Close Quarters Combat, Alley Ambush

Colonel Wen Mao led two thousand troops in a menacing charge, only to collide head-on with over a thousand soldiers fleeing for their lives.

These soldiers were terrified beyond measure, gasping like oxen; though clearly exhausted, they continued to run as if their lives depended on it.

Some tripped and fell, yet they scrambled and crawled, desperate to keep moving forward.

Even worse, some were defecating and urinating as they ran, as if they had encountered some unspeakable horror.

The thousand-plus men wailed and shrieked as they fled, shouting bizarre nonsense about a "Sha" star or a Yama.

The scene was as bizarre as it was absurd.

Wen Mao's expression turned hideous, his rage surging upward.

"A weak commander leads a weak pack! A thousand men routed by a single enemy infiltrator—what a pathetic sight, you've lost all face!"

"Where is Du Shuang!? Come out and accept your punishment!"

The reinforcements mocked the fleeing Night Patrol Battalion soldiers relentlessly.

"They've truly rotted away staying inside the city; a thousand men scared out of their wits by one person."

"Heh, no wonder they were assigned to night patrol. With this kind of spine, if they were on the city walls and saw the endless Qin Army, wouldn't they just fall off in fright?"

"There are even those who wet their pants! How can there be such cowards among us Han people! It's a disgrace!"

The reinforcements sneered, looking at the fleeing patrolmen with utter disdain.

But the fleeing soldiers no longer cared about such things; running any slower meant death, so they only focused on pushing past the reinforcements to escape further back.

Some well-meaning ones even tried to warn the reinforcements.

"Don't go there, you'll die! Bring the main army to kill him!"

Wen Mao was beyond furious, letting out a roar of immense authority.

"All of you, halt! Whoever takes another step will be executed immediately!"

His subordinates drew their swords in unison, the sound of blades leaving scabbards ringing out as one. Amidst the chilling killing intent, the deserters dared not run further, though they huddled toward the military formation, seemingly seeking a shred of security.

Wen Mao asked again, "Where is Du Shuang!?"

Someone replied, "Lord Du is already dead, killed by that demon."

Wen Mao raged, "What demon? Speak properly! What exactly happened?"

"How many enemies infiltrated?"

A Centurion among the deserters answered, "There is only one, but he is like a monster—he cannot be killed. His archery is godlike; every arrow fired claims a life."

"He burned the government office and sat inside alone. Hundreds of our brothers charged in and all died within. Lord Du led the charge, and the moment he stepped into the office, he died under his arrow."

"Hmph!" Wen Mao snorted coldly. "Boosting the enemy's morale while crushing your own? Do you think that by exaggerating his prowess, you'll receive a lighter punishment?"

"A bunch of trash!!"

"What use are you!?"

The deserters dared not argue; they felt ashamed, but fear gripped them far more.

Just then, from the dark night in the distance, came the thunderous crack of a bowstring!

Immediately after, at the tail end of the deserters who had nearly reached the formation, four or five men collapsed one after another, falling silent.

Panic erupted among the deserters as some curled up, clutching their heads. "He's here! He's here!!"

Wen Mao was incensed. "How dare this brat be so arrogant!!!"

"With the army arrayed before him, he still dares to kill right in front of me? Surround him!"

"Let these cowards from the Night Patrol see the might of our garrison!"

His fury seemed to infect the entire army; the two thousand troops surged forward, their morale soaring like a rainbow!

High atop a distant civilian rooftop.

Zhao Cheng stood in the darkness, watching the surging reinforcements, and smiled.

Firelight danced in his eyes as he silently pulled out a cloth to mask his face.

"Then, let's have some fun."

He carried five heavy bows on his back, with two quivers hanging at his waist, stuffed to the brim.

As the army surged toward him like a tide, he unhurriedly drew his bow and nocked an arrow.

He began to pick off the enemy soldiers with calm, rapid precision!

Reinforcements continued to fall, but it seemed to stir their bloodlust; their morale, instead of waning, actually increased.

Men shouted curses incessantly. "You dog-bastard, come down here if you have the guts!"

"Damn it, don't let me catch you, or you'll suffer a miserable death!"

"Don't run if you're a man!"

Zhao Cheng moved with agility, always managing to break out before he could be surrounded.

He prowled through the city like a leopard, constantly drawing his bow to strike down the garrison troops pursuing him from behind.

His quiver was emptying rapidly, while the number of years in his lifespan within the system continued to jump upward.

[Current remaining lifespan: 4865 years]

[Current remaining lifespan: 5237 years]

[Current remaining lifespan: 5596 years]

Wen Mao directed his forces, continuously pressing forward to surround and kill, the battlefield spreading from the north of the city to the south.

Countless corpses were left in their wake, each one struck through the throat with a single arrow; there was never a need for a second.

Wen Mao's expression grew increasingly grave, sweat gradually beading on his forehead.

How is this guy so slippery!?

On this point, those deserters hadn't been lying; this fellow truly possessed god-like archery skills.

However, how long could his arrows last? With such high-frequency shooting, how long could his arm strength hold out?

After repeated observation, Wen Mao discovered that the fellow had been relying on the bows and arrows scavenged from the Night Patrol Battalion soldiers to keep fighting until now.

