The Art of War's Swordplay Is Terrifying!

As dusk gathered, thousands of torches illuminated Fang City Pass as if it were broad daylight.

Patrolling soldiers paced back and forth along the ramparts, the rhythmic clatter of their armor ringing out softly.

Inside a tent, Zhao Cheng slowly opened his eyes to find several scruffy, bearded faces looming over him, each filled with concern.

"The Captain is awake!"

"Feng Quan, what are you all doing here?"

Zhao Cheng was caught between laughter and tears; was he being watched even while he slept?

"General Meng ordered us to stand guard here."

"These are your new equipment and weapons."

Feng Quan stepped forward, presenting a set of armor and a bronze sword. This gear was clearly superior to his previous set, its quality far surpassing what he had worn before.

The bronze sword was over a meter long, shaped like a willow leaf with a reinforced central ridge. The blade featured intricate metallic patterns, clearly the result of Hundred-Refined craftsmanship. Though bronze, its heavy, solid feel was no different from fine iron, making it exceptionally sturdy and sharp.

The pommel featured a ring, the hilt was wrapped in leather for a better grip, the crossguard was engraved with gold-inlaid cloud patterns, and the scabbard was wrapped in fish skin with a bronze fitting at the throat to signify his rank.

His helmet was a bronze lamellar piece, constructed from twenty or thirty overlapping plates in a bowl-shaped design, with a hole at the top for a red yak-tail plume.

His torso armor was of the fish-scale variety, with plates densely arranged like scales and gilded on the surface.

This fish-scale armor was exceptionally heavy; typically, commanders would not wear it into battle, but given Zhao Cheng's physical constitution, it had been issued to him directly.

Beyond this, there were several command implements.

A black Captain's banner embroidered with a white tiger, topped with a bronze spearhead and featuring triangular teeth-like edges at the bottom.

Zhao Cheng shed his tattered old armor and donned the new set. Standing tall like a spear, he looked heroic and extraordinary.

"Under Captain Meng's leadership, all two hundred brothers of the Assault Cavalry Battalion have been promoted by one rank. Feng Quan and Feng Ruo have been appointed as your personal guards to follow at your side."

Zhao Cheng looked at Feng Quan and Feng Ruo, noting that they were indeed dressed differently in the attire of personal guards, with bronze gongs hanging at their waists to help him relay orders.

Zhao Cheng nodded. "Good. Does the General have any orders?"

Feng Quan replied, "The General has ordered a night of rest. Tomorrow, we march for Ye County. Let me take you to your assigned tent."

Zhao Cheng had simply crashed in the first tent he found earlier, but the army had since allocated him a tent befitting his rank as a Captain.

It was not far, and as Zhao Cheng followed Feng Quan, every soldier they passed saluted with looks of reverence, calling out, "Captain!"

Before long, they arrived at his assigned tent. The furnishings were simple, meant only for rest, but the space was large and, most importantly, private, ensuring he would not be disturbed.

Zhao Cheng was satisfied and commanded, "You may all disperse."

"Yes!"

As the guards and attendants left, Zhao Cheng stretched his body, noticing that his wounds had recovered significantly; some of the shallower cuts had already closed up.

Beyond the effects of the Hemostatic Powder, this was also due to his own formidable recovery ability.

He sat cross-legged in the tent and began to review the shortcomings of the recent battle.

My experience is still far too lacking. The fighting was messy and lacked method; I relied entirely on brute force to charge, which wasted too much stamina and made my killing efficiency very low.

During training at the County Court, we only practiced basic sword forms—swings, chops, thrusts, and slashes. It didn't even qualify as a basic sword technique, and there was no way to refine it through the system.

Perhaps I can synthesize this battle to create my own sword technique.

With this thought, Zhao Cheng carefully recalled the details of the slaughter on the battlefield.

Once he entered the fray, he often faced seven or eight enemies attacking simultaneously. In those moments, he would usually swat their weapons aside or simply ignore them to keep charging, but he inevitably took many hits.

If he encountered a formation of long spears and halberds, his own momentum would only increase the force with which the spears pierced his body; that was how many of his wounds had been sustained.

The enemy's strength might not have been enough to pierce his defense, but his own forward momentum had essentially helped the enemy break through his armor.

Coupled with the sheer number of opponents, the constant barrage of blades meant that even a body of steel would eventually be breached.

Ants can kill an elephant. This battle took place on the Fang City Pass, where the narrow ramparts limited the number of people who could charge at us, but also limited how many could charge at them. If we were on open ground, I would have to face even more enemies at once.

Once deep in enemy lines, I face not just the enemies in front, but also those behind. The enemies in front crowd in, while those behind keep landing cheap shots. Only by charging fast enough that the enemies behind cannot catch up can I avoid such a predicament.

Therefore, the most important thing is killing efficiency.

If I can ensure that any enemy who enters within three steps of me dies, and I kill faster than they can charge, I can save a great deal of stamina and avoid taking so many injuries.

