Reidi lay motionless in a patch of overgrown weeds, his entire body caked in mud, half-submerged in the mire. He silently watched the barking of dogs and the crunch of footsteps drawing ever closer.
He had been on the run for nearly a month now—he'd lost track of the date long ago. The weather was growing colder with each passing day, and winter was fast approaching.
He hadn't expected that fleeing into the White Egret Lake marshlands would fail to shake his pursuers. Not only had they brought in a large number of hunting dogs and local hunters familiar with the terrain, they had even deployed regular troops. Reidi found himself growing more haggard by the day, escape more difficult, and rest harder to come by. He could rarely go two hours without the tracking dogs sniffing out his trail, forcing him to rally his resolve and press on…
Reidi had finally settled his heart and begun reflecting on his past recklessness and arrogance. After his teacher had confirmed that his swordsmanship had truly entered the hall, Reidi had grown somewhat proud—especially after winning the sword championship at the tournament hosted by the Fisablen Grand Duke, at which point his confidence swelled and his carelessness deepened. He no longer took Gold Knights seriously, believing himself roughly on par with a first-rate Great Swordmaster.
Even with bounties on his head from the Handra and Sabaji Duchies, Reidi had remained supremely confident—a first-rate Great Swordmaster was nothing special. In a one-on-one fight, he feared no one; no one could defeat him within a few hundred exchanges. If not for two Great Swordmasters coming after him, he wouldn't have cared at all. Looking back now, Reidi realized he was exactly the kind of frog in a well his teacher had described—ignorant of how vast the sky was, smugly convinced that a first-rate Great Swordmaster was nothing to fear. And so, when he had arrogantly faced off against Great Swordmaster Shanti, he discovered he couldn't even withstand a single strike. If not for the wide river at his back, his head would likely have been delivered to Shanti as proof of the kill.
The image of Shanti's swordwork flashed before Reidi's eyes once more—graceful as a startled swan, the blade's gleam soundless and silent, like a gentle breeze across the face. Scattered points of frost-white light filled his entire field of vision, as if looking up at a sky full of stars on a summer night. There was not a trace of killing intent; he hadn't even felt the urge to raise his guard. By the time his mind jolted to awareness of the danger and he scrambled to retreat and defend, he found that he had already been struck—three deep sword cuts on his left arm, right leg, and chest, so deep the bone was visible. Thank heavens he had the presence of mind to leap into the river and flee on the spot, or the outcome would have been grim indeed.
That hateful old woman—not an ounce of mercy. Back when he had escorted Princess Silvia on her diplomatic mission to Northland, Reidi had not only guided them on their way but brewed tea for them as well. Yet knowing full well he was
Poor Reidi began retracing the chain of events that had led to his pursuit. In general, killing a few underground crime bosses and dismantling a few criminal organizations wouldn't draw much attention from the local lord. Even if those bosses had been planted by the lord to control the underworld, their deaths were just that—deaths. At worst, a replacement would be installed. Even if an arrest warrant were issued, it would be little more than a formality. Underground bosses were killed for going too far—revenge and vendetta, nothing more. Even if the boss happened to be a relative of a landed noble, the lord wouldn't want to risk losing his own knights to avenge a criminal.
If it wasn't about the underground bosses, then something else must have gone wrong. Reidi finally thought of that envoy he had gutted—the more he thought about it, the more familiar the man seemed. After racking his brain, he recalled that during the knight tournament, the man had been standing right beside the Fisablen Grand Duke. The Grand Duke had introduced him to Lorist as his brother's son, already a Silver Three-Star, and after Princess Silvia, the Fisablen family's most promising junior to advance to
Reidi finally understood why Shanti had come after him. This mess was bigger than he'd imagined. He smacked his lips and thought that he probably wouldn't be able to continue wandering to other places. If he could escape, his best option was to return to Northland as quickly as possible—staying by his teacher's side was the safest place to be. But first and foremost, he needed to treat the three sword wounds Shanti had inflicted, lest the bloodstains give away his trail.
At that time, Reidi had been profoundly grateful that what he had learned from Lorist was the Eastern martial monks' cultivation method—the Elixir Sea Qi Drawing Art. This cultivation system, entirely different from combat force training, had not only dramatically elevated his swordsmanship but allowed him to completely overpower Gold Knights through internal energy alone. Most importantly, the qi circulation through his meridians could temporarily seal his wounds, preventing blood loss from revealing his trail to his enemies.
