The crisp clang of armor plates clashing against each other echoed across the grassy slope as Qingchen's hand remained on his sword at his waist.
The thirty-odd soldiers, divided into four groups, charged with a ferocity reminiscent of hungry wolves pouncing on their prey.
"Kill them!"
Qingchen's shout had barely faded when the vanguard soldiers crashed into the bandits' makeshift camp.
One bandit was squatting by the fire, munching on a cold pancake. He had barely looked up when a blade was already at his neck, blood splattering onto the half-charred pancake, forming a dark red clump.
Another bandit, his legs bound, had just reached for his axe when he was attacked from both sides by two soldiers;
A long blade plunged into his ribs, his scream cut short before it could even escape his throat, his legs twitching in agony.
These soldiers outnumbered the bandits three to one, and the sudden attack caught the bandits completely off guard.
Three or four bandits fell in the first charge, like wheat cut down, collapsing helplessly to the ground.
The flash of blades and the whistling of weapons cutting through the air filled the air.
But the remaining seven or eight bandits were no pushovers either; those who had survived in this stronghold had blood on their hands.
Surrounded by enemy forces several times their size, they continued to fight back, swinging their weapons relentlessly.
Among them, the leader, wielding a broadsword, was particularly striking.
He was burly, and each swing of his axe carried a slicing sound.
The soldiers facing him felt their hands go numb; their long swords were jolted from their grasp, flying and breaking in two against a rock.
Based on Qingchen's observation, he could tell that this leader's martial arts skills were approaching the level of a third-rate master, comparable to his own before his breakthrough.
Each of his moves contained considerable force, clearly indicating he was no ordinary bandit.
Under his desperate leadership, the remaining bandits also unleashed astonishing fighting power.
"Block his axe! Don't take it head-on!"
An old soldier shouted, and four or five men surrounded the leader, their long swords aimed at his wrists and knees.
But the leader suddenly roared, his axe handle sweeping across, striking a soldier squarely in the chest.
A crisp "crack" rang out, and the soldier, spitting blood, flew backward, crashing into a tree and falling silent.
In less than half an incense stick's time, more than ten corpses lay scattered on the grass.
The soldiers' blood and the bandits' blood mingled, seeping into the cracks in the soil, the smell nauseating.
Amidst the flashing blades, the two sides exchanged blows.
The dozen or so soldiers of the Double Eagle Society below the slope couldn't contain themselves; they gripped their sword hilts and took two steps forward.
These were Qing Chen's trusted men, each with rudimentary martial arts training; if they joined the battle, they could quickly deal with the remaining bandits.
But Qingchen suddenly raised his hand, his eyes as cold as ice.
The dozen or so soldiers froze, immediately halting in their tracks.
These soldiers seemed to realize something, and they all stopped in their tracks.
Qingchen's voice rang out at the opportune moment, carrying the force of the battle: "Brothers, these bandits are trapped! Hold on a little longer, and we'll wipe them all out!
Ten taels of silver for every bandit killed! Whoever takes the bandit leader's head, I guarantee he'll be promoted two ranks and rewarded with one hundred taels of silver!"
At this command, the twenty-odd soldiers who were still fighting fiercely were instantly invigorated.
A bloodthirsty glint ignited in their eyes, and they wielded their weapons with even greater ferocity.
After all, retreat meant death, while advancing offered a chance for advancement, and with Qingchen's elite troops supporting them from all sides, they had no other choice.
The bandits, however, grew increasingly panicked with each battle.
Only five men remained, including their leader, all wounded:
One bandit's forearm was slashed to the bone, blood dripping from between his fingers;
Another bandit's calf was slashed open, forcing him to kneel on one knee, using his knife for support as he barely managed to defend himself.
They all understood: the officer opposite them had never uttered the word "surrender," clearly intending to slaughter them all.
What puzzled them even more was that there were still over a dozen elite soldiers remaining at the bottom of the slope; if they charged down, they wouldn't last three rounds.
Yet the enemy remained motionless. Could it be a command error?
Before they could figure it out, another bandit was stabbed through the throat with a long sword.
Now, only the leader remained standing; the others were either lying on the ground groaning or already dead.
The leader's black iron axe had become quite dull, the blade chipped and nicked. He was panting heavily, his chest heaving, sweat mixed with blood streaming into his eyes, blurring his vision.
But he still gripped the axe handle tightly, staring at the surrounding soldiers, his eyes filled with both ferocity and despair;
He knew that today, he was likely to perish here.
Meanwhile, the soldiers, though having achieved some victories, had paid a heavy price.
Of the original thirty-odd soldiers, only sixteen remained.
The entire battlefield was a scene of devastation, weapons scattered everywhere, some stained with blood, others broken.
Qing Chen saw his opportunity and took a deep breath.
His Jade Forging Technique within his body suddenly activated, a surge of heat spreading from his dantian, his muscles instantly taut like iron.
With a swift movement of his feet, his figure seemed to float away like a shadow skimming the ground;
This was his mastered Gecko Wall-Climbing Technique, allowing him to move silently even on flat ground.
The leader, swinging his axe to force back two soldiers, suddenly felt a gust of wind behind him. Just as he was about to turn around, Qing Chen was already beside him.
Qing Chen lightly touched the ground with his toes, his body leaping up abruptly, dodging the weak sweeping attack. His palms, imbued with the inner strength of his Jade Forging Technique, struck the leader's back with a "whoosh."
"Bang!" The palm strike landed on the leader's back with a muffled thunderous sound.
The leader felt an immense force slam into his body, as if his internal organs had shifted. He coughed up a mouthful of blood, and his black iron axe clattered to the ground.
He tried to struggle to turn around, but Qing Chen had already circled around to his front, grabbing his wrist with his left hand and his belt with his right, shouting "Lift!"
He actually lifted this nearly 300-pound man up, then slammed him down!
"Thump!" The leader crashed heavily to the ground, shaking the surrounding grass.
His bones felt like they were shattered, blood gushing from his mouth, and he didn't have the strength to move a single finger.
His body had been severely injured by Qing Chen's internal energy, rendering him utterly powerless to resist.
Qing Chen clapped his hands, turned, and called over several soldiers from the Twin Eagles Society:
"Brothers, back to camp! I, Qing Chen, will reward you for your service and grant you titles and privileges! You take these wounded soldiers and go down the tunnel to the entrance at the foot of the mountain to await orders.
Remember, no one is allowed to leave the ranks. Anyone who disobeys will be punished according to military law."
"Yes, sir!"
The soldiers responded in unison, turning to help the wounded soldiers on the ground.
One soldier, with a broken leg, was being supported by his comrades, shuffling step by step towards the tunnel entrance.
Blood dripped from his trousers, forming long streaks in the morning light.
Qingchen stood on the slope, watching their figures disappear into the dimness of the tunnel.
The wind carried the stench of blood, but he felt neither joy nor sorrow;
—In this chaotic world, it's either kill or be killed; there's nothing to lam