The young guard named Yang Kai was truly formidable — even an ordinary young lady could see that much.
But she also knew what it meant to be outnumbered, how two fists were no match for four hands.
She didn't know how long the young guard could hold on, nor could she understand why, under the threat of death, he still stood so resolutely before her.
She had never even laid eyes on him before.
She knew only one thing: if the young guard fell, her fate would be far worse than death. So she had to be prepared.
The sharp longsword pressed against her chest, the tip piercing her skin just enough to sting. Her eyes were locked on the young guard's back, watching his condition closely.
If the worst truly came to pass, at least they would be heading to the underworld together? The young lady's thoughts wandered in such a direction, and there was even a faint trace of sweetness in her heart, as though it were something she had been looking forward to.
The bandit chief of Baotian Peak cursed without pause, and the more of his men fell, the louder his curses became. Spittle flew with every word, and the string of "useless trash" incited fury and shame in the surviving bandits, driving them to strike even harder.
Yet their ferocity only brought more wounds to the Meng Manor guard — it still couldn't bring him down.
The guard was drenched in blood, his clothes shredded. Even a gash on his temple streamed crimson down his cheek and seeped into his eye, turning it a lurid red, like a maddened beast.
His narrow blade had already been chipped from all the hacking. He grabbed a longsword from a fallen bandit, a blade in one hand, a sword in the other — but even the sword was riddled with notches now, unable to withstand such relentless combat.
Before him, corpses lay strewn across the ground — at least twenty or thirty of them. Blood flowed from beneath his feet, and the whole sight of him was as terrifying as a slaughter god come to life.
The bandits of Baotian Peak were shaken. Even though they knew that as long as they kept pushing, this Meng Manor guard would eventually crumble, how many more lives would they have to spend before that happened? And whose life might be among them?
The bandits who had been charging forward boldly under their chief's authority now showed signs of hesitation, and the frequency of their attacks dropped.
The chief grew even more furious. With a single slash, he cut down a bandit who had been quietly retreating, then spurred his horse forward, intent on joining the fight himself.
Just then, the earth trembled. The thunder of hooves echoed from the distance.
The chief's heart lurched. When he looked up, he saw a cloud of dust rising from the horizon, with what appeared to be a large cavalry force charging toward them.
Reinforcements from White Jade City!
The bandits noticed too. Panic spread across their faces, and they began involuntarily backing away. Many looked to the chief, awaiting his orders.
The chief stared at the Meng Manor guard who still stood before the pit, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. Gritting his teeth, he barked, "Retreat!"
The garrison of White Jade City was sizable — far beyond what his men could handle. If they lingered, he could very well lose everything, including himself. Continuing this fight out of spite would be the height of foolishness.
The bandits had long been terrorized by Yang Kai's ferocity. Upon hearing the chief's command, they didn't hesitate for a moment. They wheeled their horses around and gave chase after the chief.
Moments later, over a hundred armored riders, impeccably equipped, thundered into the clearing under the command of a young man. The young man narrowed his eyes toward the direction the Baotian Peak bandits had fled but made no move to pursue.
He turned his gaze toward Yang Kai, who stood nearby like a man made of blood. Even someone as well-traveled as he couldn't help but feel a jolt of shock.
The eyes of the hundred-plus riders behind him were equally drawn to Yang Kai.
He stood there like a mountain — immovable, as though guarding something precious. His body was covered in wounds large and small, his clothes almost entirely shredded. At his feet lay the corpses of bandits, and the pool of blood nearly reached his ankles. The murderous aura rising from him was so dense it seemed almost solid. The mounts beneath the riders whinnied in distress, instinctively backing away.
No one had ever seen such a sight. It was easy to imagine the ferocity of the battle — wave after wave of bandits must have charged at him, trying to break him down. But like a boulder in the teeth of a raging storm, he had refused to fall.
When his blade chipped, he picked up a sword. When the sword notched, he kept fighting. Blade rose, sword fell, and bandit after bandit dropped to the ground.
"Is it him?" the young man asked.
Beside him rode Yin Zhiyong, a guard of the Meng Manor, who nodded hastily upon hearing the question. "It's him!"
He dismounted at once and rushed toward Yang Kai, calling out, "Brother Yang! Brother Yang!"
Before he could get close, a flash of blade-light slashed toward him like lightning. Yin Zhiyong yelped and collapsed onto his backside, his soul nearly fleeing his body on the spot.
When he finally recovered, he frantically patted himself down to confirm he wasn't injured, only then letting out a breath of relief. With lingering fear in his voice, he said, "Brother Yang, it's me — Yin Zhiyong! Don't you recognize me?"
He couldn't fathom why Yang Kai had suddenly swung at him. To die from that would be the most absurd death imaginable.
"He's already unconscious!" the young man's voice came from behind.
Yin Zhiyong froze. "Un… unconscious?"
How could someone who was unconscious still swing a blade at him?
Looking more carefully, he realized Yang Kai's condition was indeed off. His eyes were wide open and furious, not blinking even once. Blood from his forehead trickled down over his eyes, giving him a ghastly appearance. His gaze had no focus — it simply stared fixedly in one direction, vacant and unseeing.
Yet he still stood there, blade in one hand, sword in the other, motionless.
"Don't approach him carelessly. Right now, he's running purely on instinct," the young man cautioned.