Slaughtering Through the Bandit Camp

The party advanced swiftly through the mountain forest for about the time it took an incense stick to burn when the Six Gates constables ahead suddenly stopped in unison.

Li Dingfang raised his right hand and clenched his five fingers into a fist.

Everyone instantly lowered their bodies.

A faint glow from campfires flickered in the woods ahead. Shadows moved, accompanied by crude laughter and chatter.

Chen Jing felt his vision blur.

With a crisp clang, a Horizontal Blade had appeared in Li Dingfang's hand, its blade gleaming with a cold, sinister light beneath the moon.

He swept his hand forward, and his whole body shot out like an arrow loosed from its string, soundlessly darting away.

A flash of blade light, and a head flew up from the shadows beside the campfire.

Blood traced a black arc through the firelight.

Almost at the same instant, the other eight Six Gates constables drew their blades together.

Horizontal Blades left their sheaths like dragons roaring.

Eight figures plunged into the bandit camp close behind Li Dingfang.

Blade light crisscrossed everywhere, as though slicing melons and chopping vegetables.

Some were still laughing when their throats were slit. Some had barely grabbed their weapons before their chests were pierced through. Some screamed and ran backward, only to be caught within three steps and stabbed clean through the heart from behind.

"Enemy attack!!!"

At last, one quick-witted bandit rasped out the warning.

The depths of the camp instantly erupted into chaos as countless figures poured from tents and grass huts.

Torch after torch was lit, casting the entire forest into shifting brightness and shadow.

"Kill!"

Wang Chong leveled his iron spear and charged forward first.

His spear moved like a dragon. With a single thrust, he pierced the chest of a bandit lunging at him head-on. The spearhead burst through the man's back, and when Wang Chong pulled it free, it brought out a spray of bloody mist.

"Hold the formation!" he roared, sweeping his iron spear sideways and smashing another bandit to the ground.

Forty veteran militia men charged in right behind him, leveling their spears as one.

They were all seasoned hands who had trained for years, their strikes accurate and vicious.

For a moment, long spears and short lances thrust together. The bandits at the forefront were skewered into sieves and fell in screaming heaps.

Chen Jing gripped his White Wax Pole and stayed at Wang Chong's side.

He took a deep breath, set his feet in the Fierce Tiger Stance, loosened and sank his waist and hips, then snapped out a thrust.

The pole tip tore through the air and struck precisely into the throat of a bandit rushing in from the side.

The man did not even have time to scream before falling backward.

Basic Spear Technique proficiency +10.

Chen Jing had no time to care about his rising proficiency. Bandits came charging at him one after another, blades raised.

He withdrew the pole, twisted his waist, and thrust again.

The White Wax Pole shot out like a venomous snake, piercing straight through the other man's heart.

The other militia men also made their own kills.

The entire assault squad was like a sharp blade, viciously plunging into the heart of the bandit camp.

Li Dingfang and the eight Six Gates constables formed its point. Wherever their blades passed, not a single corpse remained whole.

The militia men of Shuang'an Town were its edge, their long spears thrusting in unison as they advanced step by step.

But the bandits had strength in numbers.

The camp stretched along the mountainside and housed over a hundred men. It was the strongest of the three defensive lines.

After their initial panic from the ambush, the bandits gradually steadied themselves under the bellowed orders of several leaders. They surged in from every direction, crashing against the flanks of the party like a tide.

"Don't stop moving! Don't let them cut off our retreat!"

Wang Chong roared, sweeping and thrusting with his iron spear in succession, skewering two bandits trying to creep in from the side.

The veteran militia men on both sides of the formation also raised their spears to meet the enemy. Long spears and short lances collided with the bandits' broadswords, sending sparks flying.

For a time, weapons clashed with a ceaseless clatter, while shouts of killing shook the heavens.

Chen Jing stayed close beside Wang Chong, his White Wax Pole darting out like a dragon or serpent emerging from its lair.

One thrust pierced one man. He withdrew the pole, then thrust again.

