IDWBE -Chapter 149 Tang Que

He hadn’t even noticed how the other party had appeared nearby!

There was no doubt—the man’s cultivation was higher than his.

At Zhang Mian’s words, all the soldiers raised their sabers and spears toward the figure standing atop the tree canopy.

What comforted Zhang Mian was that, even in the face of danger, not one of them took a step back.

The white-robed man stood with his hands behind his back, looking down coldly. “You think you’re worthy of knowing my name?”

“Your martial skills are formidable. I admire you,” Zhang Mian replied calmly. “But you should also understand—Sanhe is not to be trifled with. I hope you can form a good bond with Sanhe. It will be easier to meet again in the future.”

“That cowardly prince?” the white-robed man sneered.

“Impudent!” Bao Kui suddenly roared. “If you dare insult our prince again, even if I am no match for you, I will fight you to the death!”

“Oh?” The white-robed man chuckled. “Quite a loyal dog.”

“Listen to my command!” Bao Kui shouted, stepping past Zhang Mian. “Fight or not?”

Zhang Mian was an outsider—he could afford to ignore the prince’s reputation.

But Bao Kui was a guard of Prince He’s residence. If he failed to defend the prince’s honor, how could he face the world?

“Fight!”

The roar behind him shook the heavens.

“So many third-rank masters… I underestimated that useless prince,” the white-robed man said. “Though troublesome, I can still leave none of you alive.”

Suddenly, torches flared at the foot of the mountain.

“Take cover from arrows!”

As soon as Zhang Mian shouted, a volley of arrows flew overhead.

“Kill!”

Eyes red, Zhang Mian charged first at the white-robed man. There was no retreat now.

“Kill!”

Bao Kui followed closely. The two rushed him together.

Another rain of arrows came from below. The soldiers slashed down the incoming shafts and charged at the bandits rushing up the mountain.

“Just you?”

The white-robed man waited until Zhang Mian’s saber was nearly at his forehead. With a casual flick of his sleeve, Zhang Mian was sent crashing to the ground, coughing blood.

“Ninth rank!”

As he spoke, he saw Bao Kui fall beside him—unconscious, life or death unknown.

“You’d do better to surrender, lest you throw your lives away,” the white-robed man said lightly.

More than a dozen soldiers charged at him together. He moved among the flashing blades, knocking them down one by one.

Wave after wave surged forward.

Watching his brothers fall, life and death uncertain, Zhang Mian’s eyes turned bloodshot.

Looking downhill, the battle raged fiercely.

Something felt wrong. His men were all third rank!

How could they be locked in a stalemate with mere bandits?

“Enough!”

The white-robed man grew impatient, his strikes turning sharper and more ruthless.

“I’ll fight you to the end!”

Zhang Mian struggled to his feet, preparing to charge again—when suddenly a sweeping arc of sword light cut across the field.

“That should be enough.”

He heard a familiar lazy voice—Ye Qiu.

Sanhe’s foremost swordsman now stood between him and the white-robed man.

Facing Ye Qiu’s sword, the white-robed man was finally forced to move, leaping from one tree to another.

With a crack, the tree canopy he had stood on was severed and crashed to the ground.

“You really are useless,” Ye Qiu said casually. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have had to come out. It’s been a long time since I last drew my sword.”

“Thank you, Young Master Ye,” Zhang Mian said weakly, bowing despite swaying from blood loss. “May I ask why you came?”

“The Steward is in seclusion and was worried about you,” Ye Qiu replied irritably. “Otherwise, do you think I wanted to?”

“Much obliged,” Zhang Mian said, clutching his chest, still coughing blood.

Seeing his men locked in combat below, he forced himself to pick up his saber and rejoined the fight.

“Who are you?” the white-robed man asked, tilting his head at Ye Qiu, who looked like a mere servant. “I am Tang Que of the Batang Sect. Will you be my enemy?”

“So what if I am?” Ye Qiu said calmly. “Those who insult Prince He shall die.”

He repeated Hong Ying’s words exactly.

If Hong Ying found out Tang Que survived, Ye Qiu himself would be the one to die. That was certain.

So when he swung his sword, he held nothing back.

Tang Que leapt away. As he retreated, rows of trees toppled in succession along his path.

