Chapter Forty-Three: Three Defeats of the Xiongnu Chanyu

The wind chased the rain, the rain pursued the wind, and together they drove the clouds across the sky, casting the whole world into a realm of water. Amidst the endless drizzle, a cavalry formation of several thousand galloped swiftly forward, led unmistakably by the Chanyu of the Xiongnu. Behind him, Xiongnu soldiers cheered and shouted, brandishing their broadswords with wild enthusiasm.

A hundred paces from Stone City, the Xiongnu Chanyu raised his arm to signal the troops to halt. He saw the city gates thrown wide open, the whole city seemingly devoid of life, shrouded in a pall of gloom.

The Xiongnu Chanyu stroked his chin, his gaze sweeping the surroundings as if searching for something.

"Chanyu, I fear these cowardly Han people heard of our coming and fled deep into the mountains long ago," one of the Xiongnu leaders whispered near him.

"Majestic! Magnificent!" came the uproar from the soldiers behind. To them, the Han were merely sheep waiting for slaughter, and this time, they would surely fill their pockets.

After a moment of deliberation, the Chanyu opened his fierce eyes and burst into hearty laughter.

"Kill, kill!"

"Take everything of value back with us!"

The Xiongnu soldiers stormed into the city, their rampage growing ever more uncontrollable. Left hand clutching a chicken, right hand holding a duck, valuables strung around their necks, each soldier wore a sly grin.

The Chanyu was already fantasizing about recruiting new troops, returning home to reign supreme, and when funds ran low, coming back to the Han border cities for another round of plundering.

Yet danger was creeping in, silent as death itself.

The assassination game begins...

Human lives return to my grasp, and death in darkness grows ever more intense.

In every shadowed corner, a dagger would materialize, a hand clamped over the mouth of a Xiongnu soldier, another gripped the blade, plunging it into his chest before dragging him into the abyss.

A stroke, a fall—every ten steps, a man dies, never lingering in a thousand miles!

The Xiongnu soldiers never noticed their numbers dwindling.

A young man in a python-embroidered robe stood quietly beneath the eaves, a cold aura filling the space. His large, ink-gray eyes revealed a murderous intent far beyond his years.

Sunlight flickered on his glass-like dagger, the silver rings chiming, adding vitality to the cold gloom. His handsome face was half-hidden behind a mask edged in silver-gray and black, his presence godlike—a king none dared meet the gaze of, his authority spreading through the air.

A seasoned assassin would never flaunt his prowess, but rather let the weapon’s spirit hide its brilliance, its divine power subdued, returning to simplicity.

Yet youth is bold, and with sword in hand, what fear has he of gods or demons?

His eyes locked onto his target: the Chanyu atop his warhorse. The young man flipped backwards, seized his broadsword at the waist, and struck down with ferocity.

Under the shadow of death, the Xiongnu reacted instantly, but the Chanyu was a moment too slow—his right hand’s bones shattered under the tremendous impact, his stance faltered and he nearly fell.

Yet with death looming, the Xiongnu’s ferocity was fully awakened. The Chanyu roared, his mind racing, and leapt clear.

The young man spun, and the two clashed three times—the young man’s face hard as stone, eyes savage and cold, reflected in the gleam of a silver blade, devoid of all human warmth.

“Bang!”

The young man struck first, hurling an iron pellet at the Chanyu’s face. The Chanyu raised his sword to block, but the force only drove him back three steps.

With a furious cry, the Chanyu unleashed dozens of icy sword flashes at the terrifying assassin, his martial skill evident.

An ordinary fighter would only see a ghostly blur, but in the Chanyu’s demonic gaze, the assassin’s form was clear, darkness offering no hindrance.

The Chanyu stabbed at the young man with a flurry of powerful blows, but the youth’s strange movements turned them all to shadows—then, suddenly, he was at the Chanyu’s side, blade brushing his shoulder. Though it seemed harmless, the Chanyu was knocked sideways into the wall, coughing blood, utterly defeated.

