36: Chapter 36 Sneak Attack

General Jiang Ce was not asleep.

The candle in the study was still lit, and a map of the border terrain was spread out on the desk.

He was in his forties, with a sturdy build, and the calluses on the webbing between his thumb and fingers and on his fingertips were as thick as leather.

A nine-foot-long spear leaned against the back of his chair. The shaft was dark red, forged from fire copper found deep within volcanoes, weighing more than three times that of an ordinary iron spear.

He picked up his teacup; the tea was still warm.

Then, his hand froze.

It was not because he heard anything—there was no sound at all.

The study was so quiet that only the occasional crackle of the candle flame remained.

But the intuition honed from thirty years of battlefield combat suddenly screamed at this moment, like an ice needle stabbing into the back of his neck.

He was too familiar with that feeling; it was what he had relied on to survive countless brushes with death on the battlefield—someone was going to kill him.

He did not turn around, nor did he shout a challenge.

He rolled directly to the left, his heavy body knocking over the desk, sending the teacup flying to shatter on the floor.

At the same time, his right hand grasped the spear on the chair back. The moment the shaft was in his hand, a dark golden sword light grazed his right rib.

The sword tip pierced the back of the chair where he had just been sitting.

The mahogany chair back was penetrated, leaving a fist-sized hole with wood chips flying. If he had been even half a breath slower, this sword strike would have pierced through his heart from behind.

General Jiang Ce rolled and landed, kneeling on one knee with the spear already in his hands, the tip pointed toward the direction of the attacker.

He saw the person clearly.

A man with a square face wearing a dark gray short tunic, his features so ordinary that he would be impossible to find if thrown into a crowd. But those eyes were not right.

Those eyes were as cold as a frozen pond in the twelfth lunar month, devoid of any emotional fluctuation when looking at him—not hate, not anger, just calmness.

It was the same look a butcher has when regarding meat on a chopping block.

"Who are you?" General Jiang Ce asked in a low voice.

The spear tip remained motionless, glinting with a dark red, chilling light under the candlelight.

The man did not answer. He did not even spare General Jiang Ce another glance, as if whether or not that sword strike had hit was completely unimportant.

The Flying Sword pulled out from the chair back, returning silently to his side.

Four Restriction patterns on the dark golden sword body lit up simultaneously, the sword tip hovering in mid-air and vibrating slightly, like a snake fixed on its prey.

With a flip of his right hand, thirteen gold needles flew out from his sleeves, arranging themselves into a slowly rotating ring around him, with the needle tips pointing outward.

General Jiang Ce's pupils contracted sharply. He saw that sword clearly—it wasn't held in hand, but suspended in the air.

He also saw those needles—they weren't hidden weapons thrown by hand, but were flying on their own. These were the methods of a Cultivator.

"You have some nerve." General Jiang Ce squeezed the words through his teeth.

His answer was the sound of three things breaking through the air.

Three Talismans burned out simultaneously, and orange-red fireballs shot toward him in a triangular formation, sealing off his space to dodge left or right.

Before the fireballs arrived, the heat wave already rushed toward his face, the air was warped by the burning, and the edges of a few books on the bookshelf began to char and curl.

At the same time, the Flying Sword shot out silently. It did not fly straight; it traced an erratic arc, circling from the side toward his back.

General Jiang Ce let out a violent shout, and a pale golden Protective Aura shield emerged from his body. The fireballs collided with the shield and exploded into sparks, and the tip of the Flying Sword was deflected by three parts by the Protective Aura.

Borrowing the force of the impact, he stomped hard on the ground.

The floor tiles shattered, and fragments flew everywhere. He shot out like a cannonball, crashing through the window, the sound of the wooden frame shattering sounding exceptionally harsh in the night.

The moonlight in the courtyard was very bright. General Jiang Ce stood before the rockery, holding his spear in one hand, his chest heaving violently—not because he was tired, but because he had bruised his ribs against the corner of the table when he rolled over earlier.

He did not call for help. Facing a Cultivator, calling ordinary soldiers was just sending them to their deaths.

But he released his own presence.

The immense Aura of Xiantian Perfection soared into the sky like a beacon, and the killing intent tempered in the mountains of corpses and seas of blood at the border for thirty years erupted without reservation.

The withered branches of several old plum trees in the courtyard were snapped by the force of his energy, and gravel from the rockery tumbled down with a rustling sound.

This was a signal. The two old soldiers in the side courtyard who had followed him for over twenty years would definitely be able to sense it. Sure enough.

After a few breaths, two figures dashed over from the direction of the side courtyard.

Running in front was a sturdy middle-aged man, a circle broader than General Jiang Ce, holding a thick-backed broadsword with a spine fully a finger thick.

His name was Deputy General Zhao Kui, and he had followed General Jiang Ce for twenty-five years, rising from a personal guard to a Deputy General, his body covered in more scars than he had years of age.

The one behind was leaner, holding a short halberd in each hand.

His name was Deputy General Liu Qi, and he used his family's dual halberd technique, specializing in cutting off horse legs while at the border; the number of Northern Yan cavalrymen who had died under his hand was no less than a hundred.