“For ten years, no one has forced me to draw my blade. You are the first. Very good!”

As Ye Qiu’s sword intent surged forward, Tang Que finally unsheathed the saber from his back.

A crescent blade gleamed like a waning moon.

Brilliance shot between heaven and earth, like thunder impossible to withstand.

Zhang Mian and the others—including the bandits below—stared in stunned silence.

When they regained their senses, Tang Que and Ye Qiu had vanished.

In the darkness, more bandits poured in.

Wang Tuozi ran over. “My lord, this is bad! There are at least five or six thousand bandits! And damn it—there are quite a few skilled fighters among them!”

Even a fool would know—they had walked into an ambush.

“Send word to Chen Xinluo for reinforcements!” Zhang Mian shouted, heart pounding.

These bandits were unlike any before—each fought fearlessly.

Even a third-rank master, surrounded by dozens of blades, could not hold out long. Zhang Mian watched one brother after another fall.

Locked in combat with seven or eight attackers, Zhang Mian roared, leapt clear of the encirclement, and shouted hoarsely, “Retreat!”

The enemy was too numerous and too skilled. Facing five or six thousand well-trained foes, victory was a fool’s dream.

“Yes!”

The responses were weak.

Each man did his best to carry the unconscious or wounded beside him.

None could understand why so many experts stood among the bandits.

Zhang Mian stayed behind to cover the retreat. Once most had withdrawn, he hoisted the still-unmoving Bao Kui onto his back and retraced their path.

Bandits pursued them. They fought while retreating, using the terrain to their advantage.

On the third day, Chen Xinluo finally arrived with over ten thousand reinforcements.

As if forewarned, the bandits withdrew before the army.

Zhang Mian’s forces counted their losses—everyone was wounded, and over a hundred severely injured men had died one after another.

Even Zhu Ruorong, usually carefree, wept speechlessly. Many of the dead soldiers had been his regular customers.

Gloom hung over the nearly thirty-thousand-strong force.

“We have thirty thousand men—what is there to fear?” cried Li Sanniang, delicate-faced but hot-tempered, breaking into loud sobs.

“With unity, we fear nothing,” Chen Xinluo said bitterly, then turned to Zhang Mian lying in a carriage. “Lord Zhang, take the wounded back. I swear I will not return until Daxi City falls!”

Zhang Mian sighed and agreed. Escorted by over a thousand men, he returned to Baiyun City.

Chen Xinluo continued forward with nearly thirty thousand troops toward Daxi City.

Baiyun City was in the midst of summer harvest—busy and bustling.

When the townsfolk saw the dejected returning force and the carts carrying stinking corpses swarmed by flies, they were stunned into silence.

Word spread from one to ten, ten to a hundred. Crowds gathered along the road.

Families of those who had joined the campaign ran along the roadside, shouting names—some laughed wildly with relief, others cried.

The wails grew louder and louder.

“Why did this happen…”

Under the blazing sun, the corpses rotted unbearably.

Lin Yi stood before the carts, unmoving.

“This subordinate deserves death!”

Bao Kui was still unconscious. Only Zhang Mian could kneel and speak—his body covered in blood, his spirit drained.

“Weren’t third-rank masters supposed to be invincible?” Lin Yi’s face was dark. He wanted to cry but couldn’t. Over a hundred lives—gone. Many had fallen into ravines, their bodies unrecovered.

“Your Highness, please restrain your grief,” Qi Peng said, trembling.

“You pride yourself on being well-informed,” Lin Yi said coldly. “How did you not know there was a ninth-rank master in Daxi City? Tang Que? And from Jizhao Nunnery?”

“Capital crime!”

Qi Peng collapsed from his wheelchair onto the ground, face pressed to the dirt.

“Get up. Don’t put on a show for me,” Lin Yi said, motioning for Pan Duo to help him up. “In truth, the one most at fault is me. I caused so many deaths.”

He had no face to blame others.

“Your Highness…”

Hong Ying, emerging from seclusion, knelt and wept—not for the dead, but because the prince was unhappy.

“I want them dead. Not one left alive!”

For the first time since coming to this world, Lin Yi erupted with overwhelming killing intent.

Jizhao Nunnery—

It must perish!

“Kill without mercy!”

Whether laborers, soldiers, or townsfolk, all roared in unison.