Chapter 045: The Fate of Wancheng (4/5)

Cao Peng’s height barely reached Wei Ping’s chin. Blood mist sprayed onto his face, yet he made no move to wipe it away. A single bead of blood slid down the blade’s edge, falling like a pearl rolling across a jade plate.

But his expression remained utterly calm, unshaken as still water.

The Han ring-saber spun deftly in his hand, and with a sharp crack, sent Wei Ping sprawling to the ground. Cao Peng strode forward, seized the reins of a warhorse, and vaulted onto its back. All these movements unfolded beneath the gaze of the Jingzhou soldiers, and yet not one of them tried to stop him.

They were stunned.

Wei Ping—dead? How could this child, who seemed to emerge from nowhere like a specter, appear so silently?

A wave of terror swept through the Jingzhou soldiers’ hearts in an instant. So much so that when Cao Peng mounted his horse and raised his blade, none of them reacted.

“Wei Brother, move!” Cao Peng bellowed from horseback, finally snapping Wei Yan from his daze.

With a flick of his left hand, his saber spun through the air and struck a Jingzhou soldier squarely in the face. Before the man could even scream, Wei Yan grasped his Dragon Sparrow blade with both hands. The blade gleamed, the air howled with lethal wind. With each stride, Wei Yan let out a thunderous shout, and with every shout, the Dragon Sparrow descended in a roar of steel.

The keen edge tore through armor and flesh, reaping lives with relentless efficiency.

To say he killed a man with every step might be an exaggeration.

But every ten steps—a life lost—was no boast.

A general who had reached the level of muscle transformation could, if he fought desperately, stand his ground against the finest warriors. One madman can terrify ten thousand men. Wei Yan already outmatched these Jingzhou soldiers, and with Wei Ping’s bizarre death, their spirits had fled. So when Wei Yan began his slaughter, they hardly resisted; instead, they shouted in terror and fled.

A general is the soul of his soldiers—this is no empty saying.

Wei Ping might not have matched Wei Yan, but among the Jingzhou soldiers, he was their king, their commander.

Now, with the commander dead, what was left to fight for?

Cao Peng charged on horseback, gripping his blade in one hand, rushing straight at the Jingzhou soldiers. His swordsmanship was unlike Wei Yan’s sweeping, grand style. Rather, it was strange—within the White Ape school, there was a technique called Celestial Sabre, which favored speed and lightness, striking within three inches of the blade’s tip, never resorting to brute force. Ordinarily, such a charge would mean death for Cao Peng. But now, with the Jingzhou soldiers’ spirits broken, he would not let slip this chance to strike a fallen enemy. In these times, it was kill or be killed. Any trace of mercy would only bring one’s destruction. He had told Deng Ji the story of the farmer and the snake—he would never be that foolish farmer.

In moments, two men had fallen, their blood staining his armor.

Cao Peng rode up beside Wei Yan, just about to speak when Wei Yan seized the reins and vaulted onto the saddle behind him.

“Wei Brother—”

“We must go, now!” Wei Yan, grief-stricken and furious, had no time for praise or thanks. He spurred the horse onward.

Cao Peng was small and light, and the horse was clearly no mere nag. Even burdened with two riders, its speed did not falter.

The wind howled in the night, whipping their faces and forcing their eyes shut. Cao Peng tried to speak, but the bitter wind rushed into his mouth, nearly choking him.

Wei Yan’s expression was grim as he galloped on.

Suddenly, he jerked the reins and brought the horse to a halt.

“Wei Brother, why have we stopped?” Cao Peng asked.

Wei Yan did not reply. He sat, stone-faced and unmoving.

Following Wei Yan’s gaze, Cao Peng saw a blaze in the distance, flames leaping high as if to set the heavens alight.

“That’s Evening Sun Camp!”

“I know.”

Cao Peng tensed at once, shouting, “Wei Brother, we must hurry!”

“It’s too late.” Wei Yan’s voice was a low murmur, his teeth clenched.

Such a great fire—this was surely premeditated. Wei Ping had killed the scouts, then sent for reinforcements, drawing Wei Yan out and leaving the camp nearly empty. If Wei Ping had rebelled, those hooked-arm men he trained—the saber squad—must have turned as well.

Wei Yan knew Wei Ping, but Wei Ping understood him better.

He realized that Wei Ping alone could never have dared such a thing. There must be a hidden hand behind all this.

The ambush in the mangroves proved it was organized and prepared.

Add to that the sudden order from Huang She—it all made sense. Huang She. It must be him!

“Wei Brother, we must go! My brother-in-law and Tiger Head are both there!”

