Chapter 47: Revenge Does Not Wait Until Dawn

At the very heart of the last evil formation, the few remaining archers fought desperately, drawing their bows with trembling hands, while the spearmen and shield-bearers ahead glared with bloodshot eyes. Ling Chi leaped high, his entire body wreathed in crackling lightning, like a god of thunder descended to earth, exuding a terrifying aura imbued with the majesty of the heavens.

The horse-cutting saber in his hands resonated with thunder, transforming into a dazzling hue of purple and gold. With the Blade of Taiyi Calamity in hand, he brought it crashing down—Mountain-Cleaving Strike.

The blade's light fell vertically, and with it, several bolts of purple-gold lightning as thick as barrels blasted down upon the evil formation.

A sharp crack resounded, as if the shattering of the formation echoed in the hearts of every soldier present. The formation's core was split and charred on the spot, finally disintegrating into a cloud of ash. The others coughed blood, afflicted to varying degrees by the backlash, and collapsed in utter exhaustion.

For a warrior, the god is their will; for these soldiers, that spirit had been crushed. They had no strength left to resist.

Ling Chi rested his saber across his shoulder. Though his frame—broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted—was not as burly as the soldiers', it radiated power and a compact, resolute strength.

His eyelids drooped as he looked down at the crowd below.

"Come now, who will be the first to tell me where that cur Li Changyuan is hiding?"

The soldiers exchanged glances, none daring to speak.

"My patience is limited. Don't force me to use harsher methods," Ling Chi said coldly, his tone growing ever more severe.

The seven or eight remaining soldiers stood with heads bowed, silent.

Ling Chi picked out two men whose faces were calm and stoic. With a sweep of his blade, their heads fell to the ground.

"General Li took men to Hezhou yesterday. Before he left, he ordered Centurion Xu to ambush you with the elite troops," one finally confessed, terrified after witnessing the massacre.

"How many men are left in your camp?"

"General Li left with Centurion Wang and seven or eight hundred others. No idea when they'll return."

"If you see me in the next life, best walk the other way," Ling Chi said. Having gotten the answers he wanted, he dispatched the rest, one by one.

He would leave no survivors. To spare them would only leave witnesses.

After the slaughter, the Lightning Pearl rewarded him with a hundred wisps of spiritual energy. The garrison of Yingzhou, under Li Changyuan and the He family, had almost been turned into their private army—only the flags had yet to be changed.

Anyone who dared ambush him would pay with their lives!

Ling Chi piled the corpses together and set them alight, then mounted his great black horse and continued toward Crane County. After the time it takes for a stick of incense to burn, he abruptly drew his blade and felled a tree beside the mountain road.

"I can't swallow this insult. If I don't get my revenge, I'll never enjoy a meal again," he muttered, turning his horse back in the direction he’d come.

Revenge—he would have it, no matter what.

But there were still over a thousand men in the garrison camp, which gave him pause. After careful consideration, he made up his mind, squeezed his legs, and spurred his horse to a gallop.

The garrison was stationed outside the city at Niuwazi. Ling Chi concealed his horse and saber, changed his attire, and by the time he slipped into the prefecture, he had transformed into a burly, bearded man with a face as red as a dried date.

After several changes of costume and face, and having purchased a heap of tools, he quietly crept into the mountains surrounding the camp, keeping watch on the main gate and beginning his reconnaissance. Niuwazi was a fine place—like a splendid burial ground chosen by feng shui.

Half an hour later, a squad of sentries left the gate. Ling Chi followed silently. When the shift changed, he waited for the darkness before the usual torch-lit patrol.

To avoid any connection to the Hezhou incident, Ling Chi changed his methods this time.

The most common tactic for assassins and saboteurs? Poison.

He took out the oleander and castor beans he’d bought from various herbal shops, carefully grinding them into the required powder. Unfortunately, he didn’t know how to extract pure ricin, so he had to make do with a large quantity of crushed castor beans.

Perhaps the dosage would not be fatal, but at least it would make his task easier.

His targets were the centurions and higher-ranking officers. The rank-and-file soldiers he had no time for just now.

Seizing his chance, he infiltrated the camp, blending into the kitchens, and activated his Concealment Technique.

Food in the army was strictly stratified; officers and men had very different meals. Ling Chi donned a filthy leather vest, his once red face now smeared black.

While the cooks were distracted, he mixed the poison into the broth meant for the officers. If any officer happened to dine with his troops tonight, well, fortune smiled upon him.

Night slowly fell. The cooks readied tray after tray of food, which was carried away by the bodyguards of each centurion. Ling Chi watched from the shadows, memorizing every route—soon, he would follow and collect his due.

An hour later, armed with two spiked maces he’d picked up along the way, Ling Chi set out. Each centurion had his own tent, guarded outside by loyal men.

He snuck to the nearest tent, using his spiritual sense to probe within. Inside, he found a fully armored officer, his face purplish and ashen, gasping for breath on the bed—barely clinging to life.

A nameless centurion became the first person in this world to die from a neurotoxin.

Ling Chi waited until he breathed his last, then slipped away. Perhaps due to differences in constitution, only the first unfortunate soul succumbed swiftly. The other centurions, sensing something wrong, immediately summoned the military physicians.

The camp erupted in chaos, launching a frantic search for the assassin.

Meanwhile, Ling Chi had already made his escape, finding a hiding place and waiting for the dead of night, when his true work would begin.

The infirmary was suddenly packed to bursting. The dozens who had besieged Ling Chi last time were still languishing on their beds, now dragged to the floor to make space for the injured centurions.

The esteemed officers were distributed among several wards, groaning in pain, their breathing growing increasingly labored.

The military physicians were at their wits’ end—never before had they seen such a poison. They could only rely on the antidote pills provided from above, administering them one by one.

This world had no shortage of miraculous herbs; after swallowing the pills, the centurions weakly declared they would survive.

"No, you won’t," Ling Chi thought.

To rely solely on poison was not his way—revenge without blood could not be called revenge.

At last, in the depths of the night, Ling Chi set fires everywhere with the power of pure yang—granaries, stables, tents, barracks—all went up in flames, plunging the camp into utter chaos.

Mace in hand, Ling Chi strode into the infirmary. The physician was knocked out cold by a blow from behind.

Those awakened by the commotion stared in terror at the black-clad intruder.

"Who are you, that you dare invade our camp at night?"

"Your grandpa is Song Jiang of Liangshan," Ling Chi replied, raising his spiked mace high and smashing skulls.

Some of the centurions, recovering faster, began calling for help. Ling Chi moved even more swiftly, leaving none alive—not even the dozens who’d once ganged up on him.

Blood and brain matter covered his mace as he surveyed the ward. Not a soul left capable of fighting.

Outside, the cries for help brought more and more reinforcements, but Ling Chi welcomed all comers—none survived his blows.

As he prepared to hunt down the remaining centurions, several armored, sword-wielding men rushed toward him through the firelight.

Their leader radiated the oppressive aura of the Qi Sea realm. "Who are you, to dare attack my camp?" he demanded.

Are you all trained to ask the same question? Even your interrogations are identical.

"I am Song Jiang of Liangshan! Your garrison slaughtered one hundred and seven of my brothers—between us, there can be no reconciliation!" Ling Chi, his face a picture of grief and rage, charged forward with his bloodied mace raised.