Chapter Thirteen: Fierce Battle in the Forest

Fierce Battle in the Forest

Wu Hong was utterly shocked—who had sent these assassins? Had his identity been exposed? Was it the Prince of Wu’s household behind this? But judging from what the assassin had said, that someone had paid for his life, perhaps it was someone else after all?

The assassin standing before him was clearly their leader. On the arm of his black night outfit was a conspicuous dagger insignia—while Wu Hong didn’t recognize its meaning, none of the others surrounding him bore this mark.

Without warning, one assassin slashed swiftly at Wu Hong’s throat. He dodged hastily, only to feel another assassin above, blade descending toward his head. Wu Hong raised his dagger just in time to block.

A metallic clang echoed through the air, and the weapon of the assassin above was sent flying by Wu Hong’s block. The onlookers drew sharp breaths—in that move, the assassin had used the force of a falling strike, yet Wu Hong’s parry had sent the blade spinning away. The strength behind it must have been thousands of pounds.

“Don’t go head-to-head with him!” the leader, who hadn’t acted yet, commanded. The disarmed assassin slipped into the nearby woods, while the others resumed their attack.

Wu Hong, after all, had never learned any martial arts techniques. Each assassin’s strike was cunningly angled. Though Wu Hong was fast, his opponents were true martial artists—every time he made a move, they seemed able to predict where his blade would go, dodging by a hair’s breadth.

The stalemate wore on, tension mounting on both sides. Wu Hong realized that while he was clashing with several assassins, they refused to meet him directly in combat; not one had dared to cross weapons with him. His face twisted with frustration—if this stalemate continued, he’d inevitably expose a weakness. Though his cultivation was extraordinary, he couldn’t be sure he could withstand their blades forever.

Seizing a rare opening, Wu Hong leapt towards the forest flanking the road.

“Get him! Don’t let him escape!” The only thing Wu Hong relied on was his brute strength—his leap was several meters high, but his opponents were no less formidable, their lightness skills allowing them to leap just as far.

The dense forest at night blocked most of the moonlight, though silvery beams filtered through the thick leaves. Wu Hong glanced at his gleaming dagger, slipped it away, and gripped his hammer in one hand as he dashed deeper into the woods.

The assassins’ leader, seeing Wu Hong vanish into the trees, grew anxious and led several men in pursuit.

“Hmph, I don’t believe you can see in the dark,” Wu Hong muttered, hiding behind an ancient towering tree.

A gentle breeze stirred the leaves, masking subtle sounds. The assassins advanced with utmost caution, each step fraught with peril—at such moments, the slightest carelessness could mean death.

Suddenly, Wu Hong sensed something speeding toward his back—a projectile? Had he been discovered? A throwing dart buried itself in the tree where he’d just been hiding.

Like a tiger leaping a ravine, Wu Hong sprang out. The assassins immediately spotted him and closed in for the kill. The forest, tangled with vines and clustered trees, restricted movement—ordinarily, such close quarters would favor assassins, but tonight, with more than ten men crammed into less than a hundred square meters, the limited space gave Wu Hong an advantage.

Only four or five could attack him at once from different directions. Blades flashed, and Wu Hong struggled to evade, his clothing slashed open in several places, revealing skin with a faint golden sheen, pure and sacred as a Buddha’s golden avatar.

“Blood Refinement Stage!” the leader warned his men, noting the faint glow from Wu Hong’s body.

A shiver ran through the assassins—they were only at the second tier of body refinement, the Tendon Refining Stage.

With two sharp clangs, two assassins, distracted, had their weapons collide with Wu Hong’s short-handled hammer. Instantly, they felt a mighty force surge through their blades, splitting the skin between thumb and forefinger, blood streaming as their weapons shattered, fragments glinting like starlight in the moonbeams.

Wu Hong understood his weakness well—he knew only body refinement, not martial techniques. Not wanting to miss his chance, he struck while his opponents’ blood surged. Leaping like a phantom in the darkness, he brought his hammer down on an assassin’s head.

With a sickening crunch, blood spurted as the hammer smashed through skull and neck, splitting flesh and bone down to the chest, spraying the nearby assassin with gore and viscera.

The assassins recoiled in horror. They’d known Wu Hong was strong, but hadn’t expected one blow to have such devastating effect. Dread crept into their hearts.

Now their attacks grew cautious, but Wu Hong, with no techniques to speak of, relied on his terrifying speed and reckless, open assaults. More than once, he fought in a way that left both sides wounded. These assassins were trained to die without fear, yet now, faced with such brutality, fear took root—after all, they were human, and seeing a comrade die so horrifically was terrifying.

Regret filled every assassin present. On the open road, they could have spread out and harried him, but here, hemmed in and unable to let him escape, they were trapped.

Suddenly, Wu Hong felt a chill at his back. There was no time to dodge—a sharp object struck his back, but failed to pierce his skin.

Alarmed, Wu Hong realized that while he was unharmed, this couldn’t continue.

He spun in a full circle, hammer whirling in a blur. Around him, a three-meter radius became a zone of death. He darted to a nearby tree, and without hesitation, raised his hammer. With a thunderous crack, the tree—so large two men could only just encircle it—snapped in two.

Before the assassins could recover, Wu Hong holstered his hammer, wrapped his arms around the trunk, and heaved. The massive tree lifted into his embrace.

With a mighty sweep, Wu Hong spun the tree like a giant club. Despite its size, his strength made it seem light as straw, the trunk becoming a dark blur. Several assassins, unable to dodge, were struck with bones shattered, their screams chilling the night.

The leader’s expression was unreadable, but surely grim; in that instant, three assassins died.

Wu Hong’s eyes were bloodshot, his body glowing faintly gold—a hellish demon, yet sacred as a wrathful Vajra before the Buddha, wielding his hammer and the uprooted tree, reaping lives with every swing.

The leader, now desperate, leapt for an opening. He was a true master of the Blood Refinement Stage. Moonlight gleamed on his blade as, finding an opportunity, he slashed at Wu Hong.

Without hesitation, Wu Hong thrust the massive trunk at the leader.

But the leader, far from frightened, channeled his inner energy—silver radiance enveloped his body and weapon. As his blade met the tree, it sliced through as easily as tofu, cleaving the trunk in two and continuing toward Wu Hong.

Wu Hong’s face turned ashen—such a blade, so keen it split the tree with no resistance and threatened him directly.

Suddenly, Wu Hong released his grip. The leader, exultant at first, now felt a surge of terror as the trunk vanished from before him.

A short-handled hammer came hurtling toward him. He tried to dodge, but both he and his blade were still lodged in the tree.

With a sickening squelch, the hammer struck the leader’s head, caving it in like a watermelon smashed against stone.

A cry of terror rose from the remaining assassins; one leapt back and vanished into the forest.

Wu Hong wanted to give chase, but knew he would never catch them—their agility was far superior. Besides, if he pursued into another ambush, he’d be in grave danger.

So instead of leaving the forest at once, Wu Hong found a patch of thick undergrowth and concealed himself, waiting for the danger to pass.