Bring in the Wine, Let the Cups Never Rest!

"Are you worthy?"

As the bandit leader spoke, the surrounding bandits immediately burst into laughter.

That was right.

One dying old man with one foot in the grave.

Two six-year-old children about to start school.

What could they use to fight against more than forty burly, powerful bandits? What could they use to struggle against them?

The bandits lived lives with blades at their throats. Rarely encountering such amusement, they freely mocked Yang Ming for overestimating himself.

"What village did this little brat crawl out of? So stupid, so naive!"

"I just love the look on his face when he can't stand us but can't do anything about us."

"Little brat, you haven't even grown any hair yet. Have you ever seen a spear? Can you even lift one?"

That bandit's suggestive words immediately drew knowing laughter from the others.

The bandits' mockery did not shake Yang Ming's fighting spirit.

Yang Ming held a sword in one hand and a spear in the other. He was like a volcano suppressed for far too long, cold light flashing in his starry eyes—like icy blades, like frozen steel, as though he were looking at corpses.

A mad red glow shone from Yang Ming's pupils as the Three-Tomoe Sharingan slowly turned.

In an instant, Yang Ming's volcano erupted with a thunderous roar, its scorching lava stunning all who saw it!

"Kill!"

A hoarse, low shout tore from deep within Yang Ming's throat. A flash of cold arrived first, then the spear shot forth like a dragon. Before the bandit leader could react, Yang Ming thrust toward his throat!

At the same time, Tang San attacked as well, charging at the other bandits.

Though the bandit leader possessed no soul power, he was still a seasoned veteran of countless battles.

Though his mind had not reacted, his body's instincts moved first. He stepped back, tilted his head slightly, and the sharp spear tip narrowly grazed the tip of his nose, drawing blood.

He touched his nose, and sticky blood stained his fingertips.

The bandit leader was first stunned, then flew into a rage.

"You little bastard, you're courting death!"

The bandit leader was furious. The sixty-jin mountain-cleaving saber in his hand moved like an extension of his arm, flashing with a chilling gleam as it swept toward Yang Ming. The blade was about to split Yang Ming's head open, and Old Jack's breath nearly stopped, his heart rising into his throat.

No sooner said than done!

Before the Three-Tomoe Sharingan, the bandit leader's movements were as slow as a snail's. Yang Ming's lips curled into a cold smile brimming with killing intent. With Ghost Shadow Perplexing Track beneath his feet, his body swayed left and right, vanishing beneath the blade's edge.

"Huh?!"

The saber missed, and the bandit leader could not stop his momentum. His mountain-cleaving saber struck the ground, its edge wedged in a crack and impossible to pull free for the moment.

"Where did he go?"

Yang Ming appeared behind the bandit leader like the Grim Reaper delivering a death notice. He breathed lightly into his ear.

"I'm here!"

The bandit leader's pupils abruptly contracted to pinpoints. But this time, no matter how fast his body's instincts were, they could not outrun the sword in Yang Ming's hand.

The sword was called Mysterious Sword, a Killing Blade made specifically for killing.

Its edge was incomparably sharp. The bandit leader's half-armor was as thin as paper before the Killing Blade and was pierced straight through.

White blade in, red blade out.

Heart's blood stained the blade tip. Yang Ming pulled out his sword, and as his muscles contracted and released, a spray of hot blood burst forth and splashed across his face, making him look like a demon that had clawed its way out of hell!

Although this was Yang Ming's first time killing someone, he had struck in fury. His hand had trembled only once at the beginning before he regained his calm.

Because reality did not permit him the slightest lapse.

His bloodstained young face turned toward the bandits closing in. His blood-red eyes carried a chill so cold it made hearts quiver. Even these bandits, who had killed without number, paused briefly beneath Yang Ming's glare before flying into furious embarrassment.

They swarmed forward, intent on carving Yang Ming into a thousand pieces! Yang Ming stuck out his tongue and licked the blood that had flowed to his lips.

Blood tasted awful—acrid and bitter.

But the taste of personally killing one's enemies was as sweet as nectar.

At that moment, amid that clamorous battlefield, facing bandits taller, stronger, and more ferocious than himself, Yang Ming's heart had never been calmer.

Because there was no one behind him to rely on!

Only by fighting, only by killing, could he carve out a bloody path through such adversity!

Ruthless Charge!

The spear trembled. Yang Ming planted it against the ground and leaped into the air like a flying swallow.

Watching Yang Ming descend in a graceful arc through the sky, the bandits felt no fear whatsoever. They even found it amusing, thinking he was performing some circus trick. Their lips parted, ready to ridicule his overconfidence.

But in the next moment, the spear struck the ground like lightning from a clear sky, and a wave of force erupted outward from Yang Ming in every direction.

Very quickly, the surrounding bandits could no longer laugh. Terror even appeared in their eyes!

Because they suddenly realized that both their feet had left the ground and their bodies were being lifted into the air against their will!

With a spear in one hand and a sword in the other, Yang Ming charged directly into the bandit crowd.

Under Cloud-Piercing Dragon, all three thrusts struck the same spot. Yang Ming's stern face had only just entered a bandit's sight when several spear blossoms rushed toward him. Then a sharp pain pierced his chest, a deep hole burst through his half-armor, and his heart within had already been churned into pulp!

Then came the Killing Blade, seeking out the toughest opponents. One slash, one bandit. Every strike drew blood, and heads flew high.

The spear was a spear that took lives.

The sword was a sword that claimed enemy heads!

Yet the one wielding both spear and sword was only a half-grown child!

This scene deeply shook Old Jack.

Old Jack opened his mouth like a koi fish, wide enough to swallow an entire salted duck egg!

Though Old Jack had made a strict training plan for Yang Ming, and though he had imagined Yang Ming might already be strong, he had never imagined that Yang Ming would be this strong!

He killed ten men in one step, leaving no trace for a thousand miles!

Wherever Yang Ming passed, no enemy could withstand a single exchange. One sword, one spear, one life lost. Thick blood had already dyed his clean white clothes crimson, making it impossible to tell what color they had originally been.

After Yang Ming killed fifteen bandits in succession, the remaining bandits finally realized that this little brat, whom they had considered insignificant, was now capable of deciding their fate.

The other bandits came to their senses. Some mounted their horses, determined to crush Yang Ming beneath a cavalry charge, while others drew bows and crossbows, aiming at him from afar.

The situation did not look good!

Yet faced with all this, Yang Ming showed not the slightest fear. Instead, he returned to the carriage, took out a jar of rice wine brewed by Old Jack, removed the lid, and tipped it back for a deep drink.

The icy rice wine poured down his throat, followed by a fiery heat that rose to his head. Suddenly, Yang Ming's heart swelled with heroic spirit.

"Bring in the wine, let the cups never rest!"

"I'll sing you a song; please listen closely!"

(Do not get too hung up on whether blade or sword is used. In certain idioms and situations, the wording simply needs to be used that way. Being overly strict would only make it less beautiful.)