Following orders, Qian Yong led fourteen soldiers around to the back of the house to prevent the Daoists from escaping through the rear.
The houses in the village were all quite crude. Although the house where Wuzheng and the others were staying had three rooms, there was no courtyard wall at the back, only a row of wooden palings serving as a fence.
Behind the fence lay a stretch of woods leading straight into the depths of the mountains.
Qian Yong had originally stationed his men outside the fence, but he soon sensed that something was amiss.
Flames flickered in the courtyard ahead, and faint screams could be heard. The crux was that the voices sounded somewhat familiar...
Qian Yong hesitated. With Wang Jing's strength and so many men at his side, he should easily have swept through a band of Daoists.
Could something have gone wrong?
At a time like this, should he stay behind to cut off any Daoists attempting to flee, or push forward to help?
Even though they had turned into rogue soldiers, they still maintained a strict hierarchy and tight organization internally.
Qian Yong was truly torn. Wang Jing's so-called pincer attack from front and back had in truth been an order for him to guard the rear so none of the Daoists could scatter and escape.
A courtyard this small could not accommodate so many people fighting at once anyway.
If he took the initiative to move up in support and let a few Daoists slip away as a result, he could not bear the dire consequences.
As he hesitated, Qian Yong felt an increasing sense of dread, for the commotion in the front courtyard was growing quieter and quieter.
If Wang Jing had triumphed, he would surely have blown his brass whistle to signal them. If the battle was going poorly, he would also have sent a signal calling for reinforcements.
Now there was no sound at all—it was far too bizarre!
An ominous premonition gripped Qian Yong's heart; he wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave immediately.
Yet how would he account for this to Wang Qi?
Wang Qi was Wang Jing's elder brother, a genuine seventh-rank expert, and a proper chiliarch.
Were it not for Wang Qi leading them, their band of rogue soldiers could never have held together so tightly.
Besides, if he fled without figuring out what had happened, Wang Jing would never spare him even if he had survived unscathed.
Weighing the pros and cons, Qian Yong truly had no other choice. He could only brace himself and lead his men forward.
If a formidable expert truly held the courtyard, he would look for a chance to flee for his life then...
"Form ranks and advance!" Qian Yong barked out the order. The fifteen men formed three five-man squads and marched forward in formation.
The five spearmen in front shoved down the wooden fence and barged into the courtyard.
Rounding the house, they were met with a ground strewn with corpses.
Even in the deep gloom of the night, the armor, spears, and sabers on the bodies made it clear at once that the dead lying on the ground were their own comrades.
One of the headless corpses wore a suit of full steel lamellar armor, gleaming with a deep, chilling glint in the night...
The five spearmen turned pale with shock at the sight of that corpse—it was unquestionably Wang Jing!
How could a seventh-rank expert be dead?
The spearmen looked together at the sole living person in the courtyard: the Daoist standing motionless, sword in hand.
They could not make out the Daoist's features clearly either, but they could sense an unfathomable depth about him, radiating a profoundly dangerous aura.
Following behind the spearmen, Qian Yong also caught sight of the courtyard through the gaps in their ranks.
As an eighth-rank martial artist, Qian Yong possessed sharper vision. In the chaotic courtyard, he even spotted Wang Jing's severed head; looking at the blood-stained face, he could practically feel the terror and despair frozen upon it!
Qian Yong's heart plummeted. Wang Jing truly was dead! Everyone else was dead too!
His mind spun in confusion. Should he attack with everything they had to kill this Daoist who appeared so young, or turn and flee immediately?
In battle formation, they could unite and fight to the death; they could hold their own even against a seventh-rank expert.
If they turned and ran, the formation would instantly collapse, leaving them to be slaughtered at will.
Qian Yong had always been sharp and observant, and precisely because of this, his mind churned with many thoughts.
Then another realization hit him: against such a formidable master, weighed down by armor, how could they ever outrun him?
In a flash, Qian Yong weighed the stakes. At this point, only fighting to the death offered a sliver of hope to survive.
He immediately shouted, "Front rank crouch! Loose arrows!"
The five spearmen in the front crouched without hesitation, while the five in the middle split to the left and right, clearing the way for the five archers in the rear.
All five archers were well-trained; they drew their bows and loosed arrows at Zhou Wuji in unison.
The distance between them was barely a dozen paces; skilled archers like them could not miss even with their eyes closed.
They used heavy bows and heavy arrows, capable of piercing armor within fifty paces.
Five heavy arrows ripped through the night, converging upon Zhou Wuji.
Zhou Wuji had noticed these rogue soldiers long before. He had not been feigning calm; rather, the sword technique upgrade brought by the primordial profound spirits had caused such profound changes that he needed a little time to adapt.
