Chapter Forty-Four: Defeated in a Single Move
At noon, the sun blazed overhead.
At the mountain cave encampment, Yang You stood atop a low wooden watchtower, gripping a spiritwood throwing spear, his gaze alert as he swept the distant, dense jungle. Usually taciturn and somewhat reserved, he was nonetheless more earnest and diligent in his work than anyone else.
Suddenly, his expression changed.
From several miles away in the jungle, the grass seemed to flatten and sway, and flocks of birds burst into the sky above the brush with a cacophony of chirps. Clearly, a large group of people was approaching—nothing else would so startle the birds.
“Enemy attack!”
“Brother Ye! Zheng Yiqing and his men are coming! There are a lot of them!”
Yang You immediately realized the danger and shouted, his voice alarming the entire encampment.
“Hurry!”
The other warriors rushed to the various low wooden towers to observe the enemy.
Ye Mo climbed the central tower, gazing toward the thick forest several miles away. Sure enough, a large group of warriors approached, each bearing a spiritwood shield and throwing spear, closing in on the cave camp. When they realized the birds had given them away, they abandoned all attempts at stealth and advanced openly.
At their head were Zheng Yiqing, He An, Steward Cao, and others.
“As expected! No fewer than forty of them!” Ye Mo’s face darkened.
“So many! Zheng Yiqing must have gathered all the prisoners, determined to take our camp in one strike!”
“Brother Ye, this is bad! Each of them has a spiritwood shield—they can easily block arrows from our towers. Even our throwing spears will have trouble piercing those shields!”
“Our six long-range wooden towers are basically useless now! Only the spiritwood fence remains as a barrier, but anyone with lightfoot skills can leap over it.”
“No wonder they dare to attack so brazenly in broad daylight! With this full array of spiritwood weapons, our ranged attacks can’t hurt them—we’ll have to settle things in close combat.”
“We’re just nine against over forty of them! How can we withstand their assault? He An, Steward Cao, and the rest are no weaker than us in close quarters!”
Inside the camp, Gao Jian, Mo Ling, and the others looked grim as they saw the thick spiritwood shields in the enemies’ hands.
If Zheng Yiqing’s forces broke through the fence and stormed inside, the consequences would be unthinkable.
Was the camp about to fall?
Wang Hu, Yang You, and Gao Jian’s men saw no hope of victory; their faces were ashen. If Zheng Yiqing captured the camp, they would become prisoners, and who could imagine what torment awaited them?
Of all present, only Ye Mo remained calm and confident.
“I, Gao Jian, Huang Yi, and Mo Ling will meet them head-on at ground level. The rest of you, stay on the towers and use the most lethal spiritwood throwing spears—focus your attacks! They may be many, but their unity is lacking. If we can stop their first charge, we can rout them!”
Ye Mo frowned as he spoke.
The others drew a deep breath. With no other options, they gripped their weapons, preparing to attack any of Zheng Yiqing’s men who entered the towers’ range.
...
Zheng Yiqing led his men and the prisoners to within thirty paces of the camp, raising his hand to halt them.
“Ha! Ye, your lord is back!”
“Three days ago I was unprepared and suffered a heavy loss at your hands. This time, I’ve brought over forty spiritwood shields—let’s see how you stop us now!”
“Once I break through your fence, do you really think you few can stop over forty of us? Unless you grow wings and fly, this time you’re doomed!”
From afar, Zheng Yiqing laughed and mocked Ye Mo.
“Form up! Advance!”
With a wave of his sword, Zheng Yiqing barked the order.
The warriors behind him locked their spiritwood shields together, forming a solid wall, and steadily advanced behind it.
Thirty paces... twenty paces...
Within thirty paces, they entered the towers’ range, but it was too far for the throwing spears to be accurate or lethal.
Not until they closed to twenty paces did Ye Mo give the order.
“Throwing spears! Aim for Zheng Yiqing—fire together!”
Ye Mo narrowed his eyes. At his command, those on the six towers hurled their deadliest spiritwood spears at Zheng Yiqing.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Six spears shot from above, shrieking through the air.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The spiritwood spears were powerful indeed. Even the thick shields, under the concentrated assault, shattered and splintered.
Zheng Yiqing was startled; his shield was smashed by three simultaneous spears. Fortunately, Steward Cao and He An managed to block the rest with their own shields.
“Ha! Useless, Ye! Prepare to die! Keep attacking! Break through and there will be rich rewards for all!”
Relieved, Zheng Yiqing quickly grabbed a spare shield and laughed wildly.
Protected by the shields, over forty warriors closed in to ten paces outside the camp and finally halted.
In front of them yawned a field of deep pits, bristling with thorns and sharpened stakes—impassable and time-consuming to clear, especially under fire from the towers. Only a single, yard-wide, ten-pace-long safe passage led directly to the fence. It allowed only one at a time to cross, and under the eyes of six towers, even this “safe” path was perilous indeed.
“He An, you go! Break the fence and we’ll storm in!”
