Chapter 58: Nothing More Than This
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The old man, a three-time Awakener, collapsed lifelessly to the ground, his body twitching faintly for a few brief moments. The dark night enveloped the scene, snowflakes drifting down gently from the heavens. Even the glowing fire spring nearby failed to dispel the chilling gloom that gripped the hearts of those at Golden Rooster Ridge.
The sight of the lone rider and his mount struck them with an oppressive weight, no less terrifying than the charge of a massive iron cavalry. This man, astride a Purple Lightning Beast, had sliced through their strongest warrior — an elder among their ranks who had undergone three Awakenings. Now, his bisected corpse lay sprawled in the blood-stained snow, a vivid reminder of the attacker’s overwhelming power.
The two bandit leaders, their gazes sharp and cold, felt the gravity of the situation. Yet their years of bloodshed and hard-earned experience steeled them against fear. There was no retreat. They knew it all too well: the Purple Lightning Beast’s speed surpassed even that of a five-time Awakener. Running would only lead to certain death, picked off one by one. The lone warrior’s presence here — a single man daring to infiltrate their stronghold by night — made his intentions clear: total annihilation.
Seated atop his beast, Qin Ming urged it forward. The steady thud of its hooves echoed like a drumbeat, deliberate and unyielding, shaking the resolve of those who heard it. The bandits’ confidence wavered. Many, despite their violent pasts, felt a creeping desire to flee. But the rhythmic pounding seemed to hammer directly into their fragile nerves.
In his right hand, Qin Ming gripped a long spear, pointing it steadily ahead. His left hand wielded a blood-streaked saber. With a flick, crimson droplets spattered the snow. He raised the blade high, the glint of its edge reflecting the firelight.
“What are you standing there for? Attack him together!” one of the leaders barked, his icy tone cutting through the tension like a blade.
The command was not a mere suggestion but a warning. There would be no retreat, no forgiveness for those who faltered. These men knew the consequences of cowardice; even if their leaders fell, the Golden Bandits would ruthlessly punish those who failed to fight.
One of the leaders surged forward, his broad sword, wider than a man’s palm, slashing through the air like a bolt of lightning. The other leader followed suit, wielding a heavy lance that glinted menacingly in the firelight. He leapt forward with the force of a gale, kicking up snow in his wake.
Qin Ming, undeterred, made his move. With a deft flick of his spear, he deflected the lance’s deadly edge to the side, thrusting directly toward its wielder’s chest. Simultaneously, his saber clashed with the broad sword, sending sparks flying. The ferocity of his counterattack forced both bandit leaders to stumble back, momentarily shaken.
The onlookers gasped. Two of their mightiest warriors had been forced into retreat by a single man and his beast.
The two bandit leaders, their blood boiling and their backs tinged with cold sweat, exchanged a glance. The man before them was no ordinary foe. His strength surpassed their own, leaving them unnerved.
But Qin Ming wasn’t finished. Urging his Purple Lightning Beast onward, he charged toward the wooden structures beyond the bandit leaders. From within the camp, the sharp creak of metal chains echoed as a massive siege crossbow was readied.
With a thunderous crack, the contraption fired, unleashing a massive bolt that hurtled through the air. Qin Ming leaned sharply to the side, narrowly dodging as the projectile grazed past his ear, its immense force stirring the wind around him. Another bolt came flying, but Qin Ming met it head-on, slashing with his saber. The redirected bolt smashed through a nearby building, impaling an unfortunate bandit and drenching the snow in fresh blood.
Undeterred, Qin Ming continued his assault. His saber tore through wooden walls and other barriers as if they were paper, carving a path straight into the heart of the camp. Two elderly warriors, also three-time Awakeners, emerged to confront him, each gripping a sturdy spear.
From behind, the two bandit leaders pressed closer, intent on surrounding him.
Qin Ming had anticipated this. He knew Golden Rooster Ridge harbored more than a few three-time Awakeners. He’d witnessed four of them emerge alive from the Great Canyon on a prior occasion. Tonight, his goal was to eliminate these hidden threats before dealing with the leaders. The speed of these three-time Awakeners made them a greater risk if they decided to flee.
The elderly warriors attacked in tandem, their spears thrusting with precision and force. But Qin Ming was faster. His saber moved like a storm, meeting their strikes with a power that left their arms trembling uncontrollably. His movements exuded a strange, mesmerizing grace — every motion deliberate and lethal, a deadly dance that seemed almost artistic.
In an instant, Qin Ming disarmed one of the elders, his saber slicing cleanly through the man’s neck. Blood gushed as the elder crumpled to the ground, his head rolling away in the snow. The other elder fared no better. Qin Ming’s spear struck like a serpent, piercing the man’s chest. With a violent twist, the spear’s force shattered the elder’s body, leaving nothing but torn flesh and splintered bone.
The gruesome sight sent a shiver through the remaining bandits. Even the two leaders felt an icy dread settle in their hearts.
Around them, chaos erupted. Some of the bandits turned and ran, unable to bear the carnage any longer.
“Stop! All of you, stop right now!” one of the leaders roared, his voice laced with desperation.
But it was no use. Qin Ming and his beast surged forward again, cutting down six fleeing bandits in rapid succession. Blood pooled beneath their lifeless bodies as others froze in place, realizing escape was impossible.