"General!" Deputy General Zhao Kui landed on General Jiang Ce's left side, holding his broadsword horizontally before his chest, the Protective Aura on the blade fully infused, shimmering with a pale golden light under the moonlight.

Deputy General Liu Qi landed on the right side, crossing his dual halberds to protect his front, the tips pointing outward. "There is an assassin!"

General Jiang Ce did not explain, only spitting out two words: "It's a Cultivator."

Jiang Yan walked out of the study.

He did not walk fast, his boot soles stepping on the shattered wooden frame fragments, making a creaking sound.

The Flying Sword returned to his side, and the thirteen gold needles were still slowly rotating. The moonlight shone on his face, the killing intent in those eyes completely at odds with his appearance.

"Attack together." General Jiang Ce shouted in a low voice, striking first.

The long spear tore through the air, emitting a sharp whistling sound.

What was attached to the spear tip was no longer ordinary Internal Energy—the Innate Protective Aura was condensed to the extreme, stabbing out a golden spear gleam three feet from the spear tip.

The air was cleaved by this spear gleam, emitting a muffled hiss. General Jiang Ce did not hold back with this strike; he knew that holding back against a Cultivator was courting death.

Jiang Yan did not meet it head-on. With a tap of his feet, his entire body drifted backward like a fallen leaf caught in the wind.

At the same time, he flicked his hands repeatedly, activating several more Talismans—Fireball Talismans and fire projectiles shooting out alternately, seven or eight clusters of flames covering the three of them like a blanket.

Deputy General Zhao Kui and Deputy General Liu Qi brandished their weapons to block. The broadsword cleaved the incoming fireballs, sparks exploding and splashing onto his face, scorching a few of his beard stubbles, but he didn't even blink.

The dual halberds danced into two balls of silver light in Deputy General Liu Qi's hands, batting away the flames one by one.

General Jiang Ce, however, ignored it all.

He charged directly into the flames. His Protective Aura shield deflected the fireballs, the flames licking the surface of the shield with a sizzling sound.

His speed did not decrease but instead increased, the spear tip chasing the retreating figure.

He knew he could not let the Cultivator increase the distance—most of a Cultivator's methods were long-range; the further away, the more powerful they were.

Clang!

The Flying Sword and the long spear collided head-on for the first time. The gold essence Flying Sword struck the spear tip, splashing a spray of sparks that were exceptionally blinding in the night.

General Jiang Ce's webbing between thumb and finger shook violently, his entire arm going numb for an instant—that sword was not heavy, but its speed was terrifyingly fast. The long spear was deflected, and the Flying Sword was also knocked back.

After this exchange, General Jiang Ce had a measure of the situation. This Cultivator's attack power was very strong, but his power level was lower than his. He had a chance.

"Deputy General Zhao Kui, take the left flank; Deputy General Liu Qi, get behind him!" General Jiang Ce roared, "Surround him!"

The two Deputy Generals moved in response. Deputy General Zhao Kui circled around from the left, his thick-backed broadsword hacking down toward the square-faced man's back with full force.

Every slash was infused with Protective Aura, the wind of the blade whistling, and the bluestone slabs paving the courtyard were marked with white streaks by the blade wind.

Deputy General Liu Qi cut in from the right, his dual halberds sweeping toward the man's legs close to the ground, his movements as agile as a snake, the halberd tips specifically targeting his knees and ankles.

A three-sided pincer attack.

The square-faced man's brows furrowed slightly.

It wasn't panic—Deputy General Zhao Kui saw that there wasn't even a drop of sweat on that face. The expression was more like he was calculating in his heart, figuring out which method would be the least effort.

Then he did something the three of them did not expect.

The Flying Sword fell back into his hand; he was no longer controlling the sword for long-range attacks, but was holding the Flying Sword for close-quarters combat.

At the same time, the thirteen gold needles took advantage of the gap in the three-man encirclement to disperse silently, merging into the shadows of the night, rearranging themselves in places where the moonlight could not reach, slowly forming a larger encirclement.

Deputy General Zhao Kui hacked down with his sword, using ten-tenths of his strength. At the border, he had used this slash to cleave through the iron armor of Northern Yan cavalrymen, cutting down both man and horse together.

The moment the blade fell, the square-faced man dodged to the side, the blade grazing his clothing and hacking into the bluestone slab, splashing a trail of sparks.

His sword simultaneously pressed against the back of the blade. The sword tip slid upward along the blade back, sliding fast and steady, like a snake climbing up a tree branch.

Deputy General Zhao Kui hurriedly pulled back his sword, the blade retracting three inches, but the sword tip had already slid to the position of his wrist holding the sword.

He retreated again, but the opponent's left palm had already struck his chest.

It was not a heavy blow. The force was not great, not even making him take a step back. But a sharp burst of spiritual energy pierced through the gap in the Protective Aura, like a red-hot iron needle stabbing into his chest cavity.

His heart was pierced. Deputy General Zhao Kui's pupils dilated violently, his lips moved, wanting to shout something, but only a muffled grunt escaped his throat.

The thick-backed broadsword slipped from his hand, hitting the ground with a clang. His body fell straight down like a felled log, kicking up a cloud of dust.