Chapter 17: The Horizontal Blade

Confused and bewildered, the members of the third group could only do their best to maintain appearances after their leader’s disappearance. Yet, under mounting pressure from the other groups, they gradually lost their foothold among the elite and slipped into the ranks of the ordinary. But that is a story for another time.

The brief cooperation between the third and ninth groups ended completely by that afternoon, and both teams returned to their respective divisions, resuming their previous routines. Yet, in the eyes of many, something fundamental had shifted—at least, this was true for Hu San, and for the bandit surnamed Zhong as well. Both men felt restless, plotting in secret. At such a critical moment, however, the third chieftain returned with two lieutenants in tow. With their arrival, both Hu San and the burly man surnamed Zhong were forced to suppress their murderous urges. For now, they lacked the strength to openly challenge the authority of the third chieftain and his cohorts.

No one knew what instructions the chief chieftain had issued, but upon the third chieftain's return, the half-finished Wolf Fang Stronghold was officially put into use. Once mere shadows lurking atop the lofty Wolf Fang Mountain, the bandits began to spread around its slopes, plotting raids against travelers and merchants passing by. At last, the bandits could return to their true calling. The stronghold bustled with feverish activity, and the idle bandits, who had long been itching for action, now rubbed their hands in anticipation.

Even the leaders of the training groups, usually stern-faced, now wore savage grins as they boasted to their trainees of gleaming silver coins and delicate women, recalling the wild days of marauding through the forests. The newcomers, already steeped in the bandit code of honor and disgrace, shifted from resistance to eager anticipation for such exploits. In less than a month, the new recruits’ training had shown remarkable results; one had to admit, the originator of this method was a true talent.

Another month passed. During this time, the third chieftain led the Wolf Fang bandits through several hard-fought battles, making the stronghold’s name known far and wide. Thus, Wolf Fang Stronghold stepped from the shadows into the eyes of the world.

With the gates open, the stronghold began to accept wandering outlaws, and life on the mountain grew livelier. As spoils from various raids were distributed, the whole stronghold thrived with unprecedented vitality.

During this period, Hu San’s body grew ever stronger; he now possessed the strength of three men. Yet he noticed that, although eating still generated that familiar warmth within him, the sensation was growing weaker compared to before. It seemed that the same food, when he was half as strong as he was now, produced more of that warming energy than it did at his current strength.

He soon realized that even when fully sated, the warmth derived from coarse bread, brown rice, roots, and leaves paled in comparison to that from meat. Different kinds of beast meat also seemed to vary in the warmth they provided, though the chance to eat meat was so rare that it was hard to tell for sure.

After much pondering, Hu San reached a conclusion: the warmth was likely generated from the portion of food his body could not absorb and was thus broken down. As his body grew stronger, its ability to absorb food increased, leaving less unused energy, and so the warmth diminished. As for why meat provided more warmth than coarse grains, it was simply that meat contained far more energy, so the body’s needs were met with less, leaving more excess to be converted into warmth.

Having understood this, Hu San began to adjust his diet whenever possible. Unfortunately, within the confines of the training camp, he was already eating the finest fare available.

To make matters worse, his monstrous appetite—enough for a hundred—had already put considerable strain on the entire stronghold’s provisions. Aside from this, there was another change in the camp: the trainees finally began weapons drills. Yet, whether it was Hu San or the humblest newcomer, they all wielded nothing but ordinary wooden spears—thick sticks, sharpened at one end, used for thrusting and striking.

Perhaps to complement these makeshift weapons, the third chieftain assigned two bandits to oversee a daily regimen of a thousand thrusts for everyone, and occasionally, they held so-called "hunting lessons." Under supervision, groups would venture into the forests around Wolf Fang Mountain to hunt wild beasts, giving the new bandits a taste of killing and a chance to thrust their wooden spears into real prey.

At Hu San’s level, such tasks posed no difficulty. At first, he felt little enthusiasm, but a chance discovery soon changed his mind. During one hunt, after chasing a gray wolf through the forest and circling away from the main group, he stumbled upon a mysterious little cabin nestled among the trees. Silently snapping the wolf’s neck, Hu San crept closer, curious. Just then, the cabin door opened, and out stepped a young man clad in a rain cloak and bamboo hat.

