The First Act of Chivalry

A crossbow was a dangerous weapon. After just eight or ten days of training, an ordinary person could use a light hand crossbow with reasonable accuracy at a range of about ten paces, giving it formidable killing power.

And unless a martial artist entered the Innate realm and achieved Body Alteration, a bolt from such a crossbow would draw blood at once. Two or three hits would leave him gravely wounded, while a shot to a vital spot could kill him outright.

This group had plainly come prepared. Not only did they have six hand crossbows, they had also stopped seven or eight paces—roughly ten meters—from Pan Long and Han Feng's tent. At that distance, fists and feet were useless, and even spears and staves, the longest-reaching weapons, could only eat their dust.

Clearly, they were professionals with plenty of experience in this line of work.

But they could never have guessed that Pan Long had not slept at all. He had been watching them warily the whole time.

Before they could even approach, Pan Long was ready to fight. The instant he heard their footsteps stop, he struck first without hesitation.

If that had been all, they could have held their ground. After all, the advantages of distance, weapons, and numbers were theirs.

What they had guessed even less was that Pan Long knew how to use hidden weapons.

And he was quite good at it.

With a sweep of his hand, Pan Long sent six throwing knives at six enemies. The flash of cold steel startled them all. Those who reacted quickly dodged or raised their hand crossbows to block; those who reacted slowly took a knife.

Not one of the six crossbows had time to fire.

A distance of roughly ten meters was precisely where masters of hidden weapons held the greatest advantage.

Unless these men were trained military crossbowmen, pitting hand crossbows against a hidden-weapons expert at that range could only end in defeat.

Pan Long was no Li Xunhuan, after all. His throwing knives did not have the precision to seek out throats. Three of the six men were hit, but none of the wounds were fatal.

Then his hand brushed across his belt, and another six knives flew.

His throwing knives were small, about the length of an index finger. Forty of them lined the hidden-weapon slots in his belt. He could throw several more volleys without a problem.

He was better prepared for this second volley and threw more accurately. The men had recovered their wits, but how could they move faster than a sweep of his hand? All six were struck.

As he prepared to throw a third volley, the only one of the six they recognized—the fat man who had spoken to them during the day—could not help shouting, "It's a misunderstanding! All a misunderstanding!"

Pan Long kept his hand on his belt, ready to throw at any moment, and said coldly, "You're holding a crossbow and calling it a misunderstanding? Do you think I'm blind?"

The fat man hurriedly dropped his hand crossbow. He had realized that, against this young master of hidden weapons, it was useless.

To ambush Pan Long with a crossbow, they would have to put at least thirty paces between them, beyond the effective range of his throwing knives.

Sure enough, once he dropped the crossbow, Pan Long stopped throwing knives at him.

But with five knives instead of six, Pan Long's accuracy improved. In a single volley, one unlucky man among the remaining five took a knife square in the face. He could not even scream before he fell backward and lay motionless on the ground. By the look of him, there was probably no saving him.

"Quick! Drop your weapons!" the fat man shouted. "Do you really want to die?"

The other four came to their senses and threw down their hand crossbows, begging for mercy.

Only then did Pan Long stop, sparing them for the moment.

"Who exactly are you?" he asked.

The fat man was about to answer, but Pan Long shook his head. "This ground is too open. If you have accomplices, I'll be a sitting duck. Move! We'll talk inside my tent!"

The five "Immortal seekers" looked at one another, their faces full of worry. They did not dare refuse, so they obediently walked toward the tent, with Pan Long deliberately hanging back to herd them along.

Inside, Han Feng was still sprawled on an animal hide, fast asleep and Snore-ing loudly. The five men could not help sighing.

There were only two of them, and just one had come out to subdue the whole group.

If both had fought, wouldn't they have died even more horribly?

Still sighing, they walked forward. But just as they passed Han Feng, the supposedly sleeping man sprang up, pulled a blade from somewhere, and slashed.

The blade gleamed fiercely in the moonlight shining through the tent entrance, its whiteness enough to chill the heart.

Never in their wildest dreams had the five imagined that Han Feng was feigning sleep, waiting for a chance to leap up and kill them.

The blade flashed like snow; the wind of its passing shrieked.

Blood burst from the throats of two "Immortal seekers." Their eyes widened, but they could neither move nor make a sound. They collapsed limply.

Worse still, Pan Long struck at the same instant from behind them. His hands smashed into the backs of two more "Immortal seekers'" heads, while his foot drove into the last man's groin.

None of the three managed so much as a scream before the blows killed them.

The two of them had killed all five "Immortal seekers" in the blink of an eye. Only then did Han Feng grin and say, "Brother Long, how was my performance?"

"Not great. The Snore sounded too fake." Pan Long shook his head. "They were scared out of their wits and didn't notice, that's all. Don't take that kind of risk next time. We already had the upper hand."

Han Feng shook his head. "How can you say it wasn't necessary? They were enemies. Of course we had to kill every last one. Brother Long, didn't you force them into the tent to close the distance so we could spring on them?"

Pan Long smiled.

Han Feng was right. That had been exactly what he was thinking.

These men had come to ambush them in the middle of the night. That made them enemies in a fight to the death. What place was there for mercy between enemies?

Besides, they were fully equipped and obviously experienced—most likely professional bandits. Northerners hated bandits more than anything. When they encountered them, a fight to the death was all but certain. How could Pan Long let them go?

The real reason he had forced them into the tent was exactly as Han Feng had said: to close the distance and make sure all five died.

