Chapter Seven: Leaving the City (Part Two)

The moment seventy or eighty bandits appeared, Old Xie had already halted the carriage, for they were surrounded and there was no way to force their way out.

These bandits wore clothes riddled with holes, and each wielded a large blade, though many of the blades were chipped and battered, clearly of poor quality. Only one burly man stood out, clad in a complete garment, holding a three-foot-long blade that gleamed coldly.

With a mere glance, Old Xie sized up all the bandits, betraying no emotion outwardly, though inwardly he scoffed.

At that moment, the carriage curtain was lifted, and Yang Ze emerged, seating himself beside Old Xie. Even before the carriage stopped, he’d heard the many footsteps closing in, and knew they had been targeted. Since his cultivation had risen to the Qi-guiding stage, not only had his vision improved, but his hearing too had become keener.

Yet he didn’t order Old Xie to flee; based on the heavy, clumsy footsteps, even he could tell their skills were lacking. He doubted Old Xie would fail to notice.

Seeing the scene unfold, Yang Ze found it amusing.

The bandits, on the other hand, relaxed visibly when they saw only Yang Ze emerge from the carriage.

“Boss, just a snot-nosed brat and an old codger. Let’s take them!” shouted a sneaky-looking fellow beside the burly leader, brandishing his blade at Yang Ze and Old Xie.

“Boss hasn’t given the order yet, who are you to speak? Get back and keep quiet,” another bandit shoved the sneaky one aside.

“Exactly, just look at this old and young pair swaggering around outside. Maybe some inexperienced scion—we ought to tie them up and extort a good ransom.”

“And look at their fancy carriage and plump horse, definitely from a wealthy house. Wonder what’s inside? Let me chop open the carriage and see!” The bandits eyed Yang Ze and Old Xie greedily, loudly discussing their plans without a care that their targets could hear every word.

“Second Young Master, shall we act now or…” Old Xie murmured.

“No rush. Let’s wait a bit. Is anyone among them a threat to you?” Yang Ze asked.

Old Xie laughed outright. “Second Young Master underestimates me. Even if all these men come at once, they couldn’t touch me, let alone threaten me.”

Hearing this, Old Xie’s laughter made the burly bandit frown, sensing something amiss. He barked, “These two are not right. Everyone, attack! Kill the old one, leave the young one alive!” He swung his blade, and seventy or eighty bandits surged forward.

The one who had threatened to chop open the carriage rushed ahead, his chipped blade striking toward the carriage, his face lit with excitement.

But before his blade could descend, a figure darted out at several times his speed, freezing the bandit’s smile.

Old Xie’s left fist struck the bandit, the crack of bone echoing as the man crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

As Old Xie felled the first bandit, a dozen more reached the carriage, swinging their blades to hack at it and at Yang Ze, intent on smashing everything to pieces.

At that moment, Old Xie dropped low, planting his right hand on the carriage roof as a pivot, spinning rapidly and sweeping his legs out. With explosive force, he sent all dozen bandits flying, half of them perishing on the spot.

Both of Old Xie’s moves happened in a flash; as Yang Ze recovered, several corpses already lay on the ground.

His blood raced, boiling within him as he witnessed men killed before his eyes. Tension mingled with excitement—this was exactly why he’d ventured outside the city. Luckily Old Xie was with him; otherwise, even if his skills surpassed the bandits’, he would surely have been captured.

Training experience couldn’t compare to true life-and-death combat.

While Yang Ze pondered, Old Xie continued his assault, claiming a dozen more lives, leaving fewer than half the bandits remaining.

Yang Ze, tense and exhilarated, saw a bandit lunging at him and slipped from the carriage.

As the bandit approached, Yang Ze sidestepped, stepped forward, pressed close, and punched him with full force. Though his strike was a bit slow, the bandit was flung away, rolling on the ground and passing out, but not killed.

At once, four more bandits closed in, their blades sealing off all directions.

In crisis, Yang Ze reached behind, lifted the black cloth, and drew forth a large blade.

A flash of steel—Yang Ze swung his blade, and four enemy blades fell to the ground. Blood spurted from the necks of all four bandits, staining Yang Ze’s black clothes with large crimson patches.

As the blood splashed on him, Yang Ze felt its heat—the warmth of life. His hand trembled lightly as he gazed at the four corpses, arterial blood gushing from their necks, his eyes flickering rapidly.

He had killed. For the first time in his life, he had slain men—four at once. Even having lived two lifetimes, this was his first time taking life.

His heart was shaken; witnessing another kill was nothing like doing it himself. For a moment, he was dazed.

So much so that he failed to notice the burly bandit closing in.

By the time Yang Ze realized, a large blade was already descending toward his head, its gleam flashing in his eyes as it came straight for his skull.

In the nick of time, Yang Ze raised his blade to block, but Old Xie had already come rushing over.

Old Xie’s right hand veins bulged, his index and middle fingers joined, pressing against the flat of the blade.

A clear “ding” sounded. The burly bandit felt a powerful force press his right hand aside, deflecting the blade.

Yang Ze seized the opening, shifting his block into a horizontal slash, cutting across the burly bandit’s torso.

The bandit staggered back, a deep gash opening in his belly, blood pouring out.

With a scream, he shouted, “Cover me, retreat!”

“Trying to escape? Not so easy! Take my Tiger Strike!” Yang Ze cried, charging at the burly bandit before the remaining bandits could intervene.

At a forty-five degree angle, his blade swept down, all his strength focused in his right wrist, a subtle tremor channeling power into the blade, greatly enhancing speed and force.

This Tiger Strike, unleashed from Yang Ze’s hand, cleaved through the bandit’s chest, splitting ribs and organs. The burly bandit fell.

The mountain bandits hadn’t even reacted when their leader died, their fighting spirit shattered. The rest scattered in panic.

Old Xie did not pursue, instead finishing those bandits incapacitated but still breathing.

He refrained from chasing because he could see Yang Ze was spent, his strength nearly gone. Alone, Yang Ze would be vulnerable to further attack.

Sure enough, after Old Xie finished the remaining foes, Yang Ze’s hand shook, his blade driven into the ground as he gasped for breath.

“This shouldn’t be. None of these men had higher skill than me—why am I so exhausted?” Yang Ze panted, sweat beading on his brow.

“It’s because you were too excited, lost your composure facing enemies, used excessive force with every strike, and failed to control it out of nervousness. Afterwards, you had to exert even more strength to rein in your attacks.

So with each exchange, your energy drained faster than theirs. Plus, the shock of your first kill left you entirely spent, hence the rapid weakness,” Old Xie explained, stepping to Yang Ze’s side.

With Old Xie’s explanation, Yang Ze finally understood.

“But Second Young Master, don’t lose heart. This was a true life-and-death struggle, quite different from training. In the training grounds, no one dares to harm you because of your status, so the experience gained is hard to apply in real combat. After this battle, I believe Second Young Master will improve greatly.

Besides, our main aim was to shed blood, and we have accomplished it,” Old Xie’s voice echoed along the narrow path.

Yes, this was Yang Ze’s purpose for leaving the city—to see blood, to engage in real combat.

Once he realized that outside the city was nothing like the relative peace within, he resolved to take this step. At last, today, he had done it. For a martial artist, without shedding blood, how could one be considered a true warrior?