Vol. 2 - Ch. 42 - A Strange Caravan! Martial Experts of the Jianghu!

The soldier kindly advised Da Ming and Xiong Shan.

The two exchanged glances. Xiong Shan shook his head. “I have a reason I must go.”

Da Ming scratched his head and grinned. “I have to go too.”

Xiong Shan looked at Da Ming and couldn’t help but chuckle.

Seeing they were determined to head to Jiangling City, the soldier no longer insisted.

He had noticed the two were strong and burly, hoping to recruit them to help build flood control structures.

Since they’d rather brave the storm through the mountains, there was nothing more to say.

With the official road cut off, Xiong Shan and Da Ming had no choice but to take a mountain path.

The trail was rugged, the rain relentless, the ground muddy—making for a miserable trek.

Rain poured down from the sky in torrents.

Cold wind swept across their faces, the raindrops hitting like needles.

Both men were carrying heavy loads. After walking a while, fatigue began to set in.

Xiong Shan looked around to get his bearings, then said to Da Ming, “There’s an abandoned hut nearby. Let’s rest there first.”

Da Ming nodded, giving a goofy smile.

They crossed over a ridge, and sure enough, on a small mountain ahead, a broken-down hut came into view.

Just as they were about to press on, something strange caught their eyes.

In such heavy rain, there were actually others—like them—on the move.

Below the ridge, along the winding mountain path, they saw a caravan.

More than a dozen people, pushing small carts, trudged forward in the downpour.

The carts' wheels were sunk into the mud, each loaded with large boxes.

All of them wore rain cloaks and bamboo hats, moving swiftly.

Strangely, despite the carts being weighed down, they seemed light in these people’s hands.

They advanced quickly along the path.

Da Ming couldn’t help but whisper, “Brother Xiong, what are they transporting?”

It was his first time seeing something so odd.

Who in their right mind would move goods in this weather?

Xiong Shan’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the caravan. He pressed Da Ming down and said quietly, “I don’t know either.”

“But to transport goods in this weather…”

“They’re likely not good people.”

“Let’s wait for them to pass before we move.”

Xiong Shan watched the group with caution. Something felt off.

Da Ming nodded and shifted his right foot to crouch lower.

Click.

A soft noise.

His foot had struck a loose stone.

The stone tumbled off the ridge.

Xiong Shan’s heart dropped.

The rock bounced and rolled down the slope, landing right on the path.

Below—

The cart-pushers stopped abruptly.

One of the leaders turned and looked up at the ridge.

With no cover, Xiong Shan and Da Ming were instantly exposed.

The group halted.

They drew long blades from their waists.

Shing shing shing…

The sound of blades unsheathing cut through the storm.

Rain fell on cold steel, the air suddenly thick with killing intent.

The leader barked an order. Several figures leapt from the group and dashed toward the ridge.

“Damn!”

Xiong Shan’s brows furrowed.

He slung the iron rod from his back into his grip.

The men rushing up the ridge moved lightly, darting upward in a few quick bounds.

It was clear they were skilled—light-footed, agile.

Da Ming quickly put down the wooden box on his back and tugged on the cloth strap, ready to pull out the Qilin Axe.

He watched the attackers nervously, wondering if this was a life-or-death moment.

Xiong Shan saw how fluidly they moved, their feet finding perfect purchase even on the slick slope. He broke out in a cold sweat.

In a low voice, he said, “Brother Ming, they’re people from the Jianghu.”

“Judging by their form and footwork, they’re likely third-rank experts.”

“They’re coming to silence us.”

“There’s no talking our way out of this.”

“I’ll charge down and hold them off. You run. They’re transporting something—they won’t waste time chasing you.”

He shot Da Ming a glance.

Straightening his rain hat, he rolled up his sleeves, revealing thick, powerful arms like a bear’s.

Da Ming’s face turned serious.

At the same time, guilt gnawed at him.

If it weren’t for him, they wouldn’t have been discovered.

There were so many enemies—how could he let Xiong Shan face them alone?

Though Da Ming had never trained in martial arts, he figured: if he could kill a tiger, dealing with these guys shouldn’t be impossible.

He gripped the cloth tightly.

Just as he was about to unwrap the Qilin Axe, Xiong Shan let out a thunderous roar.

Holding the iron rod, he launched himself downhill like a rampaging beast.

Xiong Shan charged at them first, swinging his iron staff through the air with a deafening whoosh.

Barreling downhill, his massive frame was like a raging bear.

Even the martial artists climbing up hesitated at the sight.

Whoosh—

A gust of wind exploded outward.

Xiong Shan reached one attacker, swung the rod in a wide arc, and smashed it into the man’s chest.

The man couldn’t dodge.

His chest caved in with a loud crunch, his body flung through the air.

He rolled down the muddy slope and fell silent.

With one blow successful, Xiong Shan roared and surged toward another.

He spun the iron rod—thick as a bowl—with terrifying momentum in the rain.

The attackers were all skilled in agility and light footwork but lacked brute strength.

Xiong Shan, a hulking brute with monstrous force, wielded the iron rod like it was part of him—both nimble and devastating.

On the path below—

The leader’s eyes narrowed in surprise at Xiong Shan’s technique.

“That looks like military-style staff work.”

“But he’s all strength, no inner energy—at best, a third-rank fighter.”

With narrowed eyes, the leader gestured with a flick of his hand.

The remaining martial artists dashed uphill.

They were a bit slower than the first wave.

Xiong Shan swung his rod fiercely, keeping the others at bay.

He shouted, “Brother Ming, run!”

Da Ming said nothing, struggling to untie the cloth wrapped around the wooden box.

Now he regretted wrapping it so tightly.

Several fighters, unable to get past Xiong Shan, spotted Da Ming.

With a flash, they darted toward him.

Xiong Shan’s heart jumped in alarm.

To him, Da Ming—only twelve—was still just a child.

Xiong Shan roared, forcing back those around him, and rushed toward Da Ming.

But the wet slope, and his lack of martial arts foundation, slowed him.

The attackers reached Da Ming.

The box was half-open, revealing the Qilin’s head.

Rain poured into the box.

Da Ming’s heart ached at the sight.

The martial artists, seeing Da Ming had no martial skill, lit up with glee. They raised their blades.

Whoosh whoosh—

Long knives sliced through the air.

Instinctively, Da Ming swung the wooden box in front of him, the cloth fluttering wildly.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Several blades struck the box with heavy thuds.

Seeing his box hit, Da Ming’s eyes turned red.

He let out a furious roar.

And swung the box in a wide arc.

Several figures were sent flying.

Comments