Night Raids Were the Essence of Guerrilla Warfare

Night lay deep. Wind swept through the woods, setting the leaves rustling.

Pan Long had changed into a set of pure black clothes. He slipped through the trees beside the road, gradually closing in on the army ahead.

Perhaps they felt they had nothing to fear. The Imperial Holy Legion had camped right on the road, some ten li from Luna Village. Its two or three hundred men occupied dozens of tents, large and small, blocking the road completely.

Several rows of wooden barricades stood before the camp, their sharp points facing outward. The gaps between them allowed only one person through at a time. Behind them, several fully armed sentries kept watch, their eyes sweeping from side to side.

Pan Long spotted them from afar and frowned.

If the enemy had been nothing but a rabble, their numbers would hardly have mattered. He could have charged in, shouted "Enemy attack!" at the top of his lungs, run everywhere, and set fires wherever he went. Once chaos took hold, even an army of a hundred thousand could crumble on its own.

But the force before him was clearly no pack of clay chickens and pottery dogs.

From what he knew, the Holy Legion's name sounded grand, but its soldiers were mostly of poor stock—thugs, bandits, and the like. Only the fanatics of the One God Religion, with the "Most Holy" Seles at their center, held them together. Brutal rule and frequent executions were what made them anything resembling an army.

Yet that was not what he saw.

This army might not be particularly capable, but it was no worthless force that would collapse at the first touch.

Pan Long watched for a while, thought it over, then turned and slipped deeper into the woods.

Trees lined both sides of the road to Luna Village. They were nowhere near as dense as a primeval forest, but with darkness on his side, they were cover enough for a little "covert infiltration."

About half an hour later, he finished a wide detour and reached a spot near the middle of the Fres Army's camp.

The soldiers here were plainly less vigilant than those at the entrance. Bonfires blazed in clusters, lighting up the night, but no one tended them. Everyone had tucked themselves away inside the tents.

It was the end of winter and the beginning of spring in this world. Nights were bitterly cold, and sentry duty was hard work.

Seles ruled cruelly, but even he knew better than to push his soldiers too far. As long as the sentries did their duty, he turned a blind eye to everything else.

The legion did not need to meet the great armies of other nations head-on. It existed to wipe out heretics, and heretics were only civilians. An army meant to slaughter civilians merely had to be passable. It had no need to be strong.

If anything, a truly capable army might have worried him. Its soldiers might have insisted on some notion of knightly virtue and chosen death over swinging their blades at the unarmed...

This army of scum suited Seles perfectly.

Pan Long lowered himself until he was almost flat against the ground and crept toward the Fres Army's camp. Before long, he reached the edge of the road, less than ten paces from the nearest tent.

The night wind was strong, filling the woods with ceaseless rustling. It was perfect cover.

Not all the soldiers inside the tent had gone to sleep. He could hear men chatting in this one about the burning, killing, and looting they planned for Luna Village tomorrow.

One wanted to grab plenty of money to spend on food, drink, women, and gambling. Another said that was too much trouble. He would simply seize a pretty girl and do whatever he liked with her, even until she died, without spending a single copper coin.

Keep dreaming! Whether you even have a tomorrow is still up in the air!

Pan Long sneered inwardly. He had already decided that if he got the chance, he would charge into this tent and slaughter them. If he did not, he would at least set it on fire.

Life was short. Who said they had so many tomorrows to spare? They could die tonight!

Instead of creeping closer, he moved along the roadside until he spotted more sentries, then stopped.

They stood at the rear of the camp, guarding its grandest tent. It bore a Green Crescent emblem and a golden peak. Clearly, they were keeping watch for Seles, the "Most Holy."

The Holy Legion might be a rabble, but the fanatics of the One God Religion at its core were well trained. These sentries had taken up positions that nearly surrounded the tent, leaving no gap for a stealthy attack.

What a shame, Pan Long thought. He did not risk moving closer. Instead, he drew a slow breath and took a black cloth bag from his back. Inside lay seven or eight pine-resin torches that the Village Chief and the others had prepared for him.

Heh. On behalf of the people of Luna Village, let me give you a "warm" welcome!

He took out a piece of tinder. Without even using a fire striker, he rubbed it between his fingers while channeling his inner energy. The tinder caught, becoming a tiny flame that dropped onto a torch and lit it at once.

The firelight stood out sharply in the darkness. A sentry immediately looked his way. "Who's there?" he shouted, breaking into a run toward the light.

His shout alerted the other sentries. Some followed him, others watched their surroundings more closely, and one went into the tent to report to Seles.

They reacted quickly, but they were still too late.

The sentry had taken only five or six steps when a cry of "Allahu Akbar!" rang out from the firelight. Then torches flew one after another onto the tents. The Holy Legion's ordinary soldiers had no fire-resistant marching tents, only common oilcloth ones. They caught at once. In the blink of an eye, several great balls of fire were roaring.

