2025-12-15 06:28:46
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The Dew-Cleaving Sword Technique
One of A Fu’s disciples—his black robes billowing as he moved with practiced grace—stepped forward swiftly and struck several acupoints around Sun Zu’s wounds with precise finger flicks. Each touch was firm yet controlled, sending tiny pulses of energy through the old man’s body to stem the flow of blood. Within moments, the crimson seepage from Sun Zu’s cuts slowed to a trickle, then stopped entirely.“Thank you,” said Sun Zu, his voice rough but steady as he straightened his posture, wincing only slightly as his muscles pulled against the healing injuries. He brushed a strand of gray hair from his forehead, his weathered face etched with gratitude and resolve.“You’re welcome, Elder. Let’s finish them off,” replied the disciple, his masked face giving no hint of emotion, though his grip on his double-edged dagger tightened. The other four disciples moved into formation beside him—two taking the left flank, two the right—their movements coordinated as if they shared a single mind.Su
A Fierce Battle
Cheng Yu’s body shot forward with incredible speed, his muscles coiled like tightly wound springs as he pushed off the earth. Dust spiraled up from beneath his boots, and the force of his movement sent loose leaves skittering across the hard-packed ground. He angled his shoulders just so, his fist clenched tight as iron, certain his opening strike would land squarely on the young man’s unprotected chest. But his prediction was wrong—Fang An, the white-haired youth whose pale locks flowed like silk in the wind, evaded the blow with nothing more than a fluid sidestep, his body moving as if he had anticipated every inch of Cheng Yu’s advance.Cheng Yu’s fist cut cleanly through the air, the sharp whoosh of its passage echoing in the sudden silence. It missed Fang An’s chest by barely two handspans—so close that the embroidered pattern on Fang An’s dark robes fluttered from the rush of wind as the strike split the air. Fang An’s eyes, cool and observant, tracked the fist’s trajectory unti
The Pursuit
Judging from their speed, the thirty elite members were clearly well-trained and possessed high-level martial skills—their bodies moved with the fluid precision of water flowing through stone, each leap from branch to branch executed with perfect timing and balance. This was proven by how they could keep up with the pace of Cheng Yu, Mo Lin, and Braga, men whose combat abilities had been honed through years of training under A Fu himself. Not a single one fell behind, their breathing steady even as they pushed their bodies to the limit, their eyes sharp and alert for any sign of danger.Two hours later, the sun began to rise in the eastern sky, painting the horizon in brilliant shades of gold and crimson that cut through the forest canopy like shafts of fire. They weren’t running along the ground—where fallen branches and soft earth would slow their progress—but instead darting from tree to tree, their feet barely touching the broad limbs as they soared through the air. They did this
Bad News
Elsewhere, deep within the black stone walls of the fortress hidden at Mount Yuelu’s base, Cheng Yu and Mo Lin strode through the main corridor, their fifty men following closely behind. Their arrival—much earlier than the two-day patrol they had been assigned—left Qian Hao and his two brothers standing in the command chamber’s doorway, their faces etched with puzzlement. The morning light streaming through the narrow window cast long shadows across the stone floor, highlighting the tension in their postures as they watched their comrades approach.“Did the two of you find out who was spying on our fortress?” Qian Hao asked, his voice carrying the quiet authority that had become his trademark since taking leadership of the stronghold. He stepped forward to meet them, his broad shoulders squared, his eyes scanning their faces for any sign of what had brought them back so soon. Beside him, his brothers—Braga and Sudirja—stood rigid, their hands resting near the hilts of their swords, re
The Assault on the Fortress
Atop a giant banyan tree with lush, sprawling leaves that spread out like a vast green canopy—on one of its broad, gnarled branches thick enough to bear the weight of ten men—the three of them observed sharply, their bodies perfectly still as they peered down at the fortress below. They moved with the silence of shadows, their breathing slow and steady as they mimicked the patience of an eagle stalking its prey, every muscle coiled and ready for action. The tree’s massive trunk rose more than forty meters into the air, its bark rough and deeply furrowed, offering perfect cover as they pressed themselves against its sturdy limbs.The density of the great tree was the very reason A Fu chose it as their vantage point. Not only was it difficult to spot them from below—its thick foliage creating a natural screen that blended their forms into the dappled green and brown of the forest canopy—but from this towering height they could clearly see the inside of the fortress, its layout laid out
The Appearance of A Fu
The five black-clad figures who had been thrown far back earlier had now regrouped behind the old man, their forms hunched and unsteady as they leaned on their swords for support. Though badly injured from the recent clash—their robes torn and stained with blood, cuts crisscrossing their arms and faces—they still managed to stay alive, their eyes burning with a mixture of respect and shame as they looked toward their master.“Master…!” they called out in unison, their voices hoarse and strained. Each one made a small effort to straighten their posture, determined not to show weakness before the one who had trained them in the ways of combat and magic.The old man turned to face his disciples, his expression gentle yet stern as he surveyed their wounds. “What were you doing to this young warrior, my disciples?” he asked, his voice carrying none of the anger they had expected—only a quiet sadness that cut deeper than any rebuke could have done.“We only tried to stop him from going deep
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