Qin Ming reined in his beast, his saber dripping red as he surveyed the remaining bandits with a cold, detached stare. Slowly, he advanced toward the heart of the camp, the hooves of the Purple Lightning Beast crunching against the blood-soaked snow.
“Who are you?” one of the leaders demanded, his voice trembling despite his effort to appear composed. “What grudge do you hold against Golden Rooster Ridge?”
The other leader, though equally shaken, tried to muster some confidence. “If you destroy this stronghold, the Golden Bandits won’t take this lightly. They’ll come for you.”
“You mountain bandits, even after being pardoned, have only grown worse, spreading chaos and fear. Do you think the City Lord will turn a blind eye forever? Even outsiders are roused to anger by your vile deeds, crimes so numerous that words fail to describe them. If Golden Rooster Ridge isn’t eradicated, even the heavens will weep in outrage!” Qin Ming’s voice, hoarse but steady, cut through the night like a blade. He sat astride his beast, his sharp eyes fixed on the two leaders standing before him, their expressions shifting between fear and defiance.
The bandit leaders—hardened and scarred from years of lawlessness—shared a glance. The mention of the City Lord and the enigmatic “people beyond the boundaries” sent a chill down their spines. They had heard whispers, rumors of change in the wind. A new City Lord eager to prove his authority, and even more troubling, the mysterious outsiders whose motives remained unclear. Only recently, they had forged a tenuous alliance with a beast beyond the boundaries, only for it to vanish inexplicably.
“Charge!” Qin Ming commanded, urging his mount forward. The beast roared as it surged ahead, scattering the lesser bandits like leaves before a storm. Those who remained loyal to the leaders hesitated but ultimately obeyed a barked order to retreat towards the back mountain.
Arrows flew like meteors from Qin Ming’s bow, felling several fleeing bandits. His skill was undeniable, each shot finding its mark with deadly precision. The two leaders, seeing their ranks thinning, charged forward, forcing Qin Ming to draw his blade.
The clash of steel erupted in the dense darkness. Qin Ming’s blade technique was mesmerizing. The Phoenix Pattern Long Blade seemed alive, its movements fluid and unpredictable, a symphony of thunder and light that seemed to tear the night itself. The bandit leaders faltered, their confidence shaken. Though they were both at the same life stage as him, Qin Ming’s mastery of the Blade Path was unparalleled. If he could extend his Celestial Light Force along the blade’s edge, his prowess would have been truly terrifying.
One bandit leader gritted his teeth as Qin Ming’s blade struck true, slashing across his shoulder in an arc of crimson. The wound was shallow, however, his instincts saving him from a fatal blow. Undeterred, he abandoned his broadsword and lunged forward with his bare hands, trapping Qin Ming’s blade between his palms. Celestial Light flickered around his hands, protecting him from immediate dismemberment but not from pain. Blood dripped from his wounds as he let out a roar of defiance and snapped the blade in two.
“So this is the strength of a four-time Awakener,” Qin Ming muttered, his tone both thoughtful and cold. He discarded the broken blade and hurled it like a spear, skewering a fleeing bandit in the distance. The remaining leader pressed his advantage, aiming to prevent Qin Ming from retrieving his spear.
But Qin Ming was undeterred. He stepped forward, his movements swift and precise. With his left hand, he intercepted a blow from the leader, their palms colliding with a resounding crack. The force of the collision sent the bandit leader flying backward, his hand a mangled mess of blood and shattered bones. The other leader launched himself at Qin Ming like a hawk, but Qin Ming met him mid-air. Their exchange was brief and brutal. Moments later, the bandit fell, his hands twisted and broken, his screams echoing through the night.
“He’s fused multiple types of Celestial Light Force,” one of the leaders gasped, his voice trembling with fear.
“Why are you targeting us?” the other demanded. Despite their bravado, the chilling realization dawned on them—this man wasn’t just any opponent. A four-time Awakener with such mastery couldn’t possibly belong to a minor faction.
“Too strong? Or perhaps I overestimated you,” Qin Ming rasped, inspecting his hands. “Four-time Awakeners… disappointing.”
He climbed back onto his Purple Lightning Beast, which had been nervously shifting its weight, ready to flee. Qin Ming patted the beast’s head, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Don’t even think about running. See this spear? If you try, I’ll pin you to the mountain path myself.”
The beast grumbled but remained still, subdued by Qin Ming’s overwhelming presence. The bandit leaders, beaten and broken, turned tail and fled into the dense forest, their desperation clear.
Qin Ming gave chase, his spear a blur of motion as he struck down one of the leaders with ruthless efficiency. The corpse fell apart with a grisly sound, scattering the forest floor with gore. As he approached the back mountain, he slowed, his gaze falling on a peculiar sight.
“So this is why they call it Golden Rooster Ridge,” he murmured, his voice laced with intrigue.
…
In the shadows beneath the trees at the base of the mountain, a slender figure stood silently. Her form was obscured by the dark, but her posture was regal, commanding.
“Shall we wait longer, my lady?” a maid beside her whispered.
The woman’s voice was calm yet contemplative. “Yes, we’ll wait. The figure on that Purple Lightning Beast seems familiar…”
“Who does it resemble?” the maid asked hesitantly.
“Cui Chong He,” the woman replied, her tone tinged with curiosity.