Chapter Twenty-Two: A Pause in the Story

“Damn you!”
His eyes instantly bloodshot, the burly man surnamed Zhong thrust his swift sword forward, and the other man in black wildly raised his blade to hack. But once freed from the constraints of the battle formation, how could their skills compare to Hu San’s?
With a mere twist of his body, Hu San deftly evaded the deadly sword thrust and blade strike. His long knife suddenly rose, its edge sweeping by, and a streak of blood erupted from Zhong’s back.
Before Zhong could turn, Hu San dragged his blade and struck directly onto the other bandit’s sword hilt.
A grating noise pierced the air, sparks flashing. Under Hu San’s immense strength, the bandit’s palm burned with pain, forcing him to release his weapon.
Before he could react, a flash of steel appeared before his eyes. He felt a coldness in his chest, followed by searing pain.
By moonlight, a savage wound could be seen tearing through the bandit’s shirt, exposing his pale chest bone.
“A Qiang!”
“I’ll die with you!”
Like a mad beast, Zhong’s shout erupted as he charged at Hu San with the ferocity of a berserk tiger, ignoring his own defense, intent only on dragging Hu San into death with him.
This voice, this scene, struck Hu San as odd, though he did not know such moments usually happened when the righteous fought the wicked.
Clearly, he now stood on the side of evil.
Despite the thoughts swirling in his mind, Hu San’s hands never faltered. Although Zhong’s speed had increased, his openings had multiplied.
Even without using his Fish-Step technique, Hu San’s ordinary reflexes sufficed to dodge Zhong’s attacks.
In no time, Zhong’s body was marked by over a dozen deep knife wounds. Blood sprayed as his strength faded, until he could no longer hold his sword and collapsed to the ground, whimpering ceaselessly.
What astonished onlookers was that Hu San had managed to ensure all wounds landed on Zhong’s back, leaving his front untouched.
This was, of course, for the sake of that half-manual. If the manual were destroyed in the fight, Hu San would have been inconsolable.
Seeing Zhong powerless, Hu San planted his blade in the earth, kicked away Zhong’s sword, and searched his chest, happily retrieving the half-manual and a vial of stone poison.
By moonlight, he glanced at them briefly before tucking them into his shirt. Zhao Feng wisely turned his head, pretending nothing had happened.
“Captain Zhao, I am grateful for your care. I wish not to strain our relationship, so please don’t make things difficult for me.”
Hu San gestured at the dying bandits, kicking Zhong’s sword toward Zhao Feng.
“You mean...?”
Zhao Feng forced a bitter smile, surprised by Hu San's prowess and by his own fate.
“In the future, we’re all in the same boat. To a senior like Captain Zhao, I naturally show respect.”

