"Sand Scourer Fu Yiran, Heaven-ranker."
"Heaven-ranker?" Ah San raised his eyebrow and turned to look at the disheveled man. He knew that person wouldn't bring out any ordinary Heaven-ranker individual to deal with Stormqueller, so this old servant must have some unique qualities.
"Heh..." A laugh came from the shadows. "What? You don't believe it?"
Ah San didn't speak, waiting for his answer.
"He is a Heaven-ranker but... he is a Heaven-ranker of the Ghostbane Association from twenty years ago." In the shadows, the disheveled man's withered face showed a faint smile.
"Back then, the Ghostbane Association had no Origin or Nihil rankers. No matter how skilled you were, you could only be a Heaven-ranker at most."
The hunchbacked old man smiled and bowed slightly to Ah San.
"Hehe... the young master is flattering me. I am merely an old servant who serves others."
Ah San inexplicably found it absurd. This disheveled man in the shadows, though younger than his senior brother Qi Zongbi by a few years, had a pallid and withered face from going years without sunlight and looked like a ghoul.
Someone might believe he was a near-eighty-year-old man at death’s door, yet this old man kept calling him "young master." Ah San couldn’t help but get goosebumps.
The man seemed to notice Ah San's doubts and waved his hand to explain
"Uncle Fu was among the first people who followed my teacher when he infiltrated the Ghostbane Association. Later, after my teacher passed away, Uncle Fu was the only one left from that group."
Ah San still didn’t know the extent of this person’s abilities, so he asked, "Can he handle Stormqueller?"
The man in the shadows smiled without saying a word, while the old man named Fu Yiran cupped his hands and smiled.
"As long as that Stormqueller shows himself, I will give it a try."
Ye Beizhi had no leverage midair and was involuntarily flung backward. The wind whistled past his ears as the scenery quickly shrank around him.
His focus was on Lin Jiulao, who had rooted himself firmly on the ground. The man with the zhanmadao took the full impact of the blow but still couldn't withstand the force.
Lin Jiulao's hands trembled, and he stumbled back several steps, trying his best to dissipate the power of the strike. Ultimately he was thrown off balance and tumbled across the ground until finally crashing into a tree and stopping.
Ye Beizhi closed his eyes slightly, feeling a heaviness building in his chest. It seemed that the direct confrontation just now had caused him some internal injuries.
Was that the world's greatest blade technique?
His back slammed into the branches, the constant sound of snapping filled his ears, and the broken branches left scratches on Ye Beizhi's face.
What is the world's greatest blade technique?
What do I know about blade techniques?
Ye Beizhi slowly opened his eyes and looked up, sighing. The trees on both sides continued to retreat as he was thrown through the air, and the sunlight in the sky was a bit glaring.
If we're talking about blade techniques...
Memories spread like weeds sprouting uncontrollably.
A large hand struck Ye Beizhi's back hard, causing him to stumble.
Ye Beizhi turned his head to see a weathered face, covered in stubble, shouting loudly, "Did you skip lunch or what?! Damn it... Swing your blade with some force! Are you trying to kill someone or sew some flowers?!"
Ye Beizhi grimaced in pain, knowing without looking that there must be another palm print on his back.
The weathered man walked away, and Ye Beizhi could still hear him muttering to himself as he went, "Damn it... I hate these new recruits the most. They're all like a bunch of sissies."
The man's name was Niu Dayong, his battalion commander. He was currently in the Flying Mallard Battalion, an infantry unit that held the nickname of the Cannon Fodder Battalion. In battle, their primary roles were leading the charge and covering the retreat.
Ye Beizhi watched the man's departing figure with some envy. If he could become a battalion commander, he wouldn't have to endure daily scolding and might even be able to reprimand others.
This sense of envy only lasted until his first time on the battlefield.
Their Flying Mallard Battalion had been ambushed.
Ye Beizhi could barely recall what exactly happened at that time. He only remembered the chaotic mess of people swinging weapons, people falling, and the deafening sounds of battle cries.
When a comrade next to him was sliced in half by a single strike, Ye Beizhi finally snapped back to reality. His first reaction was to hastily smear the blood on his face and then drop to the ground. Although he was pretending to be dead, his body trembled uncontrollably.
He had no idea how much time passed when he felt someone grab him by the collar and lift him up. He looked up to see Niu Dayong's blood-stained face staring sternly at him.
"Commander," Ye Beizhi muttered unconsciously.
A hard slap landed on his face, burning with pain.
"Next time! If you don't want to be killed, then go kill the others!"
The commander finished his sentence and walked away without looking back. Ye Beizhi covered his stinging face and noticed that the commander's chest armor had several wounds, but his back was completely unscathed.
When they set up camp that night, Ye Beizhi saw the commander sitting alone in a corner, working on something.
He walked over quietly and saw a small bag of silver pieces at the commander's feet. In his hands, he held the roster of the Flying Mallard Battalion, crossing out some names... They were those of the soldiers who did not survive the ambush today.
For each name he crossed out, he would take a few silver pieces from the bag and set them aside. Several piles of silver had already been sorted next to him.
Ye Beizhi stood behind him quietly, watching without saying a word. The commander seemed unaware of Ye Beizhi's presence and continued working silently.
Gradually, the bag of silver emptied out, and the commander finally finished marking off the roster. He picked up the nearly empty bag, weighed it in his hand, and smiled bitterly before putting it back in his pocket. Then, he wrapped the piles of silver on the ground with paper, one by one, and finally stood up.
The weathered commander turned around and saw Ye Beizhi. "Why aren't you sleeping? What are you doing here?"
"Ah! I... I..." Ye Beizhi was at a loss for words. Deep down, he still feared his commander.
The commander didn't bother with him and, after asking, continued walking back to the camp on his own. Ye Beizhi followed behind, not daring to get too close.
"By the way." The commander suddenly stopped and turned his head, causing Ye Beizhi to quickly come to a halt as well. "That... about the slap I gave you today, don't take it to heart."
"Huh?" Ye Beizhi was surprised that this man, as a battalion commander, would apologize to a mere soldier like him. He stammered in response, "No, no problem. I... I won't hold a grudge..."
The commander didn’t wait for Ye Beizhi to finish speaking. He nodded, "Hmm, I remember... your name is Ye Beizhi, right? How old are you?"
"F-Fourteen!" Ye Beizhi replied with some excitement, straightening his back unconsciously. He couldn't believe that the commander actually remembered his name.
"Hmm... You are young, but on the battlefield, others won't show mercy just because you're still a child," the commander reminded softly.
Ye Beizhi opened his mouth, feeling that he should say something, but didn't know what. When he came to his senses, the commander had already left.