The slightest shift in Mo Dushi’s posture, a subtle turn of his foot, made Zhang Ming coil like a spring. In the blink of an eye the formidable warrior closed the distance between them, and his sword sliced through the air, shearing off several strands of Zhang Ming’s hair as he leapt backward. Mo Dushi did not stop there. A storm of attacks followed, cutting down leaves and branches of the forest undergrowth, and when the charred skeleton of a house stood in his way, he simply smashed it apart with one hand.

  Zhang Ming dodged and darted from side to side, leaping from one obstacle to another. At the same time he managed to deliver sweeping counterstrikes, disrupting the advancing momentum of the stronger opponent. Within the span of a few breaths their weapons cut through empty air several times without striking their target, yet every bush and fragment of burnt wall within ten steps collapsed, each bearing a clean slice.

  Damn it! I’m in deep trouble. The wounds from Baohe haven’t fully healed yet… Zhang Ming thought, sweat pouring down his face. Luckily, he’s not as fast as I feared. I’m starting to get used to his speed. Most likely he’s at the fourth stage of Body Tempering. The gap isn’t that big.

  A powerful strike from Mo Dushi shattered what remained of a stone wall, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Seizing the moment, Zhang Ming quickly jumped back and slipped behind a wide pillar overgrown with creeping vines. Watching his opponent through the leaves, he tore a small pouch of salt from his belt and poured the precious seasoning into his left palm.

  Cautious, Mo Dushi did not rush forward. Instead, he waited for the dust to settle. Any scratch from that miserable traitor would stain his warrior’s pride with disgrace, so he decided to proceed carefully. Besides, Zhang Ming had already shown surprising agility and endurance, clinging to life with everything he had. Opponents like that irritated Lieutenant Mo the most.

  “When you first appeared at the fortress, you weren’t this strong,” he said, scratching his chin. “Hm. Third stage of Body Tempering… Did you find some secret techniques? Tell me. Then I’ll let you go, I swear it on my honor.”

  Ha. As if I’d fall for that. You’d wipe the floor with that ‘honor’ the moment it suited you, Zhang Ming sneered inwardly. Using the brief respite, he guided his inner energy through his body.

  “Hand over the techniques and go wherever you like,” Mo Dushi said, his eyes burning with greed. “Tell me where you got them. If you refuse, I’ll kill you very slowly. I have healing pills. I can keep you alive for several days of torture.” He paused. “You got those techniques from the person who sent you to the fortress, didn’t you? …Who is he?”

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  Why does this idiot think someone sent me? Zhang Ming snorted inwardly. If I told him I just got lost and stumbled into their den by accident, he’d never believe it. I wouldn’t believe it myself.

  “You! Pathetic bastard! How dare you ignore me? I’ll beat the truth out of you!”

  With a powerful lunge Mo Dushi rushed toward the pillar where Zhang Ming had taken cover and smashed it into splinters with a single punch. With a beastly grin he bulged his eyes at the hated traitor who dared hide such an important secret, then raised his sword to sever his arm. For a moment his vision clouded over with a white haze, and then a searing agony struck, as if daggers had been driven into his eyes.

  “Aaaargh!” he howled, trying to break away, but suddenly felt a blade slide along his leg, nearly cutting it off entirely. “What did you… you dog… how dare you…”

  Zhang Ming gave him no time to recover. He rained down merciless blows from every direction, striking from the most unpredictable angles, trying to inflict as many wounds as possible and exhaust his opponent before his sight returned. Unfortunately, not as much salt had reached the man’s eyes as Zhang Ming had hoped, and it seemed that one eye had barely been affected. Despite several cuts across his body, the experienced warrior Mo avoided any fatal injuries.

  Dodging another attack, he tore the waterskin from his belt and splashed the contents across his face. The faint whistle of a sword forced him to leap back several steps once more. As he retreated, Mo Dushi smashed aside every obstacle in his path like a battering ram, answering Zhang Ming’s thrusts with swift and precise strikes. Any mistake would have been fatal. After a furious exchange of blows, the two opponents froze opposite each other. Veins bulged across Lieutenant Mo’s rage-twisted face.

  “You treacherous bastard. Your death will be very slow…” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  “There’s no need for me to continue this fight. I’m leaving,” Zhang Ming finally said. “Keep the money. There’s a lot of it. An entire chest of gold…”

  “Who said you could leave?” Mo Dushi narrowed his eyes. “You landed a few hits and now you think we’re equals? Your tricks won’t work again. You’ll die like a dog…” He tossed a recovery pill into his mouth.

  “Damn bastard!” Zhang Ming cursed.

  He also had healing pills from Baohe. At first he had hoped to save them for better times, or sell them altogether, but if he didn’t use them now, there might never be another chance. Reaching inside his robe, he took out a small clay vial and poured two green pellets no bigger than fingernails into his mouth.

  The next instant Mo Dushi lunged at him again with a savage grin on his face. His wounds had slowed him somewhat, but his strength remained undiminished, every strike threatened to split Zhang Ming in two. The twisted mask of rage on his face, combined with his blood-soaked clothing, made him look like a bloodthirsty monster.

  The battle flared up anew. Their swords whistled through the air, cutting down the young trees of the undergrowth like straw. Other obstacles that crossed the path of blade or fist met the same fate. Gradually Zhang Ming began to adjust to his opponent’s speed and fighting style, and he started taking greater risks, launching sharp counterattacks. Unfortunately, his skill with the sword was sorely lacking. Only the experience of countless life-and-death battles kept him alive. Despite all his agility and speed, wounds continued to accumulate across his body, and his clothes had long since turned to rags.