After investing three strands of primordial profound spirit into the Xiaoxiang Sword, he had practiced swordsmanship for an exceedingly long time within the small world forged by the Northern Emperor's Book of Heavenly Punishment.
Through endless repetition in that hyper-focused state, his swordsmanship had attained the stage of Great Mastery.
Reaching this realm meant his swordsmanship had achieved complete mastery and fluidity; every nuance and transformation was etched in his mind, free of the slightest hesitation or impediment.
He had gained his own profound comprehension of swordcraft and the weapon itself, capable of forging an original path and creating a style of his own.
Swordsmanship at the Great Mastery stage had altered more than just his understanding of combat; it had also transformed his utilization of qi, which in turn altered the physical state of his body.
After all, once one achieved true mastery of the sword, the body naturally adapted to an optimal state to match it.
This was an outside-in transformation, encompassing every aspect of his being.
In reality, the time spent practicing the sword within the Northern Emperor's Book of Heavenly Punishment was exceedingly brief, totaling less than two breaths in the outside world.
However, once Zhou Wuji awakened from that state of Great Mastery, he still needed time to acclimatize to the physical transformations in his body.
Knowing full well that the enemy had breached the courtyard, Zhou Wuji had seized those final moments to adjust his condition and adapt to his body.
Only when the enemy drew their bows and loosed their shafts was Zhou Wuji forced out of that wondrous state. He raised his sword and struck repeatedly.
Though the heavy arrows were swift, the enhancement of Zhou Wuji's Six Yang Dharma Eyes was still active. Coupled with his swordsmanship having reached Great Mastery, his senses had grown exceptionally sharp and subtle, allowing him to trace the vibrating arcs of the heavy arrows gliding through the air.
The Seven Stars Sword in Zhou Wuji's hand appeared to slash, but as the blade descended, he shifted to the flat spine, parrying and deflecting the five heavy arrows away one by one.
The Seven Stars Sword was far too sharp, and his slashes were so swift that chopping the heavy arrows would easily sever them, sending erratic arrowheads flying that could pose a threat to him.
With his swordsmanship at Great Mastery, Zhou Wuji wielded his blade with ever-greater composure.
The rogue soldiers opposite could never discern such subtle, exquisite sword maneuvers; all they saw was a brilliant blossom of chilling swordlight, dazzling their eyes in the deep gloom of the night.
Without waiting for orders, the five archers drew their bows and loosed another volley together without hesitation.
Zhou Wuji, however, was not about to stand foolishly in place waiting to deflect arrows. The power of heavy bows and heavy arrows was terrifying; if he misjudged even a single arrow, it would be his end.
No matter how superb his swordcraft was, there was no need to take such reckless risks.
With a flick of his left sleeve, a burst of fire flared and bloomed in midair.
Though the sudden glare was not overwhelmingly blinding, it tore through the darkness and dazzled the eyes of the rogue soldiers.
Unable to see Zhou Wuji's figure, some archers loosed their arrows from memory, while others held their drawn bows in place.
Seizing the opportunity, Zhou Wuji charged straight ahead with raised sword, arriving right in front of the five spearmen.
The soldiers were all well-trained. Even though they could not clearly see Zhou Wuji's silhouette, they rose to their feet and thrust forward with their spears.
In mass combat, spear formations were the most lethal; when spearmen thrust together, no one could withstand repeated volleys of thrusts unless the difference in strength was insurmountable.
This time, Zhou Wuji did not dodge. Raising his sword, he slipped right past the thrusting spears, closing the distance.
His footwork was now faster than the speed at which they could withdraw their spears. Just as the soldiers sensed something amiss, Zhou Wuji parted their spear shafts with his blade and plunged into their midst.
Unfurling the Evening Snow Sword, the Seven Stars Sword unleashed a rapid barrage of slashes.
The Evening Snow Sword stance comprised three transformations: First Snow, Mid Snow, and Twilight Snow.
With his swordsmanship having reached Great Mastery, Zhou Wuji had finally honed the stance Evening Snow Across the Sky to consummate perfection.
The Seven Stars Sword dissolved into an unbroken sheet of swordlight, truly resembling a heavy snowfall blanketing the world, merging river and sky into a single hue.
The chilling, brilliant swordlight engulfed the rogue soldiers; wherever the light swept, severed hands and lopped heads flew.
Amid the slaughter, a line of verse inexplicably surfaced in Zhou Wuji's mind: Severed limbs and decapitated heads fly side by side, hot blood and the endless night share one hue...
"Though this is rather too cruel; one shouldn't mock death like this."
Then Zhou Wuji cast aside that sliver of pity. They were all murderous scoundrels; if not them, who else deserved mockery!
He felt another slight twinge of regret: had he known reaching Great Mastery would make his sword technique so overpowering, he would have had Wuming and the others stay. For such peerless swordsmanship to have no audience was, after all, rather dull...
Chapter 30