Chapter 22: The Long Blade

A vast, dark mass of figures approached, accompanied by the heavy thud of footsteps, ragged breathing, and the frantic cries of terror.

Having achieved a small initial victory, Pei Yun’s wildly pounding heart calmed significantly. She turned, her expression heavy with worry, and whispered, "Qinghe, there are too many of them on the other side. Bows and arrows alone won't hold them back."

Pei Qinghe, who had lost count of the battles she had fought, large and small, possessed a seasoned and steady experience. A single glance told her the situation: "Don't worry. Those in front are mere refugees, serving as meat shields. The true enemies are the burly men wielding weapons. There shouldn't be more than a hundred of them."

"Keep firing. Kill as many as you can. Once they breach the relay station, we will engage them in close-quarters combat with our blades. In this battle, there is no retreat, no surrender—only death or victory."

Pei Yun gripped her bow tightly, two sparks of fire igniting in her eyes.

Pei Yan nodded firmly, forcing out the words through gritted teeth: "A battle of lives, fought to the bitter end."

Pei Qinghe had already drawn her bow, silently calculating the distance.

Pei Yan and Pei Yun followed suit, drawing their bows and waiting in silence for the enemy to enter their range.

They had neither the time nor the inclination to pity these refugees. On the battlefield, there were only enemies and allies; mercy was a fatal mistake.

*Whoosh!*

The bowstring in Pei Qinghe’s hand snapped forward. An arrow tore through the night, and an unlucky soul fell dead on the spot.

The soldiers, seeing this, felt their blood boil and began firing in succession.

The refugees, forced forward by the swords and spears of the men behind them, were struck by the arrows, collapsing into death with despair and resentment. A few, terrified by the hellish scene before them, turned to flee, only to be decapitated by the brutal men behind them, their bodies falling into pools of blood.

Death lay ahead, and death lay behind.

One man, sobbing hysterically, sprinted forward in desperation, reaching the very walls of the relay station. Before he could even feel a glimmer of relief, a flying spear pierced his chest.

Captain Sun, his face dark, cursed at a square-jawed soldier: "You fool! You threw away your weapon—let's see what you do now!"

Before the soldier could even grin, he was met with a torrent of abuse, and he shrank back, daring not to utter a word.

The secret guards directly grabbed the corpses of the refugees, using them as shields as they rushed toward the gates of the relay station. The gates, already flimsy, were shattered by a heavy strike from a long blade and a powerful kick, collapsing in a heap.

The first to charge into the relay station was a man nine feet tall with a ferocious, bloodthirsty expression—it was Wu San.

"Kill them all!" Wu San roared, waving his arm.

Behind him, the secret guards, eyes glinting with malice, charged into the station, swinging their long blades.

The soldiers under Captain Sun’s command were the main force, and they rushed forward to meet them. In the first clash, three were cut down instantly.

On one side were the secret guards, meticulously trained by Prince Wei, fierce and brutal in their combat.

On the other were the most ordinary soldiers from the camp, whose daily training was lax and whose martial skills were meager.

As they clashed, it was like a stone hitting an egg, or a cartwheel crushing a mantis. Without question, the soldiers were the fragile eggs and the doomed mantises.

Five guards from the Crown Prince's residence joined the fray without a word. Their combat skills were far superior, and they engaged the secret guards in fierce duels.

Pei Qinghe leaped from the top of the wall, her long blade already swinging while she was still in mid-air. With a flash of steel, a secret guard’s head went flying. As she landed, she struck again, and another figure fell.

Pei Yun and Pei Yan dropped their bows, drew their weapons, and followed closely behind Pei Qinghe. Both were skilled, though they lacked real combat experience and the necessary ferocity. But following Pei Qinghe, they felt a sense of stability. Her blade danced, blocking every frontal attack—or rather, cutting down every enemy that stood before her.

A landscape of flashing blades, blood, and severed limbs filled their vision, and the air was thick with the relentless sound of screams.

Pei Yun’s pretty face turned pale, but she struck out without hesitation. Once her blade pierced an enemy's body, all her terror miraculously vanished.

Pei Yan adapted to the battlefield even faster than Pei Yun.

Mao Hongling, clutching her spear, felt her throat tighten. She wanted to shout, but her voice seemed stuck, unable to produce a sound.

"Do not panic! Groups of five, kill!"

A familiar voice drifted into her ears. It was Pei Qinghe.

Even as she fought and killed, she did not forget to oversee the entire battlefield, shouting commands.

Mao Hongling steadied her heart, brandished her spear, and let out a shout: "Kill!"

Weapons were limited. In each group of five, only one had a proper weapon; the other four held rough wooden staves. Following Pei Qinghe’s plan, they did their best to avoid the elite secret guards, targeting either isolated enemies or surrounding the panicked, weaker refugees.

There was no need for flashy moves; the simpler, the faster. On the battlefield, killing was the primary rule. If you couldn't kill them instantly, strike at their lower limbs. If they could no longer move, you had won.

Pei Hongling recalled Pei Qinghe’s advice. Her spear didn't perform any fancy flourishes; it shot forward like a viper.

*Thwack!*

The sharp tip pierced a secret guard’s thigh, blood spraying. The guard screamed, stumbled, and in that instant, the spear flashed again, piercing his chest.

What did it feel like to kill for the first time?

She felt light, as if walking on clouds. But the moment the blood splattered, she was brought back to earth. There was no time to vomit, and no time to think.

Mao Hongling finally found her voice: "Follow me! Keep killing!"

Wu Xiuniang’s group was having a harder time. After killing one refugee, they encountered a tall, formidable secret guard. The guard grinned, his blade flashing. Wu Xiuniang’s sword blocked only a few strikes before she was forced to retreat.

*This is the end for me!*

Despair flashed through Wu Xiuniang’s mind.

A figure arrived like lightning, narrowly blocking the strike. It was Pei Qinghe.

Wu Xiuniang’s spirit lifted as she stepped back. Behind her, several women of the Pei clan, all over forty, gripped their wooden staves tightly.

*Oh no, this is a tough one!*

A true master of killing knows the level of their opponent the moment they engage. The secret guard, who had been grinning with smug satisfaction a moment ago, felt his heart sink to the depths.

The young girl before him, not yet fully grown, looked at him with cold, piercing eyes. Her swordsmanship was sharp and ruthless, each strike faster than the last—more ferocious than a tiger or leopard, more swift than a fox or wolf.

He was no match for her!

Everyone’s life was precious. The secret guard felt the urge to retreat, swinging his blade while backing away, not forgetting to shout for help: "There’s a tough one here—"

*Thwack!*

The blade passed through his chest.

The secret guard’s voice was cut short.

Pei Qinghe pulled back her blade, stepped over the corpse, and continued to strike: "Pick up his weapon."

Wu Xiuniang snapped to her senses, hurriedly crouching to retrieve the long blade and thrusting it into the hands of a woman beside her. The woman gripped the handle, and courage surged within her. She struck out, killing a refugee.

Pei Qinghe was like a heartless killing machine, continuously reaping the lives of the secret guards.

Wu San, having killed two soldiers in succession, finally spotted a true adversary. He let out a savage grin and lunged forward.