Chapter Fifty-One: Brother Shuang Deserves the Highest Merit!

Under the cover of night, Zhao Hengyi and his men raced forward, their torches blazing in the darkness. The relentless march was a brutal test of both body and spirit. The twenty-five veteran soldiers who had just pledged their allegiance to Zhao Hengyi were astonished to discover that these men from Elm Bay seemed even more tireless than those who had served on the border. Even their new master, who appeared somewhat thin and frail, never once lagged behind, much less needed anyone to support him.

Since forming the hunting and guard squads, Zhao Hengyi had never ceased training his people. Though the specifics of their training differed, running with a heavy load was a daily requirement for everyone. Zhao Hengyi himself had never broken this routine, maintaining at least a five-kilometer run each day, even during his time in the Black Battalion. As a man of the modern world, he understood better than anyone the transformation that comes from persistent training.

Tonight, that persistence was paying off. Though drenched in sweat, the men of Elm Bay kept their breath steady as trained—drawing deeply through the nose, exhaling through the mouth—their steps unbroken and their rhythm intact. Fatigue weighed on them, but once they reached their destination, every one of them would be ready for battle in a heartbeat.

The veteran soldiers, however, were already feeling the burn in their lungs, gasping for air. “Brothers, follow my lead—inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth,” called Wang Dahu, who was overseeing the group. Having come from the Black Battalion, he understood that, though famed for their rigorous drills, even they lacked experience in such long forced marches.

The veterans adjusted their breathing as Wang Dahu instructed, and their burning lungs eased considerably. Grateful glances were cast his way, along with a quiet shelving of pride. Though these veterans were elite even by Black Battalion standards and had already accepted Zhao Hengyi as their new master, it was hard not to look down on what seemed a ragtag village troop like Elm Bay’s. Such feelings were only natural and would fade in time. Yet the bandit raid they now faced was forcing a rapid adjustment: even among battle-hardened border troops, they had never seen such endurance.

As they ran, Zhao Hengyi’s eyes were cold, a ruthless glint flashing through them from time to time, enough to make Wang Erhu, who was watching his master closely, shiver involuntarily. Their master was always genial, with a warm smile for everyone, treating even the poorest villagers with kindness. But Wang Erhu knew that was the face reserved for his own people. Once Zhao Hengyi deemed someone an enemy, he became utterly merciless.

Even now, among the border troops at Yonggu City’s defenses, tales of the “God of Slaughter, Zhao Hengyi” were still told—how he had beheaded four thousand barbarians in a single battle, leaving not a single prisoner alive, a feat unprecedented in the Great Yan Empire. When he dealt with the bandits of Broken Cliff Mountain, he’d held a public trial, and not even a single lackey was spared—truly rooting out evil to the last. Such ruthlessness—was it a blessing or a curse?

The moon had climbed to its zenith. In the woods, the bandits, having rested, were being roused by the chief with kicks and curses, urged to move under cover of moonlight toward Elm Bay.

Elm Bay’s night was anything but peaceful; from afar, the textile workshop glowed with bright light. Since their master’s return from the border, several new looms had been installed, sparking a fervor for earning a living among the women of Elm Bay. Even the bandits, lurking three miles away, could hear the clatter of the looms and the lively chatter of the women.

“This Zhao the Wealthy is truly ruthless—making people work deep into the night without rest. He’s harsher than we are!” the chief marveled. “No wonder he’s managed to amass such wealth. If we don’t rob him, it’d feel like a waste!” Liu Shuang, his face bruised and swollen, quickly chimed in, praising the chief as a bringer of justice and saying that only the death of a black-hearted miser like Zhao Hengyi would satisfy the people’s anger.

With that, the chief’s doubts were finally laid to rest—Liu Shuang truly wasn’t lying. These bandits hailed from Second Ditch, the same lot that had once tried to ambush Zhao Hengyi with Liu Shuang, only to be slaughtered in turn. The Second Ditch bandits were few, nothing like the formidable force of Broken Cliff Mountain, and they led a hard life, often going hungry—hardly a real fighting force. Yet that didn’t stop them from robbing and murdering and oppressing the people. For this raid on Elm Bay, they’d come out in full force—for revenge, yes, but also because Liu Shuang had painted Elm Bay as a land of plenty. One successful raid, and the bandits of Second Ditch could live in luxury for a year or two.

Within Elm Bay, aside from the lively textile workshop, all was pitch black and eerily quiet. But this was how a typical village should be: everyone was dirt poor, and what was there to do but sleep once darkness fell? Who among these villagers would waste precious oil like the wealthy families of the city, keeping their homes blazing with light deep into the night?

The closer the bandits crept to the village, the more excited they became. Clearly, their actions had gone unnoticed—the villagers slept soundly, unaware of the impending danger.

But as the bandits, led by Liu Shuang, slipped onto the village’s only main road, a gong suddenly sounded. Torches flared to life along the roadside, turning night almost into day. In the firelight, the bandits’ faces twisted in utter terror.

“Well done, Brother Shuang! You truly lured the bandits back—first merit for killing bandits tonight is yours!” A kindly old man, dressed in fine clothes, beamed at the bandits from the firelight.

With a roar, the bandit chief whirled and slashed Liu Shuang down in a fury, stabbing the corpse several more times for good measure. “You traitorous dog!”

“Take revenge for Brother Shuang!” the genial old man suddenly roared, his face twisting as he pointed at the trapped bandits. “Let none escape!”

Before the words had faded, two servants in blue attire behind him drew their bows in unison. The twang of bowstrings split the night; one arrow pierced the chief’s throat, another struck him square in the chest. The bandit leader of Second Ditch was dead before he hit the ground.

“Kneel and you’ll be spared!”

“Drop your weapons and get on your knees!”

“Resist, and you’ll be killed on the spot!”

Wails and screams echoed like an avalanche, crashing down upon the bandits’ heads, sealing their fate.