And with Han Feng inside the tent, the two of them could join forces, making it even more certain they would kill their enemies.

Pan Long had not worried that Han Feng was still asleep. The Han family had once served as military guides; one of their ancestors had even earned the nickname "Hunting Hound." Tracking and scouting were family skills. With fighting already underway outside, Han Feng was bound to have woken. The only question was whether they could coordinate without arranging anything beforehand.

As it turned out, Han Feng was quick-witted. He had lain there pretending to sleep, Snore-ing loudly on purpose to alert Pan Long that he was about to make a move.

And when the two struck, they killed all five bandits in almost a single instant.

As they talked, Han Feng and Pan Long checked the five bandits to make sure they were dead. Then they rushed out of the tent toward the other "Immortal seekers'" tents.

The moon was bright tonight. It might not have been a good night for murder and arson, but it was perfect for dispensing justice!

In moments, angry roars, pleas for mercy, and curses rose one after another. At last, silence returned.

Not one of the fourteen "Immortal seekers" on the platform at the Jade Mountain Ruins remained alive. The two of them had killed them all.

During the slaughter, Han Feng had demanded to know where they came from and whether they had accomplices. Not one would tell him.

Pan Long did not mind. If they would not talk, so be it. It only took one slash anyway.

"There must be someone behind these people!" Their act of chivalry had left Han Feng excited, and the chance to put his family's tracking skills to use delighted him even more. "I found where they usually go up and down the mountain. Should we follow the trail?"

Pan Long thought for a moment, then silently shook his head.

The Jade Mountain Ruins were a famous attraction near Lantian City. Anyone who could station bandits here to rob and kill visitors staying overnight was no small figure. Even if their backer was not an Innate expert, he would at least have plenty of men.

The two of them could not take on an opponent like that.

Han Feng could act a little like an overexcited hound, but he was no fool. The moment Pan Long shook his head, he guessed what Pan Long was thinking. "Brother Long, if we follow the trail tonight, they're bound to have at least one outpost where someone meets them, and there shouldn't be many people there. We can't deal with whoever's pulling the strings, but we can at least use the darkness to raid that outpost too."

"With bandits and outlaws, every one we kill makes the world a little better!"

That persuaded Pan Long. They gathered their things, taking anything that might reveal their identities. They added a few cuts to the bandits' wounds to keep their fighting styles from being recognized. As for cumbersome things like the tent, they simply left them behind—the money and valuables they had taken from the bandits were enough to buy several replacements.

Then, following the clues Han Feng had found, they descended the cliff by moonlight. The slope there was much gentler, and they made it down with little trouble. No wonder these men, despite their mediocre skills, had managed to run their bandit operation so smoothly.

It was only around three in the morning when they reached the bottom. In darkness like this, even someone with good eyesight could not see far. Yet Han Feng kept finding telltale traces on the ground. Without slowing down, he led Pan Long straight in one direction.

After about half an hour, they spotted a glow. Several wooden cabins stood out in the wilderness, and firelight flickered through the window of one.

Han Feng stopped and whispered, "The tracks lead here. I'll scout it out. Brother Long, be ready to back me up."

They crept toward the cabins. Han Feng flattened himself against the ground and crawled on hands and feet like a cat or dog, so lightly he made almost no sound. He reached the lit cabin, listened beside it for a while, then crawled quietly back.

"Eight," he murmured, almost against Pan Long's ear. "Two are awake and chatting. Sure enough, they're talking about murder and arson. Six are asleep in the back. From what they said, this lot probably rotate through here often."

"How good are they?" Pan Long asked.

"About the same as the ones before."

"Equipment?"

"I didn't hear any armor."

They exchanged a look. Their lips curled into fierce smiles.

Then they charged.

Crash! The cabin door flew open under a kick. Two burly men sitting by the fire jumped to their feet, but before they could roar or draw their blades, two throwing knives buried themselves in their throats and stopped every word they might have said.

With one throwing knife in each hand, Pan Long could still count on his accuracy.

Once the knives had killed the two men, they rushed straight toward the back room without a word.

The remaining bandits were asleep. None had Han Feng's alertness—a professional who could have served as an army scout at any time. Only one woke in time; the other five died in their sleep.

As for the one who woke, Pan Long struck him on the crown of his head with a palm, leaving him just aware enough to know he was dying.

In less than a minute, all eight bandits were dead.

Han Feng still wanted to follow the trail to the bandits' base and dispense more justice, but this time Pan Long stopped him firmly.

It was nearly four in the morning. In another two hours or so, dawn would begin to break. Once daylight robbed them of the night's cover, the two of them could not possibly face a large band of robbers head-on. It would be suicide.

Even if they waited until the following night, the bandits would already have been alerted. There would be no chance of another surprise attack.

Han Feng sighed glumly at his reasoning, but did not insist.

"Forget it!" he said, pretending not to care. "For my first act of chivalry, this is already more than my father managed when he was young! There's plenty of time ahead. I'm in no hurry!"

"Right, right. The tale of the great Hero Han Feng begins today."

They laughed together, then strode away with the valuables they had taken from the bandits' outpost.

As Han Feng had said, the results of their first act of chivalry were more than enough to satisfy them.

Pan Long was different from the protagonists who had come before him. He had a strong inclination to kill. After transmigrating, he had spent years living in the Northlands, and what he had seen and heard there had deeply shaped him. He also had a family, and he carried a secret that would get them all killed if it came out. He could not afford to be softhearted or indecisive...