Zheng Yiqing commanded.
“Yes!” He An nodded, hefting a heavy shield in his left hand and a black spirit-sword in his right, becoming a flickering shadow as he darted toward the fence.
With his peerless lightfoot skill, he could not completely dodge the concentrated volleys from six towers in such a narrow path—he had to rely on his shield to block.
After fending off a barrage, He An used his shield to deflect all remaining missiles and, in the space of a breath, crossed the ten paces and reached the fence. Raising his black sword, he struck.
The blade flashed, casting three sword-shadows, each blow carrying nearly a thousand pounds of force, smashing into the sturdy spiritwood fence.
Clang!
Chips of spiritwood flew.
A second blow followed instantly.
Boom!
With a crash, several fence posts snapped and splintered, leaving a man-sized gap. Before He An, the previously impregnable fence was as fragile as paper.
He An burst through the breach and into the camp.
“Attack!”
“Charge! Only those who win honor will follow me across the sea in search of immortality! Cowards can stay and die on this wretched island!”
Zheng Yiqing swung his sword and roared with delight.
Emboldened, the prisoners surged forward. The narrow passage was too crowded, so they simply threw their heavy shields over the traps and rushed ahead.
Awaiting them were six towers and a hail of arrows and spears.
Some fell into traps, shrieking in pain, but the rest, frenzy in their eyes, charged on. With He An through the fence, victory seemed within reach—they raced to claim glory and secure their place in Zheng’s future.
Inside, Gao Jian, Mo Ling, and the others despaired.
The camp was breached, its fall imminent.
On the towers, the warriors hurled every spear in a desperate attempt to turn the tide.
...
He An had just broken through when he saw Ye Mo: empty-handed, a weapon wrapped in coarse cloth slung across his back, clad in golden armor, staring coldly at him.
“Last time you relied on poison and ambush—let’s see what you can do now! Even with golden armor, you’re no match for me!”
He An snorted, wielding his black sword, the tip flashing three inches of sword-energy as he lunged at Ye Mo.
He dared not underestimate Ye Mo—his fundamental sword skills were deep, and the golden armor formidable.
“Threefold Soul Severing Slash!”
Within a yard, He An shouted, raising his sword high for his deadliest strike.
Ye Mo met his gaze, calm as still water, hands already gripping the weapon on his back. Years of training the Wave-Cleaving Technique against the surf had forged his unshakable composure.
With a thunderous rip, the coarse cloth burst apart, revealing a lavish scabbard—the Immortal’s Golden Spirit Sword he had found in the stone cave.
“Triple Wave Slash!”
Ye Mo grasped the hilt and drew.
A dazzling golden light split the air, forming three golden arcs that soared to meet He An’s deadly attack.
Three golden sword-lights collided with three speeding black arcs.
On this narrow path, there was no retreat, only a clash to the death.
Clang!
The first strike: gold met black, and the black blade shuddered, splitting half an inch.
The second: the black arc broke in half.
The third: the black arc shattered completely and flew aside.
With a sickening thud, the force of the Golden Spirit Sword crashed into He An’s chest. Both had moved too swiftly to dodge, unleashing their mightiest blows.
For a heartbeat, He An’s face twisted in disbelief as he spat blood and was flung from the camp, landing in a bloody heap several yards away.
From the breaking of the fence, the clash of swords, to the shattering of the black blade and He An’s fall outside the camp, all transpired in the space of a single breath.
“One... one move and he’s defeated?!”
On the towers, the warriors stood stunned, their throwing spears stilled.
No one had expected that the moment He An entered the camp, Ye Mo would strike him down with a single blow, the tide turning so swiftly.
“Charge—!”
Zheng Yiqing was still waving his sword and shouting when the words choked in his throat.
Steward Cao, Master Hou, a dozen of Zheng’s men, and over thirty prisoners were all rushing the camp; seeing this, they froze in disbelief.
Amidst the raging battle, silence fell.
Only the wind howled.
Ye Mo, like a war god, advanced step by step to the breach, golden sword in hand, clad in shining armor. Alone, he faced over forty seasoned warriors, the sword tip dripping fresh blood, his gaze cold and unyielding.
Those who breach the camp—die!
What did it matter how many there were? Who dared face him, who would take his sword?
“He An’s black spirit-sword—an heirloom of a great house—was shattered! What weapon does Ye Mo wield to destroy such a blade?”
Panic swept the prisoners, their minds reeling.
“No—impossible! He An is Zheng’s greatest master, a peerless warrior—how could he lose in a single blow? Charge! We outnumber him—push forward and kill him! Whoever slays him, when I take the throne of Zheng, I’ll make him a marquis!”
Zheng Yiqing watched in disbelief, unable to accept what he saw. Fear flickered on his face as he shouted, voice trembling, legs shaking as he fought the urge to flee.
He couldn’t run.
If he turned and ran, he would never recover—on this island, there would be no place for Young Lord Zheng again.