“Zhou Xing!?”

At that sight, a name sprang instantly to Hu San’s mind.

Since the stronghold’s official establishment, the two most famous figures on the mountain had been the martial third chieftain and, lately, Zhou Xing, who had joined the band not long ago. Even the other two lieutenants were overshadowed by Zhou Xing’s reputation. It was no wonder Hu San recognized him at a glance; to the newcomers, Zhou Xing was already an idol.

Zhou Xing was no martial artist, but he knew a marvelous blade technique called the Flat-Line Blade. It was said that, when unleashed, the strike was as swift as a shooting star in the night, beheading an enemy before they could react.

With this skill, Zhou Xing had risen from an ordinary bandit to earn great merit in just a month, promoted by the third chieftain to captain of a hundred men—the highest position under the lieutenants. The Flat-Line Blade was the stuff of legend, and Hu San had witnessed Zhou Xing’s practice himself: the roiling sound, the imposing air.

Yet, the demonstrations were always incomplete, each move as swift as thunder, impossible to decipher fully. Even so, compared to the third-rate skills of other bandits, Zhou Xing was clearly superior.

Still, Hu San did not believe the Flat-Line Blade counted as some mythical secret technique. With his strength, given a real spear, he could send Zhou Xing straight to the afterlife with a single thrust, blade skill or no.

Nevertheless, Hu San was eager to learn by watching. Now, seeing Zhou Xing in person, and with a long blade in hand, he was electrified.

With bated breath, Hu San watched as Zhou Xing, solemn-faced, drew his blade and began to practice in the clearing. From the opening stance to the final gesture, Zhou Xing performed the entire sequence slowly and deliberately, a far cry from his usual speed—a completely different experience.

It took more than a quarter of an hour for him to finish. Zhou Xing glanced at the sky, sheathed his blade, tidied up, and ended his morning training—unaware that, atop a nearby tree, a small child was scratching his head in excitement.

“That’s it, that’s it!”

Hu San licked his lips, barely able to contain himself. With his wealth of combat experience, he instantly recognized the value of these moves. To master the blade’s full flow and each stance outright was impossible, but picking up bits and pieces was child’s play.

From then on, Hu San would sneak over every few days to watch Zhou Xing practice, gradually deepening his understanding of the Flat-Line Blade. When he finally borrowed a real sword from another bandit, his strength—now that of four men—made his first attempt fierce and imposing, full of promise.

If he were to spar with Zhou Xing purely in blade technique at this point, Hu San would certainly be outmatched. But if it were a real fight, even without using his special footwork or signature strikes, he could easily kill Zhou Xing within twenty exchanges.

The Flat-Line Blade was becoming increasingly refined in Hu San’s hands, but he soon realized that his lingering questions could not be answered by watching practice alone—they could only be resolved in real battle.

Yet, as a newcomer, he had no way to join Zhou Xing on actual raids, and he could only sigh in frustration.

Days passed; summer faded into autumn, and a chill crept into the mountains. For the sake of the thousands of recruits still training on the far side of the mountain, the third chieftain had to return to Wolfheart Mountain with the two lieutenants to report to the chief chieftain and procure cold-weather clothing.

Otherwise, after a harsh winter, who knew how many would survive—let alone continue training.

Before leaving, the third chieftain entrusted the affairs of the stronghold to Zhou Xing and officially decided that the top talents in the rear training camp would be sent early to the battlefield to gain experience.

The news threw the stronghold into chaos, not least for the bandit surnamed Zhong. Watching Hu San grow stronger by the day, his obsession with the half-manuscript Hu San carried only intensified. Now, with the third chieftain and his men gone, he could wait no longer.

His last plan had failed—Peng Fei had been killed, and Zhong had nearly exposed himself. If not for careful preparation, Hu San might already know who had set the trap.

But the previous failure was due to underestimating Hu San and being unable to lure him away from his group. This time, things were different.

Zhong had every reason to believe that Hu San would be chosen as an elite and sent out on raids. This time, he would strike personally, leaving nothing to chance.