returning to his mansion, he asked, “Where is Young Master Wei?”

“Sir, Young Master Wei is training with his sword in the backyard...”

“Go fetch him... no, I’ll go myself.”

Wei Wentong strode to the backyard.

A large open space lay there, and from afar came the sharp, slicing sounds of blades cutting through the air.

Amid the wind and snow, a shirtless youth wielded a long sword. Each strike caused the surrounding snowflakes to vaporize into white mist. Sweat droplets froze instantly upon sliding down his skin, crackling onto the ground like scattered pearls.

This was Wei Feng, adopted son of Wei Song.

Wei Song had sent him to Sifang County to join Wei Wentong, intending for him to gain some experience in the Jingbian Army. But it had only been a few days since arrival; Wei Wentong planned to assign Wei Feng after the new year.

At last...

Wei Feng hoisted his sword proudly and looked at Wei Wentong. “Duke Wei, do you have business with me?”

“Nephew...” Wei Wentong bowed slightly, a hint of reverence in his expression. “I know a warrior named Zhang Muyang, a newly promoted sergeant who can lift a three-hundred-pound stone lock and who has killed Zhang Kui, Liu Wu, and Qi Zhiyuan. Perhaps he can aid your cultivation.”

“A recruit?”

“I was seven when I first drew my bow—using a three-hundred-pound iron bow!”

“A mere ant, worthy of my attention?”

Wei Feng swept his long sword horizontally, cleaving a half-man-high green stone in two, laughing arrogantly. “If he likes to kill and assert power, then I’ll play along. Within three days, I will take his head!”

Icicles hanging from the eaves shattered in unison, striking the ground like funeral bells.

Crack—

Wei Wentong’s heart jolted sharply.

Could it be... something’s wrong?

Impossible!

Wei Feng was at the Bone Refining realm, two whole levels above Zhang Muyang. How could anything go wrong?

The north wind swept through the corridor, stirring the snow at Wei Wentong’s feet and slapping coldly against his face like knives.

He shuddered and suddenly felt this year’s end was colder than ever before.