Realizing this, he immediately ordered his soldiers to unstring their bows and recover all the arrows from their fallen comrades.

He then had the deserters, who were too afraid to join the fray, haul all the bows and arrows away.

With this, Wen Mao felt victory was within his grasp. "I want to see how much longer you can hold out once you have no arrows left!"

"Without arrows, can a man without armor really charge through two thousand armored soldiers?"

The rate at which Zhao Cheng consumed arrows was extremely fast, and without replenishment, he soon hit rock bottom.

However, relying on those two quivers and the subsequent scavenged supplies, he had already shot and killed nearly four hundred men.

By now, he had plundered over sixty-seven hundred years of lifespan for the system.

It could barely be considered a break-even.

After firing one more arrow, he reached for his quiver, only to find it empty.

He stretched his back, tossed away his final heavy bow and quiver, and loosened his joints, which popped like a string of firecrackers.

Vital energy surged within his sturdy frame, his boundless strength like that of a dragon or tiger.

"Warm-up finished. Now, let's get serious."

The garrison troops frantically pursuing him from below were still hurling insults, trying to goad Zhao Cheng into coming down.

One soldier with sharp eyes spotted Zhao Cheng discarding his heavy bow and couldn't help but laugh excitedly.

"Haha, he's out of arrows! He's a toothless tiger now!"

"You're finished, kid! Just wait to die!"

"I've tolerated you for long enough! You were something with a bow and arrows, but what are you without them!?"

Some even took advantage of the moment Zhao Cheng was loosening his body to quietly climb the low walls and scramble onto the rooftops, swinging their swords at his back.

Zhao Cheng turned, disarmed the attacker, and extended his leg in one fluid motion.

The kick sent the man flying over a dozen yards, tracing a perfect arc through the air before he landed in the alley, knocking over several Han Army soldiers. By the time he hit the ground, his chest and abdomen were deeply caved in; he was beyond saving.

In the dark of night, the Han Army hadn't even managed to see the situation clearly when they saw Zhao Cheng pounce down like a tiger hunting its prey.

With a single swing of his blade, he cut down several men, clearing the dense alleyway in an instant.

These Han Army soldiers had been holding back their frustration because of Zhao Cheng; now that they finally saw him descend, they didn't care about anything else and charged forward one after another.

This was exactly what Zhao Cheng wanted.

In such alley fighting, with close-quarters combat, he could not only improve his killing efficiency but also hone his lethal techniques.

Swish, swish, swish!

Zhao Cheng's blade flashed with cold light, like petals flying in all directions, precisely striking down every Han soldier who came within three paces.

He was immersed, focused, and composed.

He strolled through the sea of troops, his sword-flowers trailing blood-flowers; bright red and cold light flashed incessantly in the darkness.

The enemy in the alley was constantly being cleared out by him, only to be filled again by oblivious Han soldiers.

The night was deep, and the alley was even gloomier; many Han soldiers couldn't see the specific scene inside at all, relying only on their rage and blood-fueled courage to charge forward, only to die under Zhao Cheng's blade.

Zhao Cheng's movements grew faster, the arc of his blade becoming straight, simple, and unadorned.

At first, some were still able to get within a pace of him before being cut down.

Gradually, anyone who came within two paces met their end.

Later on, a five-pace radius became a dead zone.

Whenever anyone stepped into that distance, Zhao Cheng's blade would appear at their throat as if it had eyes of its own.

Piercing through, or slicing open.

He walked forward, and within five paces, the enemy soldiers fell rapidly.

Six paces.

Seven paces...

He walked faster and faster, the empty space around him growing wider; whether in front or behind, no one could get near him.

Only blood flowed continuously, filling the alleyway, staining the earthen walls crimson, and surging outward.

The first to realize something was wrong was Wen Mao, who was commanding from the outside, preparing to catch a turtle in a jar.

The sounds of battle inside had gradually quieted, leading him to believe victory would be secured soon.

But as time passed, more and more of the Han Army entered the alley, yet that alley, barely a few dozen yards long, seemed like a bottomless pit that could never be filled!

Meanwhile, the subordinates blockading the alley entrance were becoming fewer and fewer.

A feeling of extreme horror began to well up in his heart, then gradually surged until cold sweat broke out on his back.

"What is going on?"

"This is wrong... this is all wrong!!"

"Bring me a fire arrow."

A subordinate handed over a fire arrow, the shaft wrapped in oilcloth and already ignited; Wen Mao immediately shot it into the air above the alley.

The fire arrow streaked across the sky above the alley, its light illuminating the entire space and allowing the Han Army soldiers, who had been charging blindly, to see the scene within.

Corpses were like mountains, and blood flowed like a river.

The bodies of countless comrades filled the narrow alley, turning it into a living hell.

The stones they had thought were tripping them were clearly the severed heads of their comrades!

And through the gaps between the teammates in front, they could see one soldier after another constantly falling.

That "archer without arrows" was like Yama incarnate, having already slaughtered his way from the depths of the alley almost to the entrance.

Whenever anyone came within seven paces of him, their head would inevitably fly off.

Swords were snapped, and armor was shattered!

Drenched in scarlet, his killing intent was peerless!

The ignorant morale of the Han Army collapsed instantly under the glow of that fire arrow...