As Hu San finished, Zhao Feng could only bend to pick up the sword, his body trembling as he drove the blade through the dying men, ending their lives completely.
Now, Zhao Feng knew he was Hu San’s man, bound to him, and his survival depended on Hu San.
These two elite bandits were clearly meant as tokens of loyalty.
“Excellent. Captain Zhao has not disappointed. From now on, we’re brothers. I hope you’ll guide me. Though this place is hidden, it’s unwise to linger. To avoid suspicion, let’s clean up and return to our quarters separately, agreed?”
A satisfied smile curled Hu San’s lips.
“Brother San’s orders—I dare not disobey.”
Zhao Feng shook his head, his heart filled with grievance as he bent to tidy the corpses.
Hu San cared little for this. Once Zhao Feng was aboard, getting off would not be so easy.
After some time, the bodies were buried, and the battle traces hastily erased. Hu San did not object to Zhao Feng’s ironic address.
When all was done, Hu San’s status as Brother San was solidified, and even under Zhao Feng’s respectful address—despite being old enough to be his father—Hu San felt no discomfort. Zhao Feng felt a chill in his heart and dared not mock him further.
Righteousness—Hu San, seasoned among bandits, understood its power well. Though young, he would never lightly call another “brother”; it was a matter of principle.
Rank might not matter much in terms of address, but at its core, the logic was the same.
After a few brief instructions, Hu San parted ways with Zhao Feng.
Both long familiar with the area, they each had their own ways to avoid the sentries.
Thus, after separating, they each used their methods to slip past the patrols and return to their quarters.
The matter ended here, and the manual was finally secured.
With Zhao Feng’s allegiance, Hu San’s power was now taking shape. In the coming days, his task was simply to grow quietly and wait for the right moment.
Hu San did not know that Longbow Zhang was subordinate to the Second Chieftain, and that Zhong, who sought revenge for Longbow Zhang but met his own end, held an even more secret identity.
Zhong’s death was not just a loss—it severed another major faction’s information channel regarding Wolfheart Mountain Fortress, and altered certain people’s plans.
Yet history rolls on like a wheel, unstoppable. If anything, it only delayed matters a little.
Three days passed before anyone noticed Zhong and several elite bandits were missing. In that time, Hu San and Zhao Feng had erased all traces.
As Zhong and his brothers were skilled, only Captain Zhou Xing, who held absolute power, could have killed them without a sound. Thus, the bandits investigating the disappearance quickly abandoned their inquiries.
As for Zhou Xing, though he wondered at the oddity of the event, he became more cautious. His investigation of Zhong’s disappearance was but a show.
He knew Zhong’s strength; with the other elites, even Zhou Xing himself might have struggled.
If the perpetrator could make them vanish so quietly, and deceive the patrols, they must be someone within the fortress.

Such secrecy implied minimal movement—perhaps only one or two people. If they could kill Zhong and his men, they could certainly kill Zhou Xing, differing only in the cost.
At this crucial juncture, Zhou Xing had no intention to avenge Zhong, but secretly sought to probe the new power emerging.
No matter how he investigated, he found no one in the fortress with such skill.
With no results, Zhou Xing could only let the matter drop. In time, it became just another unsolved case among the bandits, gradually forgotten.
When the Third Chieftain returned from Wolfheart Mountain Fortress with winter clothing and two commanders, the matter was brought up again. But after half a month, all evidence—whatever had existed—was gone. Further investigation was impossible.
Helpless, the Third Chieftain declared Zhong and his men traitors, and tightened defenses at Wolf Fang Mountain Fortress, standardizing the night patrols’ password.
But all this had little to do with Hu San. With Zhao Feng under his command, Hu San’s dealings among the bandits became smoother. He continued to gather strength, striving toward the power of four.

In the rear mountain training camp, amid a broad forest, the members of Group Nineteen were harvesting timber. Several tall men sat at the edge, holding wild fruits, biting into them and letting juice trickle down their hands, their eyes wandering over those laboring.
Since the pyramid hierarchy was established in the rear camp, the top groups had abundant supplies, living well, while the lowest groups quickly underwent further stratification.
Some strong members, unable to gain from outside battles, turned their attention to exploiting their own group, squeezing their fellows to secure their own needs.
Over time, everyone realized that oppressing weaker group members not only fulfilled their needs but also established absolute authority—ensuring none surpassed them—a double boon.
Gradually, such covert oppression spread through every group, Hu San’s Group Nine included.
Those close to Hu San, the strong ones, held much higher status. Their group’s abundance meant they didn’t need to exploit others, so the division was less obvious.
In other groups, however, the hierarchy became deeply entrenched. When the chieftains selected elite newcomers for training, the phenomenon peaked.
The scene in Group Nineteen became the norm: several burly men were the privileged class, at the top.
They didn’t have to do dirty or hard work, and could enjoy precious fruits, making them the first true bandit elites.
“What are you looking at? Damn you, keep staring and I’ll gouge your eyes out!”
The sturdy youths, deep in conversation, noticed their underlings slowing down, glancing their way.
Quick-tempered, one barked curses, feeling his authority challenged.
Yet as he cursed, he sensed something off—though the bullied group members quickly lowered their heads, they kept glancing toward his side, as if something was behind him.
Realizing this, the youth spun around, and found that, at some point, a bronzed-skinned boy had appeared behind him.