With two scouts clearing the way ahead, Wang Jing led thirty soldiers behind them as the unit swiftly cut through the woods and entered the village.
According to Wang Jing's deployment, a five-man squad headed off toward the village entrance.
They carried three recurve bows and two long spears, and their squad leader, Jiang Fang, was an eighth-rank martial artist—more than enough to seal off the village entrance.
Wang Jing was quite confident about this. Although the opposition had a registered seventh-rank Daoist, Daoists were useless in a direct frontal clash anyway.
Through constant slaughter over this recent period, Wang Jing had relied on the Blood Fiend Art to refine Transforming Jin and advance to the seventh rank. Even though his official post was only bazong, the brothers still respectfully addressed him as qianzong.
Among the thirty-odd brothers across the two squads, there were four eighth-ranks. Even if they had only recently advanced, the Daoists' tricks of summoning spirits and playing with ghosts were practically useless against martial artists. In particular, a band of soldiers like them carried dense baleful aura; when surged by this blood-fiend aura, Daoist arts couldn't be invoked at all.
The village was small, and Wang Jing and Qian Yong quickly led their men to the open clearing at its center.
Someone from the grain convoy was keeping watch by the fire, eyes half-shut in a daze between sleep and waking.
The hurried rush of footsteps and the clatter of armor plates startled the watchman wide awake.
He saw a mob approaching. The man at their head was burly and clad in full armor, dark polished scales flickering unnervingly beneath the firelight to create a ghastly, terrifying sight.
Horrified, the man opened his mouth to shout a warning, but with a soft thwack, an arrow pierced his throat.
Clutching his throat, the man gurgled in agony without being able to make a sound, his legs kicking the ground in futile spasms.
Several rogue soldiers drew their sabers and leaped into the clearing ringed by the wagons. Agile and vicious with their blades, they hacked the sleeping men to death before anyone could grasp what was happening.
Within a few breaths, everyone in the convoy was slaughtered.
Only two people managed a brief shriek. The cries were not loud, but in the quiet of deep night, they were piercingly sharp.
A heavy stench of blood spread quickly through the air.
Wang Jing drew a deep breath. He relished the smell of blood; it made his own blood boil in response.
The key to the Blood Fiend Art lay in slaying living beings to harvest fresh vitality and blood. The more one killed, the stronger one's cultivation grew. They lived with today and no tomorrow, so there was no need to worry about the various hidden perils the Blood Fiend Art brought.
The soldiers were the same way. Their eyes turned bloodshot, entering a state of feverish excitement amid the scent of blood.
Killing the convoy first was not merely to silence witnesses, but also to amass blood-fiend aura to resist Daoist spells.
Wang Jing wanted only to kill more people now, to destroy everything within sight.
He did not care in the slightest about making noise. A bunch of Daoists had neither bows nor armor, carrying only single side swords; they were practically useless in frontal combat!
It was midnight, the hour of Zi, and the Daoists had long since retired to sleep. How could they react so quickly?
He was rich in battle experience and knew that people roused from deep slumber were exceedingly sluggish, and sleeping indoors made it even harder to catch disturbances outside. Furthermore, the Daoists lived comfortable, pampered lives, possessing no real practical combat experience. Even if they heard something, there was no way they could respond immediately.
Yet, Zhou Wuji had not slept at all.
The Primordial Profound Essence converted from the boar demon filled his body with boundless vigor. Taking an inedia pill had kept his condition at its absolute peak. As he meditated and circulated his qi, his mind remained completely clear and tranquil.
The very first arrow that struck down the watchman had already alerted him.
Zhou Wuji went out at once to investigate, activating his Six Yang Dharma Eyes. His vision instantly became extraordinarily bright and clear.
Peering out through the crack of the courtyard gate, he saw numerous armored soldiers brandishing sabers, slaughtering the people in the convoy.
He could not help but be startled. Rogue soldiers!
It dawned on Zhou Wuji all at once: the Zhang family's ten wagonloads of grain were intended for these rogue soldiers.
A mob of rogue soldiers could burn, kill, and plunder everywhere, but securing enough grain was difficult. As for slaughtering the Zhang family convoy, that was merely a ruse of self-injury to sever any apparent connection between the Zhang family and the rogue soldiers.
Zhou Wuji had been wondering how Zhang Xinhu would seek revenge. Seeing the rogue soldiers, he connected the dots instantly. As for how Zhang Xinhu had conspired with them, that was an irrelevant detail.
With a rough count, Zhou Wuji determined there were at least thirty rogue soldiers.
Through the Six Yang Dharma Eyes, he could see the dense blood-fiend aura clinging to them. The rogue soldier leading them wore full-body steel lamellar armor and held a five-foot goose-quill saber; the blood-fiend aura radiating from him was as thick as a crimson cloak. On this rebel leader, Zhou Wuji saw intensely concentrated blood-fiend aura, and the man's vital blood surged like boiling water, exuding an oppressive momentum.