To kill quickly, the moves must be fast, accurate, and ruthless. There is no need to use maximum force; using just the right amount of force to slit a throat with one strike is the maximization of efficiency.

Zhao Cheng closed his eyes in contemplation, slowly raising his sword before thrusting it at an imaginary foe. The blade cut through the air with a sharp whistle.

The force is still a bit too much, and the movement is too complex. It needs to be simpler and faster.

Swish! Swish! Swish!

The blade sliced through the air inside the tent repeatedly, Zhao Cheng's movements becoming simpler and more efficient.

But after reaching a certain point, he could no longer improve.

I still feel like something is missing. Where is it?

He continued to simulate the slaughter, but though his sword intent was fierce, he felt something was lacking, and his brows furrowed deeper and deeper.

Finally, he stopped and began to ponder with a furrowed brow.

At the entrance of the tent, Meng Tian had been watching Zhao Cheng practice his swordsmanship with a beaming smile. Only when Zhao Cheng stopped, deep in thought and unable to find an answer, did he step inside and say, "A hundred practice sessions are not as good as a single battle. The techniques of slaughter on the battlefield must, of course, be honed in the heat of war to be effective."

"Your deductions in a vacuum lack the crisis and urgency of facing an enemy in the heat of the moment."

These words awakened the dreamer, and Zhao Cheng suddenly realized, "That is exactly it. I was wondering what was missing; it was practical combat."

He turned to look at Meng Tian, "Brother, do you possess any battlefield killing sword techniques?"

Meng Tian laughed, "The Meng Family has been generals for three generations, passing down the art of war as our family legacy; naturally, we have sword techniques as well."

"However, our Meng Family swordsmanship is integrated with military strategy, containing the essence of the art of war—such as attacking where the enemy must defend, or the interplay of feints and reality. These sword moves are inextricably linked to the formations and strategies in one's mind. They rely on cunning and tactical ingenuity, which doesn't quite suit you. Even if I wanted to teach you, you would find it difficult to master in a short time."

"To learn the Meng Family swordsmanship, one must first learn the Meng Family military strategy. And strategy is not a feat of a single day; it requires years of leading troops and verifying what one has learned through practice. Only with deep understanding can one's swordplay become truly divine."

"Without this integration with strategy, the Meng Family swordsmanship is no different from the basic sword forms used in the army—nothing more than hacking, slashing, lifting, and thrusting."

"Moreover, your physique and martial prowess far exceed that of ordinary men. You don't need such scheming sword techniques; what you need to practice is the sword of slaughter."

Zhao Cheng felt that what Meng Tian said made sense. He could kill an enemy with a single strike, so there was indeed no need for schemes and tricks.

What he lacked now was simply the ability to kill the enemy with the least amount of effort and the greatest speed.

However, he was still quite curious about Meng Tian's swordsmanship.

"Brother, why don't we exchange a few moves?"

Meng Tian was also quite interested and drew his sword, "We can spar, but you must hold back your strength; don't go and actually stab me to death."

Zhao Cheng laughed, "Naturally, I wouldn't. I will lighten my force."

Meng Tian held his sword and took a stance, "Come."

Zhao Cheng thrust his sword out, aiming straight for Meng Tian's throat with extreme speed.

Although Meng Tian's movements were not as fast as his, it was as if he had predicted the move in advance. His long sword intercepted Zhao Cheng's blade beforehand, tapping the tip to deflect it. With a flash of light, he countered, aiming for Zhao Cheng's throat.

Zhao Cheng's eyes sharpened, and he shifted his body to the side, attempting to dodge the strike.

However, this strike from Meng Tian was merely a feint. As if he had known exactly how Zhao Cheng would dodge, the speed of the sword tip suddenly increased, revealing the true killing blow as it bore down on Zhao Cheng's throat.

Zhao Cheng's dodge played right into his hands; not only did he fail to evade, but he had also inadvertently closed the distance to accommodate Meng Tian.

He was shocked, retreating while using his own sword to defend.

Meng Tian smiled, twisted his wrist, and dropped the tip of his sword, aiming it directly at the vital area below Zhao Cheng's waist!

This gave Zhao Cheng quite a scare. He clamped his legs together, no longer caring about holding back his strength. With an explosive burst of power, he knocked Meng Tian's sword aside and leaped far backward.

"Brother, you..."

That move was far too despicable!

Meng Tian's wrist was numbed, and he forcibly retracted his sword, laughing heartily as he looked at the strange expression on Zhao Cheng's face.

"On the battlefield, one naturally aims for the vitals. Only a fool would talk about rules and benevolence."

"But Ah Cheng, your strength is truly terrifying. With such a light touch, my sword nearly flew from my hand, and my wrist is aching from the impact."

Zhao Cheng gave a wry smile, "My vitals were about to be struck; how could I possibly worry about holding back my strength?"

So this is what it means to attack where the enemy must defend?

The swordsmanship of the military school is truly terrifying!