By leaping into the great river and making all his enemies believe he would swim underwater to the far bank, Reidi had secretly stayed put. Exploiting the principle that one never looks under the lamp, he slipped back onto shore unnoticed, stitched his wounds with needle and thread from his kit, applied medicine, swallowed a healing potion, bandaged himself up, and turned straight for the White Egret Lake marshlands. By the time his enemies realized they'd been duped and turned back, Reidi had already won himself the most critical days of head start—not only widening the gap but giving his wounds time to begin healing.
But there were simply too many pursuers, and they received unconditional support from the local villages and towns. Within just days of entering the marshlands, tracking dogs and hunters were already on his trail, and Reidi became a hunted rabbit once more. To make matters worse, unknown forces had deployed troops to block several high points and critical junctions throughout the marsh, making escape nearly impossible.
Up ahead were three soldiers carrying half-body shields, behind them four spearmen, and at the rear two crossbowmen and three longbowmen—every face taut with vigilance, arrows nocked and ready to fire…
The three hunting dogs advanced to within about three meters of the weed patch, sniffed the ground for a long while, then raised their heads and barked furiously at the vast green grassland stretching into the distance. Two hunters stepped forward and called the dogs to heel. Relaxing, they turned to the dozen-odd soldiers and said, "No need to stay on edge—you can stand down. I reckon the man you're looking for is already done for…"
A soldier at the head of the group looked up. "What do you mean?"
The hunter pointed at the grassland. "Our dogs' tracking of his scent ends right here. It's very likely the man fled into this stretch of grass."
"We have orders to find his trail. If he went into the grassland, we search." The lead soldier's tone was firm.
"You can't go in." The two hunters chuckled. "Didn't you hear me say the man you're chasing is probably already finished? Don't let the lush grass fool you—this is a bottomless pit. The grass all floats on the surface. Anyone who walks in won't make it ten meters before sinking straight to the bottom, dying silently beneath the grass without a sound. We locals believe this grassland grows so well because of the countless animal carcasses that have sunk below, feeding the roots with their flesh and blood. That's why we call it the Bewitched Grass Swamp…"
"So you're saying the man we're chasing may have fled into this grassland and sunk?" The soldiers finally relaxed. No one could maintain high alert indefinitely, and with the hunters' explanation, shields and crossbows alike were lowered. They gathered around the edge of the grassland, discussing among themselves. Several soldiers even lined up along the grassy border, unbuttoned themselves, and began to relieve their bladders.
A stream of murky urine splashed the ground less than half a foot from where Reidi lay hidden. A few drops spattered onto his face, but Reidi didn't move a muscle. If the pursuers could be made to believe he had perished in this swamp, that would be the best possible outcome. Once they withdrew, he could leave the White Egret Lake marshlands at his leisure—whether heading back to Northland or continuing his travels, anything was better than being hunted relentlessly by multiple Great Swordmasters.
Unfortunately, beautiful dreams were always shattered by cruel reality, and things didn't play out the way Reidi had imagined. The lead soldier spoke: "Who among you is willing to run back and report our findings to the Great Swordmasters…"
Another soldier said, "Captain, how do we report it? That the fugitive sought his own death and fell into this Bewitched Grass Swamp?"
The older hunter nearby asked in puzzlement, "Sir, why don't we all go back together to report? Isn't this over?"
The lead soldier sighed heavily and replied testily, "You think I don't want to go back? The orders are clear—alive, we need the man; dead, we need the body. If we go back and say the fugitive fell into this swamp and perished, the brass will have us scoop out every last bit of mud until we find the corpse. So all I can do is send word that the trail ends here and let the higher-ups come search for themselves. We absolutely cannot say the fugitive fell into the swamp…"
The older hunter scratched his face. "That's absurd. If a man sinks in there, how are we supposed to find the body?"
"When the brass gets here, they'll probably torch all the grass and have us probe the swamp with long poles. In general, even if he sank, he'd be somewhere nearby—he couldn't have made it to the center." The lead soldier eyed the grassland.
Reidi took a deep breath, then erupted from the mire, plunging into the midst of the group. His sword flashed as figure after figure sprayed blood and crumpled to the muddy ground. In the blink of an eye, eight soldiers had lost their lives.