His spearwork had been tempered in real combat at Creek River Village, and bolstered by the Spear Like a Dragon talent. Seven or eight of every ten thrusts struck vital points.

When he charged at the front, he skewered four or five men in one breath, his proficiency climbing rapidly.

But there were simply too many bandits. Kill one and two took his place; kill two and four surged forward, as if they could never be finished.

The party continued advancing.

Yet the deeper they pushed into the camp, the greater the resistance became.

The Six Gates constables at the front remained unstoppable. Wherever their Horizontal Blades pointed, severed limbs and heads of bandits flew in every direction.

But the bandits came wave after wave like a rising tide.

In close-quarters fighting, spears and poles gradually became difficult to wield. Several militia men had their long spears seized by bandits willing to take wounds for them, forcing them to abandon their weapons, draw blades, and fight at close range.

Casualties began to appear.

Chen Jing heard a scream from the left. From the corner of his eye, he saw an acquaintance among the young men at the rear being dragged to the ground by three or four bandits, several blades stabbing down at once.

He gritted his teeth and ignored it. He thrust down a bandit blocking his path and stayed tightly behind Wang Chong.

"The flank! Hold the flank!" someone cried hoarsely.

Chen Jing drove out a thrust, the pole tip having just sunk into a bandit's chest.

Three or four bandits immediately pounced from the side and seized his pole shaft.

He pulled back with all his strength, but the pole did not budge.

Those bandits endured wounds from the spearhead and held on for dear life, while two others had already swung their blades at Chen Jing's neck.

Chen Jing made his decision at once. He released the pole and reached behind his waist with his right hand.

The Butcher Knife left its sheath.

Its blade was pitch-black, glinting with a chilling sheen.

The instant the hilt entered his hand, Chen Jing changed completely.

[Butcher] talent fully activated. Blade speed increased by 25%, strength increased by 25%.

The heavy Butcher Knife became weightless in his hand, fast as a streak of black lightning.

Slash. A flash of blade light.

Before the two bandits swinging their blades could react, their wrists were severed at the root.

Their severed hands still clutched their steel blades as the men themselves screamed and dropped to their knees.

Chen Jing reversed his blade in a backhand slash, sweeping its edge across both their throats. Their screams stopped abruptly.

The bandits clutching the White Wax Pole all changed color and tried to turn and flee.

Chen Jing took one stride, pouncing like a Fierce Tiger. His arm drove forward with the motion, and the knife tip sank precisely into the man's heart from behind.

He twisted the blade, and when he pulled it free, it brought out a spray of steaming blood mist.

The surrounding bandits were horrified at first, then rushed Chen Jing with a hundredfold greater ferocity.

Chen Jing met them with the Butcher Knife in hand. He was faster and fiercer than when wielding the White Wax Pole, even more valiant than before.

Every slash went for a bandit's vital point.

Throat, heart, lung, kidney—every blade drew blood, every blade killed.

Killing men like slaughtering pigs.

The veteran militia men nearby watched, dumbfounded.

They had seen people kill before, but never kill like this.

Chen Jing treated the bandits as pigs to be slaughtered, one slash per man without even blinking.

Wang Chong had originally intended to go support him, but when he saw Chen Jing's terrifying display, his pupils contracted slightly and his body could not help but pause.

What a fast blade!

This kid actually had such skill with a Butcher Knife!

Even several Six Gates constables clearing the way ahead glanced back at the sight, their eyelids twitching.

Chen Jing hacked down seven or eight bandits in succession, his proficiency rapidly climbing.

Excitement outweighed his nervousness.

The group quickened their pace, and the forest ahead suddenly opened up.

Several crude wooden tents stood in a cleared patch of land. Before the largest tent was planted a filthy black flag.

There was no need to say it—the bandits' main tent had been reached.

Several figures burst from the tents, roaring as they charged toward the party.

These men were far stronger than ordinary bandits, each one broad-shouldered and thick-armed, their weapons no ordinary steel blades.

Some wielded mountain-cleaving axes, some swung iron staves, and others carried iron hammers.

They were all leaders among the bandits, their fighting skills far surpassing those of ordinary petty thieves.