Wei Yan hesitated, gritting his teeth, about to spur the horse forward—when suddenly the sound of hooves thundered from the direction of the camp. The wind was strong, yet the hoofbeats were clear as day. Wei Yan’s face changed. Without a word, he turned the horse and fled.

Cao Peng panicked. “Wei Brother, stop—Wei Yan, stop! I have to save my brother-in-law!”

“Silence. Deng Ji is already dead.”

“No! I told Tiger Head to protect him. How could he be dead?”

“When have we ever had cavalry in our ranks? The hoofbeats just now mean many riders. If there was still fighting at Evening Sun Camp, how could they have come this way?”

“No, no… Tiger Head will protect him!”

Cao Peng was stunned.

All his calm and caution vanished without a trace.

In his past life, he had not protected his family; must he face the same fate again? In this short month, the care and affection shown him by the Cao family was unforgettable. He had promised his sister to protect Deng Ji. Now, how could he face his family?

Wei Yan, growing impatient, struck Cao Peng’s neck with the pommel of his blade.

Cao Peng’s cries cut off instantly. He slumped, limp, against Wei Yan’s back, offering no further resistance. Wei Yan glanced once more at the blazing camp, then gritted his teeth, raised his whip, and galloped away…

――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

He did not know how long he had been unconscious, but at last, Cao Peng woke, dazed.

Blinding sunlight made it hard to open his eyes. Instinctively, he raised his hand to shield his face, his ears ringing with strange sounds.

Shaking his head vigorously, he finally cleared his mind.

“Where am I?”

“Wan.” The answer came from nearby, a low, deep voice. “We’re now in the territory of Wan City.”

Wan City?

Cao Peng scrambled to his feet, turning toward the voice. There was Wei Yan, sitting by a campfire, quietly roasting a piece of unidentifiable meat. Cao Peng stood, shook his head again, and looked around in confusion. A small stream flowed nearby, sunlight glinting off the water with a bloody sheen.

A wild boar-like beast lay in a pool of blood.

No doubt slain by Wei Yan.

“What time is it now?”

“It’s almost dusk. We’re some distance from Evening Sun Camp—there’s no one around. We’re basically safe.”

How did I end up here?

As his senses returned, Cao Peng suddenly roared, “I must go back for my brother-in-law!”

“He’s already dead.”

Wei Yan lifted his head. His fair face was smeared with dark, sticky blood. His eyes were icy cold, gleaming with a chill in the sunlight.

“What good would it do? You’d only get yourself killed.”

“But I promised my sister… I have to go back! My brother-in-law can’t be dead!”

Cao Peng turned to leave as he spoke.

Wei Yan grabbed his blade, picked up a burning stick from the fire, and hurled it at Cao Peng. He had no chance to dodge; it struck him and sent him crashing to the ground.

“What are you doing?!”

“I promised Deng Ji I’d protect you. So I will not let you run back to die.”

Cao Peng was furious.

He scrambled up, pointing at Wei Yan and shouting, “Coward! You speak of brotherhood and comradeship, yet you stand by as your brothers are slaughtered and haven’t the courage to return! Do you deserve the title of Yiyang Warrior?”

“Enough!” Wei Yan raised his head, voice harsh. Then, slowly, he closed his eyes, as if speaking to himself: “The Yiyang Warriors are no more…”

Cao Peng saw clearly as two hot tears rolled down Wei Yan’s blood-stained cheeks and fell silently into the fire.

“To charge ahead knowing it’s hopeless is foolish. If I die, who will avenge my brothers? They must not die in vain—I cannot let them die in vain!”

He raised his head suddenly, meeting Cao Peng’s gaze.

“Ah Fu, let’s go to Lord Cao.”

“What?”

“Only Lord Cao can help me avenge this. Only Lord Cao has the power to force Liu Biao to hand over Huang She.”

A brilliant light glimmered on Wei Yan’s face.

“Yes, I’ll pledge myself to Lord Cao. He’s in Wan City now—he might soon march on Jingzhou. Then, I’ll serve at the vanguard, shatter Jingxiang’s nine counties, and win justice for my brothers! Ah Fu, come with me—let’s go to Cao Cao!”

Join Cao Cao?

Hadn’t Wei Yan always admired Liu Da’er? Why turn to Cao Cao suddenly?

Then again, at this time Liu Da’er was not yet renowned, had not earned the honorific “Imperial Uncle.” His influence was limited to Xuzhou—perhaps some roots in Zhuo County as well. But to say he was famous across the land would be a stretch.

Cao Cao, on the other hand, held the emperor’s command, his name resounding throughout the realm.

Wei Yan’s desire to join him did not seem so far-fetched.

But Cao Peng hesitated.

After a long silence, he looked at Wei Yan and said softly, “Wei Brother, I want to go home.”