The dogs erupted into a frenzy of barking as the three hounds charged. Reidi pivoted, splitting one black dog's skull with a single slash, then drove his sword into the second dog's open maw up to the hilt. He released the blade, rolled aside to dodge the third dog's lunging attack, scooped up a throwing axe hanging from a dead soldier's belt, and in one fluid backhand motion buried it in the third dog's spine. The creature collapsed with a heavy thud, blood foaming from its mouth as it whimpered and twitched its limbs in its death throes—struggling to stand but unable to rise…
Four soldiers and two hunters remained. The lead soldier had gathered his three subordinates behind a single shield, two spears leveled at Reidi. All four pairs of eyes were wide with panic and despair. As for the two hunters, they had released the three dogs and immediately turned to flee—they had already covered more than ten meters in the blink of an eye…
Reidi smiled faintly, hooked his foot, and a longbow and quiver of arrows from the ground flew into his hands. The lead soldier's eyes tightened. "Everyone, be careful—"
But Reidi was already sliding toward the shelter of the shield.
Three arrow whistles rang out in rapid succession, followed by two screams from behind. The lead soldier turned and saw the two hunters who had been running for their lives crumpled on the ground—one with a single arrow lodged in his body, the other, who had run farther, with two arrows sprouting from his back. He finally understood—Reidi hadn't aimed the longbow at the four of them, but at the fleeing hunters.
The lead soldier's face flushed crimson. Nothing stung more than an enemy's contempt. He wanted to rush out and fight Reidi to the death, but the echoes of those two screams still ringing in his ears brought him suddenly, shockingly calm. It was clear—the mud-caked enemy before them intended to leave every last one of them dead here…
"Signal!" The lead soldier snapped the small bamboo tube tied at his waist and passed it backward. "Whoever's in the back lights the smoke flare—everyone else, hold the line with everything you've got. Hold out until reinforcements arrive and we live…"
Reidi was pulling his sword free from the second dog's maw. He'd drawn the bow too hard and too fast—the wound on his chest seemed to have split open again, throbbing with pain. But that wouldn't stop him from finishing off these four foot soldiers, then scavenging some supplies. He hadn't had a proper meal in days. The last thing he'd eaten was a vibrantly patterned yellow-and-purple venomous snake, eaten raw. The gallbladder had been unbearably bitter, and in his ravenous hunger he'd accidentally ruptured it, making the snake meat just as foul. He'd forced himself to swallow every last piece raw.
At this point, even field rations would taste like a feast. By now, all he had left from his flight was the sword at his side—even his clothes were in tatters. Coating himself in mud had been a necessity; every night the marsh's enormous mosquitoes descended in swarms, each bite raising a massive welt. Without the mud, the mosquitoes would have drained him dry long ago…
The remaining four soldiers ahead were huddled together—a shield at the front, two spears bristling on either side, and one soldier in the rear doing something. But Reidi was certain the man wasn't holding a crossbow; the two crossbowmen had been the first ones he'd killed. Both crossbows now lay on the ground. The soldier probably didn't even have a weapon—everything had happened so fast that panic alone could explain forgetting to arm himself…
But then came a sharp hiss, and Reidi's expression changed. It was a wolf-smoke signal tube—a special issue of the Fisablen Duchy's Border Patrol Cavalry Corps. A small bamboo tube that, once lit, produced a thick column of black smoke visible from miles away. On the vast open grasslands, it was standard equipment for the Border Patrol's scouts to send long-distance distress signals. He hadn't expected these pursuers to be equipped with them as well.
"Kill!" Reidi roared, charging forward. He swept aside the two spears thrusting at him like vipers, stepped onto the shield, and vaulted upward. His sword flashed twice as both spearmen's throats sprayed blood and they toppled to the ground. He flipped over the shield and struck with a backhand—the shield bearer abandoned his shield and reached for the blade protruding from his chest, trembling as he slowly sank to his knees… Reidi pulled his sword free. Before him now stood only the pale-faced soldier clutching a bamboo tube trailing black smoke.
"Die." Reidi cut the soldier down with a single stroke, but even split in two, the bamboo tube continued belching black smoke. The sound of barking was already rising from the distance.
"Damn it!" Reidi cursed viciously, snatching up two crossbows and a longbow from the ground, slinging two quivers over his shoulders, grabbing a spear, and tearing field packs from the bodies of the fallen soldiers. He did a quick inspection, selected what he needed, bundled everything into one pack, and tied it around his waist. Looking up and scanning in every direction, he could already see figures flickering in the distance. With a soft laugh, Reidi turned and charged down the embankment, vanishing into the Bewitched Grass Swamp…