“Bang... Bang!”

Two more iron pellets exploded, bursting through two heads, blood spraying across the ground as the soldiers behind the Chanyu fell dead.

In the instant the young man struck, the Chanyu, biting back the pain, scrambled onto his horse and led the few remaining Xiongnu soldiers in a rapid retreat.

The shadowy figure lurking in the corner did not pursue.

In the blink of an eye, all had vanished, save for the bloodstains that bore witness to what had transpired.

Toil in darkness, serve the light—Shadowless Soul-Slaying Sword, Bloodless Stealth, assassinate and vanish at will, born of darkness, dying in darkness.

The epitaph of the Imperial Guards...

...

The Chanyu felt a chill as if doom itself had marked him, leaving no escape but to seek a way out in the dark.

His blood kept flowing, his vision growing ever dimmer.

At a crossroads, the Chanyu could no longer endure, trembling as he fell from his horse. His soldiers hurried to drag him onto dry grass and bandage his wounds.

Perhaps it was chaos of mind, or the euphoria of surviving death—he laughed aloud: "The Han generals are fools. This place is surrounded by mountains, perfect for an ambush. If I were leading, I’d surely hide a cavalry here."

He took a swig of water and continued, "Strength lies not in numbers but in quality. Give me five hundred light cavalry, and none would escape alive."

"Ridiculous!"

"Hahaha...!"

His laughter had scarcely faded when drums thundered in the valley, dust blanketing the silent gorge—a clear sign of an ambush.

"Chanyu brat, your Grandpa Dian Wei has been waiting here all along—get off your horse and surrender at once!" came a rough, booming voice.

The Chanyu panicked, legs trembling like sticks, as he shakily mounted his steed and fled down a side path. Dian Wei did not pursue, merely drove off the remaining Xiongnu soldiers.

The Xiongnu soldiers were now covered in dust, exhausted and dispirited, their morale sinking ever lower.

The Chanyu sighed deeply and shook his head; his army’s spirit broken, they could fight no more, and could only make camp and recover.

During the rest, the Chanyu laughed again, surrounded by his soldiers, who puzzled over his amusement. "I laugh at the foolish Han generals. This is the only road our army can take. The terrain forms a bottleneck, and if archers are hidden atop the mountain, it would mean utter annihilation..."

"Mm mm... you...!"

Before he could finish, his soldiers swarmed him, clamping his mouth shut.

"Chanyu, leave us a way to live! Your mouth is luckier than a priest's blessing!"

"If we make it home alive, I’ll have you bless my son when he’s born!"

"Please, stop talking!"

The soldiers were frantic, desperately covering his mouth, and the Chanyu struggled in vain.

On the mountain top, red banners fluttered, drums roared like thunder, and cries of "Kill! Kill! Kill!" echoed, shaking the hills.

Zifan wore a purple gold crown set with jewels, a golden forehead band with twin dragons vying for a pearl, clad in white silver armor, astride a dragon horse tearing through the fray, with the Black Armor Army surging behind like a tide.

He seemed as a god descended to earth, as clouds shroud the moon and winds swirl the snow—so awe-inspiring that gods and demons alike would retreat before him.

Suddenly, the sky darkened, winds howled, thunder crashed, rain poured in torrents, the Zhi River north of Kunyang City swelled rapidly. The roar of wind, thunder, rain, and the Black Armor Army’s battle cries merged into a deafening cacophony, threatening to drown the terror-stricken Xiongnu soldiers.

Under the fierce assault of the Black Armor Army, the Xiongnu were all but wiped out. The Chanyu was pierced by several arrows, his robes soaked in blood, and the remaining soldiers were surrounded.

Now the Chanyu had nothing left to say. Both sides understood; any more words would be pointless, only superfluous. Today, he was defeated, utterly and without complaint.