*A seventh-rank martial artist!* Zhou Wuji's heart sank. Just this single man possessed the power to slaughter their entire group!
Besides this seventh-rank martial artist, there were at least three eighth-rank martial artists and many ninth-ranks.
This troop of rogue soldiers was undeniably an elite force!
Zhou Wuji felt immense pressure. His first instinct was to turn and flee immediately. With the Six Yang Dharma Eyes, he could effortlessly navigate the dark, tangled woods. And with the nimble, swift footwork of his Flowing Cloud Sword, a seventh-rank martial artist would never catch him.
Yet he suppressed the thought at once. Leaving his fellow sect members behind to save his own skin lacked all loyalty and honor. These rogue soldiers were ruthless and would certainly leave no survivors; everyone in the village would likely be slaughtered.
If he lacked the ability to save anyone, fleeing in panic might have been excusable. But holding a supreme divine artifact like the Northern Emperor's Book of Heavenly Punishment and still fleeing on his own at the brink of life and death would be utterly pathetic!
Although the enemy had superior numbers, the only real threat was that seventh-rank martial artist!
Having made up his mind, Zhou Wuji actually calmed down. The enemy intended an ambush; they would never imagine he was already prepared. Powerful though a seventh-rank martial artist was, he still could not circulate internal qi outside his body. A single strike from Zhou Wuji's sword would still prove fatal.
Of course, close-quarters combat was exceedingly hazardous. If he failed to kill the man in one blow, he would very likely be cleaved in two by a return saber strike.
Pushing aside all stray thoughts, Zhou Wuji quickly returned to the room and woke Wuzheng.
Deep in sleep, Wuzheng had the soft flesh beneath his armpit seized by Zhou Wuji. The sharp pain caused his eyes to snap wide open.
Fortunately, Wuzheng had good self-restraint and did not cry out.
Puzzled and somewhat incensed, he looked at Zhou Wuji, wondering what the fellow was doing.
"A band of rogue soldiers is here, coming straight for us. They'll be here any second."
Zhou Wuji's single sentence sent a chill through Wuzheng, snapping him fully awake.
He immediately rolled up, grabbed his sword, and slipped out of bed. Because of Zhou Wuji's earlier warning, even though he had been skeptical, he had kept his outer robes on.
Zhou Wuji spoke rapidly: "Their leader is a seventh-rank martial artist, and he's their only top expert. If we take him down, we survive! Senior Brother, wait behind the door. As soon as the enemy comes in, strike that seventh-rank martial artist with your Yin Thunder Bead. I'll seize the opening from behind and kill him in one stroke."
Wuzheng did not know the situation outside, and he had no time to deliberate. At this moment, he could only trust Zhou Wuji. He said in a low voice, "All right!"
Zhou Wuji turned and went to the other bedroom. Wuye and Wuming were light sleepers; the moment he stepped inside, Wuye opened her eyes.
Sharing a house with two men, even fellow disciples, had kept Wuye uneasy, and Zhou Wuji had already warned them earlier.
Ignoring Wuye, Zhou Wuji repeated the gesture, pinching the soft flesh under Wuming's arm while clamping a hand over her mouth.
Wuming let out a muffled whimper and woke instantly. She was startled and furious at first, but upon seeing Zhou Wuji's bright, dark eyes in the dim light, her anger evaporated.
"Rogue soldiers are here to kill us. Stay hidden in the room and don't make a move."
Zhou Wuji gave Wuming a special reminder: "Whatever you do, don't go throwing your White Brow Needles around wildly. Remember that!"
Wuming looked bewildered, having no idea what he meant by that.
Zhou Wuji had no time to explain. Coming out of the room, he slipped straight over to hide beside a wooden shed against the courtyard wall.
The shed was stacked with dry firewood, an everyday essential for cooking.
The open-front shed had no doors, leaving Zhou Wuji virtually exposed as he stood inside. He was betting the rogue soldiers would not turn to look back. During the previous clash with rogue soldiers at Baishi Crossing, Zhou Wuji had noticed that while they possessed solid martial skills and fought in coordination, their style was crude and direct.
When they stormed in, they would inevitably head straight for the rooms without sweeping the courtyard.
In a surprise raid like this, catching the enemy off guard was paramount.
Across the courtyard wall, Zhou Wuji could already hear the footsteps of the rogue soldiers. They were coming straight for them, clearly aware of where they were staying.
He saw that Wuzheng had already moved into the outer room, facing the front door while holding an incantation seal and chanting under his breath.
The room was pitch-black, and only thanks to his Six Yang Dharma Eyes could Zhou Wuji make out Wuzheng's form.
Zhou Wuji hoped Wuzheng would pull his weight. As a registered seventh-rank Daoist holding a Yin Thunder Bead, he ought to inflict some serious damage on a seventh-rank martial artist!
With a resounding crash, a contingent of rogue soldiers kicked open the courtyard gate and charged straight inside...
Chapter 27