And Pan Long was not done. As he hurled torches, he drew his sword and charged into camp. His first target was the tent he had marked earlier.

He slashed the tent open and burst inside. A dozen vicious-looking Fres soldiers were scrambling into their armor. At the sight of him, they panicked, at a loss for what to do.

One of them had some courage. With a roar, he raised his spear and rushed Pan Long. His voice marked him as one of the two men Pan Long had overheard—the one who wanted to loot more money.

The man was tall and burly, and the sight of him charging with his spear was intimidating. But he was nowhere near enough to frighten a son of the Northlands.

Pan Long charged to meet the spear. Just as its point was about to strike, he leaned aside and let it pass. His sword swept out at the same instant. The Slayer Sword, scarlet as blood, sliced cleanly across the soldier's neck. His head flew up, and blood spurted like a fountain all the way to the tent's roof.

The other soldiers stared, stunned. When had they ever seen anyone charge straight at a spear to cut its wielder down?

Pan Long did not stand staring with them. He surged into their midst, his blood-red sword flashing. Screams followed one another, and blood sprayed across the ground.

In little more than ten seconds, the dozen soldiers lay dead in a heap. Pan Long slashed through the far side of the tent, burst out, and plunged straight into the woods beyond.

He ran deep into the trees before stopping to look back. The Fres Army's camp had descended into chaos. Several tents had become blazing torches, while soldiers whose clothes had caught fire screamed for their comrades to help them.

The trusted guards of Seles, the "Most Holy," bellowed furiously, trying to restore order. But with the entire camp in an uproar, how could they?

Heh. Hope you sleep well tonight.

Pan Long grinned in satisfaction and headed back toward Luna Village.

Still, he could not help feeling a little regret. That rabble plainly had no experience dealing with a night raid. If he had a few dependable helpers—good friends like Han Feng, who had grown up with him in the Northlands, men who could ride fierce horses, draw heavy bows, and kill enemies both mounted and on foot—he would make another disturbance to draw the Holy Legion over, then charge straight through them under cover of darkness.

One volley of fire arrows, one round of thrown spears, then horses trampling, spears thrusting, blades cutting. Those two or three hundred stragglers, already frightened like birds startled by a bowstring, would break within two or three minutes!

Unfortunately, none of his cheerful old companions from Dingfeng Town were here. He did not even have a decent warhorse.

Luna Village did have a few horses, and the Village Chief had suggested riding one here. But a single glance had told Pan Long they were all nags, fit to haul goods or pull loads, not carry a rider into battle. So he had simply run.

For a martial arts expert like him, provided he knew he would not be attacked on the way and could rest upon arrival, running was no slower than a warhorse. He might even be a little faster.

But after running all that way, he had already spent forty or fifty percent of his strength. How was he supposed to fight then?

"Ah, Luna Village really doesn't have anyone capable. There isn't even a decent fighter in the whole place. If I had a few helpers, I could ambush them again on the road. I'd scare them out of their wits. They might even run without fighting..."

As Pan Long walked, he sighed to himself, feeling that tonight's battle had fallen short of perfection. Suddenly, something stirred in his mind. A sense of danger struck him for no apparent reason.

Who's there?!

He instinctively dodged to the side. Wind whistled past as a dark figure swept by him. A gleaming blade caught the moonlight filtering through the branches and flashed for an instant, chilling his blood.

When did someone catch up to me?!

Pan Long was shocked. He had never expected an enemy to get so close.

He hastily retreated several steps to open some distance. The person facing him was small and thin, wrapped tightly in a black robe with only his eyes showing. Nothing else about him stood out—except the green crescent on his chest and the cold gleam of the short blades in both hands.

An assassin from the One God Religion? Wasn't I supposed to run into them later? Right, Seles is the religion's high priest. Of course he'd have an assassin with him. Assassins and Warlocks are the One God Religion's two hallmarks. It would be strange if he didn't!

His thoughts raced, and he grew more alert.

This world had been built on his memories, but it did not necessarily match them in every detail. Things that naturally belonged here had likely been added.

If he took everything for granted, he would suffer for it.

The assassin watched him coldly. Not the slightest trace of emotion showed in his eyes; he might as well have been a machine. The night wind was cold, but his gaze was colder still, enough to make anyone shiver.

The One God Religion's assassins were vicious and extremely dangerous. From childhood, they endured brutal training that even included dissecting companions they had lived alongside while those companions were still alive. Its other atrocities went without saying. Such training left every assassin with a heart of iron and stone. Once given an order, only death could stop him.

Clearly, this assassin's orders were to hunt down whoever had set fire to the camp.

"Looks like you don't intend to let me leave."

Pan Long gave a cold laugh. Red light flashed as he drew the Slayer Sword from its sheath and took a fighting stance.

Overslept. (Laughs)

(End of chapter)