Chapter Eighty-Three: The Long Street, Deadly Duel

“Murder!”
A piercing, wretched scream rang out, yet amidst the bustling marketplace, few heard it, and fewer still saw what had transpired.
In the distance, the clang of gongs from a troupe of street performers mingled with merchants hawking their wares, the cacophony of voices from the surging crowd, and calls from companions lost and searching for one another. The people, removed from the scene where a constable’s head had been sent flying, had no inkling that on this auspicious day celebrating Lady Chen’s birthday, something so dreadful had occurred barely a dozen meters away.
“Master, let’s go!”
With just one glance, Wang Erhu felt the hairs on his neck bristle with terror.
Zhao Hengyi, on the other hand, found the sight astonishing—for the one who had severed the constable’s head was a woman, a swordswoman!
Since arriving in the Great Yan Kingdom, Zhao Hengyi had seen his share of battle, crushed bandits, and gained a reputation as a ‘God of Slaughter’ among the border troops for his ruthless style that left no prisoners.
Yet even so, this was his first time witnessing someone killed with a sword.
Chaos erupted uncontrollably; as the constable’s head was cut off, several men in blue, clad in tight-fitting short coats, charged from the crowd, drawing long blades and shouting as they surrounded the murderous woman.
“Official troops apprehending criminals! Bystanders, clear the way!”
They were government soldiers!
Such robust, fierce men were rare among the official troops.
“Master, come on!”
Wang Erhu tugged at Zhao Hengyi, who seemed dumbstruck, dragging him along with the startled crowd as they fled in disarray.
Yes, it was nothing but panic and confusion.
The crowd surged like a pot of boiling ants; those who went with the flow could manage, but anyone trying to push against the tide was sure to be overwhelmed, their fate uncertain.
“My child, my child!”
Amidst the chaos, a woman was being swept forward by the mass of bodies, crying out for her little one—a child of five or six—who was being pulled away from her, eventually knocked down by the crowd.
Just as despair gripped her, a master and servant lifted the fallen child from the throng, roughly pushing aside others to reach her. The child was saved!
On the long street, the crowd crashed about like headless flies, and as the confusion spread, the crush began to ease.
After escorting the woman and her child to a shop front, Zhao Hengyi and Wang Erhu leaned against the wall, their eyes fixed on the distant battleground where weapons still flashed and lives hung in the balance.

“Master, that woman is a formidable fighter!”
“Obviously. Have you ever seen anyone decapitate a man with a short sword before?”
“Perhaps the sword she wields is a magical blade?”
“That’s possible.”
Whether on the battlefield against the barbarians or among the bandits they’d wiped out, Zhao Hengyi had never seen anyone truly wield a sword as a weapon.
Those scholars and gentlemen on the street who wore swords didn’t count; theirs were mere ornaments, and none would ever draw them to fight for their lives.
The Great Yan’s metallurgy was not advanced—crafting a sword fit for lethal combat was difficult, and broadswords were far more practical.
In both the military and among bandits, the broadsword, easier to master and suited for hacking, was preferred over the long sword, which required years of training.
In the distance, the blue-clad men claiming to be official troops had engaged the sword-wielding woman. What overturned Zhao Hengyi’s understanding was that the woman’s swordplay was nothing like the legendary airy elegance; instead, she was fiercer and more courageous than the blue-clad men!
The woman, clad in a black dress, attacked with her short sword always at the fore, charging straight at her foes.
Those struck by her blade were pierced through, then sent flying several meters as if hit by a galloping horse.
The constables had drawn their knives but retreated, shouting to disperse the crowd and to distance themselves from the battle, which had escalated beyond their ability to intervene.
The blue-clad men numbered seven; now, one lay motionless, another had his arm severed by the short sword, and cries of battle and agony melded into a single cacophony.
“Could you muster such strength?”
“Master, perhaps for a blow or two, but not like her... No one in our guard could do it.”
The fierce woman in black was clearly extraordinary, and Zhao Hengyi, who had seen many deadly encounters, recognized as much—Wang Erhu was right.
Not just their guard; even among the strongmen in Yonggu City’s garrison, few could exert such force as this woman.
“Yaha!”
A shout rang out like thunder, as a nearly two-meter-tall brute burst from the crowd, clad in blue and wielding two blades.
“He’s definitely one of the official troops. They call him ‘Mad Tiger’—he’s well known in Jiangling City.”
Wang Erhu had seen Mad Tiger on the streets before; such a towering figure was unforgettable.

“I fear Mad Tiger will meet his end tonight,”
Zhao Hengyi judged.
Mad Tiger wielded two custom-made blades, heavy as thunderbolts, and with his prodigious strength, he was like a tiger descending from the mountains—unstoppable!
Yet Zhao Hengyi and Wang Erhu, both seasoned in battle, saw clearly: such a style, on the field, might earn fame as an unmatched warrior—or else ensure one died in the first wave.
His twin blades flashed in the lantern light, slashing down like lightning.
Mad Tiger had waited amidst the crowd for a long time, not even helping his fallen comrades, all for this single, decisive strike.
The woman in black was elusive; without such a tactic, Mad Tiger had no confidence in facing her head-on.
But she showed no surprise; as if she had known Mad Tiger lurked among the crowd, she raised her short sword before her, and what met his gaze was a pair of eyes as calm as a lake.
Bang!
The woman’s slender form shot backward, like a cannonball from its chamber, under the force of the twin blades, smashing through several tables. She sprang up, while Mad Tiger, chasing after her, crashed forward like a runaway tank, plunging headlong into the debris and falling silent.
Was he dead already?!
Zhao Hengyi and Wang Erhu exchanged bewildered glances. Though both had considered that the brute, fighting by sheer force, might lose his life tonight, neither expected it to happen so easily, as if in a child’s game.
Zhao Hengyi hadn’t caught what happened in that instant; Wang Erhu only saw a white flash pass Mad Tiger’s left flank as he lunged.
Taking the full brunt of the thunderous twin blades, even the mighty woman in black was not unscathed—her right palm was already torn open.
The remaining blue-clad men hesitated; one tried to slash at her, but she dodged, and with a flash of white, her short sword pierced through his side.
Gazing at the distant crowd, the woman in black suddenly shouted, “Jiangling Prefect Su Shenchang—he pillages the people, colludes with the barbarians, and sells them into slavery in the northern frontier!”
The northern frontier—that was barbarian territory.
Like a bolt of lightning, her words fused countless fragments of information in Zhao Hengyi’s mind into a coherent whole.