Chapter Eleven: Rookie Vanguard

As soon as Cao Hong finished speaking, the thirteen men immediately erupted into a cacophony of curses.

“You damned scoundrel! How dare you insult our Heavenly King!”

“Brat, you’re courting death! Just wait till our Heavenly King arrives, you’ll regret it!”

“So you think carrying a fine sword makes you a hero? Soon you’ll be kneeling and presenting it willingly!”

“Brothers, I bet there’s a woman in his carriage. Otherwise, why would he act so brave?” one of them jeered, provoking raucous laughter.

Cao Hong raised his left hand, gripping the hilt of Lian behind his back, his gaze icy as he regarded the men. With a cold sneer, he said, “It seems that in these times, good men are easily bullied!”

With that, he squeezed his legs, and his horse let out a piercing neigh, charging forward at full speed. The rough saddle and makeshift stirrups were far from the quality of high saddle and stirrups, but for a man of Cao Hong’s cultivation, it made little difference—he sat firmly, riding straight toward the barricade set across the road.

The barricade was made from thick, sharpened logs, their points aimed at the oncoming rider. It looked as though Cao Hong was hurling himself directly onto the spikes.

The thirteen men swore furiously, hastily leveling their halberds atop the barricade at an angle to prevent Cao Hong from leaping over.

But what were a handful of brutes compared to the Reaper’s scythe? Even the famed ninja of Japan’s Golden Flower had been no match for him, let alone these muscle-bound highwaymen.

With a flash of blinding light, his sword Lian was drawn, aura surging skyward. He was less than five meters from the barricade.

Those men behind the barricade felt the chilling intent of the Eight-Faced Han Sword and Cao Hong’s unstoppable momentum. Some began to tremble as they gripped their halberds.

In a blur—three strikes, so swift neither side could see the trajectory. Only a thunderous crash rang out as Cao Hong and his horse burst a gap through the barricade. The logs were cleaved into three segments. The foremost ruffian was struck by Cao Hong’s mount, thrown into the air, and split in two before he landed; blood rained down like a storm.

On either side, two other men’s heads dropped silently to the ground at the instant the barricade exploded apart.

Cao Hong rode on for ten meters before halting. Not a single drop of blood landed upon him, while the ten surviving bandits behind the barricade were all splattered with their companions’ gore.

The shattered remains of the barricade thudded onto the earth, raising a cloud of dust. Other than that, silence descended upon the official road.

Cao Hong urged his horse forward a few steps, sword in one hand, reins in the other. The Eight-Faced Han Sword gleamed spotless, unmarred by blood or splinters; his mount’s hide was equally unsullied.

It was as though he had nothing to do with the carnage at all.

But the sound of two hoofbeats roused the remaining ten bandits from their stupor.

“Mother!”

“Run!”

“Aaahhhhh!”

Like mice whose tails had been trodden, the ten fled into the woods on either side of the road. Cao Hong gave no order to pursue. He simply returned to the front of the procession, addressing his stunned followers as if he’d done nothing of consequence: “Let’s go.” He rode on ahead.

Big Eyes and Scarface snapped from their daze and barked at the retainers, “Don’t stand there gawking! Move!” The ‘caravan’ began to creep forward once more.

Inside the four-horse carriage, Sheng Meizhen lowered the curtain, her slender hand pressing to her chest, her face thoughtful. “My husband’s progress in cultivation is astonishing. Three years of marriage brought less advancement than these few short weeks. Has he been hiding his strength all along?”

With this question in mind, she closed her eyes, recalling her father Sheng Xian’s words at her wedding three years ago: “Meizhen, though Zilian is stingy, he is a man of feeling. He is overly fond of wealth, lacks diligence, and is unlikely to achieve much in scholarship or arms. Fortunately, his cousin Mengde is a man of extraordinary genius, and the Cao family is prominent—you will be safe with them.”

“Father, it seems you misjudged him…” Meizhen sighed inwardly.

After some time, Big Eyes voiced his concerns, “Young Master, do you think those bandits will ambush us further down the road?”

Cao Hong glanced at the woods on either side and replied, “The hills are more than ten yards behind the roadside trees, offering no vantage. Hiding in the forest would only scatter their strength. Even a rabble would not be so foolish.”

Scarface laughed, “Why worry, Big Eyes? Our young master is a warrior among warriors—if any bandit dares come, he’ll cut them down. Nothing to fear.”

Big Eyes gave an awkward chuckle. As they spoke, a dense clatter of footsteps and the sound of hooves came from around the bend ahead.

Cao Hong gestured, and Big Eyes called out, “Bandits ahead! Stop!” The retinue halted at once.

Soon, a group of rough-clad men rounded the corner. Five or six led the way on mounts, but only one rode a scrawny horse, while the other five sat astride mules. One even wielded a farming rake as a weapon.

Those following behind fared even worse; most were armed with sharpened sticks. No wonder they had coveted proper weapons, Cao Hong thought as he studied the leader—the youth on the thin horse.

This young man wore bright yellow short fighting robes, a matching cape draped from his neck. There was an air of dash to him, and he held a spear nearly twelve feet long with no lack of martial spirit. What surprised Cao Hong was his age—the youth was clearly not yet fully grown, his face pale and beardless, cheeks flushed with the shyness of a boy.

With a shout, the youth leveled his spear at Cao Hong, voice still boyish but full of fury: “Who are you, knave? Daring to make trouble within the Heavenly King’s domain—do you seek death?”

Cao Hong noted the youth’s taut, well-trained hands and the flush on his face—a sign he’d already mastered the basics of martial refinement. For one so young, it was impressive, and no wonder these men followed his lead.

Cao Hong smiled coolly. “State your name. I do not kill nameless men.”

The youth’s face turned red with anger and he spurred forward, shouting, “Cease your arrogance! I am Liao Hua, the Heavenly King of Zhonglu in Xiangyang! If you have guts, face me in three hundred rounds. If you win, I’ll tend your horse; if you lose, you leave all your goods, weapons, mounts, and women—and get lost!”

Cao Hong was startled by this outburst—Liao Hua? He’d studied history broadly, remembering what interested him and forgetting the rest. Some trivial tales he could recite by heart, while famed scholarly facts sometimes eluded him. But the name Liao Hua brought only one phrase to mind: “When Shu had no great generals, Liao Hua led the vanguard.”

The famed yet often-ridiculed vanguard of the Three Kingdoms era—Liao Hua! And here he was, a mere youth calling himself the Heavenly King. The absurdity of it all struck Cao Hong, and he burst into laughter, rocking back and forth on his horse.

The first person of note he’d met in this world, and it was the notorious greenhorn vanguard? The world’s ironies knew no bounds.

Liao Hua, seeing his imposing declaration met with laughter, was enraged. With a furious shout, he spurred his scrawny horse and thrust his spear straight at Cao Hong’s heart.