Beyond the city walls of Fancheng lay a desolate plain.
The scar-faced man from the tavern now stood surrounded by a dozen men, their swords drawn, the air thick with killing intent.
The leader of the group stepped forward, his face twisted with a sinister smile. His voice was hoarse, laden with icy malice.
"Well now, you're gravely injured. If you don't want to die, hand over the item willingly!"
His eyes gleamed with greed as he continued smugly, "Perhaps, if you please the lord, he might spare your life. Who knows? He may even grant you a place under his command. How about it?"
The scar-faced man sneered in disdain. His voice, cold and sharp, cut through the tension like a blade.
"Quit your babbling. If you want it, come and take it. Spare me your master's nonsense—serve him? Ha! Even with my injuries, you lot are far from taking me down!"
The leader's face darkened instantly, his eyes brimming with fury. He laughed harshly, his voice turning into a roar:
"You dare refuse the easy way? Fine! Men, take him down!"
At his command, the group surged forward, their blades glinting coldly under the dim light.
The scar-faced man's eyes narrowed, a murderous glint flashing across his gaze. With a sharp motion, he struck the wooden box on his back.
"Click!"
The box sprang open with a crisp sound, revealing two swords—one black, one white—emitting an icy brilliance that pierced the darkening sky.
Grasping the black sword in his hand and securing the white one at his waist, the scar-faced man charged toward his attackers like a wounded beast, fearless and unyielding.
Blades clashed and sparks flew as the sounds of battle erupted. Swordlight flickered like meteors, and chilling gusts swept across the plain. The sharp cries of steel against steel echoed, punctuated by sporadic screams of pain.
The Aftermath: A Field of Corpses
The battle raged on for what felt like an eternity, but gradually, silence descended over the field.
Kneeling on one knee, the scar-faced man leaned heavily on his black sword, blood dripping from its edge. His clothes were in tatters, soaked with crimson, his body covered in deep wounds. Though victorious, he was battered and broken.
Around him lay the bodies of his enemies, sprawled in disarray, their lifeblood seeping into the cracked earth. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood.
Suddenly, a slow clap broke the eerie stillness.
Clap, clap, clap.
The sound was deliberate, mocking, each clap laced with disdain.
"Well, well," a deep, taunting voice called out, "to think you could kill so many of my men even in this state. Impressive, truly impressive. You've earned my admiration!"
The leader of the group emerged from the shadows, flanked by two remaining subordinates. His face bore a twisted grin as he strolled closer, his tone thick with greed.
"However, no matter how skilled you are, this is where your story ends. Once I take your head—and that item—back to the lord, my rise to glory will be unstoppable!"
He grew more excited with each word, his eyes blazing with anticipation. By the end, his face was flushed with fervor, as if he could already see the glory awaiting him.
The scar-faced man let out a scornful laugh, his voice raspy but unyielding.
"Rise to glory? Don't make me laugh. You're nothing but a dog—fetching scraps for your master. Even if you bring him my head, you'll still be just that—a dog in fancier clothing."
His words cut deep, and he laughed bitterly, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth, staining his chin.
The leader's expression twisted with rage, his pride stung beyond measure. He raised his sword high, roaring,
"If you wish to die so badly, I'll grant your wish!"
He lunged forward, his blade aimed at the scar-faced man's heart.
The Hero Appears: The Tide Turns
The scar-faced man, too injured to fight back, closed his eyes, bracing himself for the end.
Just as the blade was about to pierce his chest, a sharp metallic clang echoed through the air. The leader froze, his sword halted mid-strike, his triumphant smile vanishing in an instant.
"Who dares interfere with my business?!" he bellowed, his voice trembling with anger and surprise.
The scar-faced man opened his eyes, following the leader's gaze to a nearby thicket.
Leaning lazily against the branches was a figure, his posture relaxed, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"Oh dear," the figure said, his tone light and mocking. "I wouldn't call this interference. I'm merely here to save a friend."
The voice was calm, but it carried an air of undeniable authority.
The scar-faced man squinted, his heart skipping a beat as recognition dawned.
"It's him!"
Yes, it was none other than Qin Yi.
Back at the tavern, Qin Yi had noticed the scar-faced man being tailed and had followed in secret, using his shadowy footwork technique, Phantom Step, to remain undetected. He had witnessed the entire battle, waiting for the perfect moment to intervene.
After all, there was no better time to forge alliances than when one's life was hanging by a thread.
Now, the timing was perfect.
Qin Yi had deflected the killing blow with a well-aimed pebble. Leaping gracefully from the thicket, he landed between the scar-faced man and his enemies. His movements were unhurried, his demeanor casual, yet his gaze gleamed with calculated sharpness.
With a playful smirk, he turned to the scar-faced man.
"Brother Jia, it's been a while. How have you been?"
The scar-faced man could only let out a bitter smile, lowering his gaze in contemplation.
Meanwhile, the leader's patience snapped.
"Who the hell are you? Do you even know who you're dealing with? We're agents of the Luo Network! Meddling in our affairs means courting death!"
His declaration was dripping with arrogance, as if expecting Qin Yi to cower in fear.
But Qin Yi merely raised an eyebrow, his smirk unbroken.
"The Luo Network, huh?" he said, his tone light and unimpressed. "Why do people like you always feel the need to announce your affiliations? Saves me the trouble of asking, I suppose."
His words, laced with casual disdain, struck a nerve.
"You brat! You're seeking death!" the leader roared, his face contorted with rage.
But Qin Yi merely dusted off his sleeves, his voice calm and steady.
"Seeking death? No. The one who's going to die here... is you."
A sudden shift in the atmosphere followed, the air thick with killing intent. The stage was set for a new confrontation.