Chapter 27: Amidst the Surging Clouds (VI)

Xu Le’s expression finally took on a certain gravity.

Yuchi Gong’s charge, though he rode alone, carried a momentum that was altogether different from the surge of Eagle Guard soldiers and generals—a peril of another kind.

Xu Le had been honed from youth under his grandfather’s hand. The Eagle Guards, though they attacked in a rush with weapons raised, swift and fierce and with a semblance of technique, were riddled with flaws in his eyes. Including Yuan Junwei, they fought as men wielding weapons, the two disconnected, their movements clearly learned by rote, further refined only through brawling. Their bodies lacked flexibility; they reacted too slowly when adaptation was needed, and though their bursts of strength dazzled the eye, they lacked true explosive force. In close quarters, their advances and retreats were, to Xu Le, little better than a tortoise’s crawl.

Xu Le, on the other hand, had been learning the arts since he was six. Every joint, every muscle that could be used, had been meticulously tempered by Xu Gan, complemented by medicinal baths. He was forged almost from gold itself. Otherwise, Xu Wei would have easily maintained the Xu clan’s settlement as a prosperous rural household, but instead had been reduced to such poverty that they could no longer pay even the exemption fee.

From the start, his training focused on method: stance, form, all to ensure that breath flowed smoothly in the direst moments, that his senses were sharp, that his muscles and joints could change swiftly. Only later came the practice of various fist and weapon techniques.

With such a foundation, such strict and gradual training, the man was like a mechanism primed to react—change came at the slightest touch, swift and explosive. Man and weapon were one, moving as he willed.

The so-called military noble families that now dominated had inherited such family teachings, forged generation after generation sons who could defend their households, don armor, wield weapons, and survive the chaos since the late Han, growing stronger. This was the difference between them and commoners.

To stand alone against the Eagle Guard soldiers and generals—so long as one wielded a long weapon to clear a space, held the line, and battered the opponents until they stumbled, it was not so difficult.

But Yuchi Gong’s charge, spear in both hands, left hand extended to lead, right hand loosely gripping behind, with an iron whip held parallel and concealed—his spear struck with great force, its tip quivering, ready to adapt at any moment. The hidden iron whip could fly out as soon as he closed in. Just this posture brought Xu Le tremendous pressure.

There were always geniuses in the world; otherwise, generation after generation, no sons of humble birth would rise to become invincible generals. Some had good bodies, others grasped the essence of martial arts even in the heat of battle, far surpassing their peers. By his origins, Yuchi Gong was one such martial prodigy.

But after battling dozens already, to shrink from Yuchi Gong now would render all his efforts pointless…

Besides, it wasn’t as though Xu Le couldn’t defeat Yuchi Gong!

As Yuchi Gong galloped toward him, Xu Le, under the gaze of all, released his single-bladed halberd, and likewise gripped the horse lance he had seized from Yuan Junwei.

The single-bladed halberd was more for show—its balance poor. Xu Le had taken it from Song Bao mainly to avoid causing fatal wounds. But now, faced with a moving iron tower like Yuchi Gong, to remain arrogant would risk being struck down and utterly disgraced.

In the tense silence of countless onlookers, Xu Le and Yuchi Gong’s lances finally collided.

A dull crack rang out—not sharp, but it reverberated in everyone’s heart. Those closer to the circle felt, in that instant, a tightness in their chest, as if their organs were violently shaken.

The two lances twisted and turned, each trying to pin the other’s tip beneath. In a flash, they exchanged several moves, then closed in, lances entwined and exchanged blows—another dull crack. Several Eagle Guards nearby frowned and covered their ears, as if they might vomit at any moment.

Once they closed in, Yuchi Gong let out a shout, the iron whip concealed by the lance flashed out in a sweep, but Xu Le struck Yuchi Gong’s lance, then angled his own to shield his flank. Whip and lance collided, the blow bending Xu Le’s lance to its limit, but it rebounded, thrusting straight at Yuchi Gong’s chest!

Yuchi Gong’s single-handed lance was forced down, his iron whip knocked aside, and Xu Le slipped through the opening. Yuchi Gong exhaled sharply, twisting on the saddle nearly ninety degrees to narrowly evade the thrust. He discarded the whip and took his lance in both hands, defending.

Dust and smoke whirled, horses circled, two lances danced like black dragons, darting through every opening—tip, shaft, grip, each capable of harm. Each clash rang with a dull, shaking sound; in moments, they had spun four or five times, their lances colliding countless times.

Where once thousands inside and outside the city watched, with cries and shouts, now the city was silent, everyone instinctively holding their breath, watching this fierce battle.

No one dared make a sound, fearing they might disturb the iron tower that was Yuchi Gong, or the sharp, spirited youth.

Deep in the duel, Yuchi Gong laughed heartily, his voice echoing: “Excellent! Excellent!”

Xu Le’s smile grew broader—if Yuchi Gong fought with such joy, was he not equally exhilarated?

Eighteen years confined in Shenwu, growing under his grandfather’s wing—sometimes he feared that if he stretched his limbs, he would tear a hole in the sky.

Xu Le had never been a fool; indeed, he was clever. Though his ambition was to soar with the Eagles, he understood his grandfather’s contradictions—wishing only for Xu Le to live peacefully, not to question his origins, not to ask why his parents died, not to seek vengeance. Since age ten, Xu Le had never mentioned it, always cheerful and good-natured.

Among the heroes of Shenwu, Xu Le had merely cheered from the sidelines, joining the excitement.

But he knew, deep within, that the dragon lurking in his heart would one day spread its claws and wings, soaring forth—until even the sky was torn apart!

His grandfather had fallen, allowing him to leave Shenwu. Xu Le saw the message in his grandfather’s eyes:

The world is about to descend into chaos; I cannot protect you any longer. My dear Le, shake this world… Your grandfather is old and powerless, but you may overturn all that forced him to endure, to languish at the frontier for eighteen years, mourning his lost son, all the injustice!

He killed Chang Shuxin, journeyed to Yunzhong, fought Yuan Junwei and the Eagle Guard generals. Xu Le restrained much of his edge, but against Yuchi Gong—the foremost fighter of the Eagle Guard—he could finally unleash the skills honed over eighteen years.

How could this not be exhilarating?

With Yuchi Gong’s shout, Xu Le smiled: “Is that all you call exhilarating?”

As he spoke, Xu Le gripped his lance in both hands, raising it high and bringing it down, blow after blow. Yuchi Gong blocked two strikes, his arms trembling. When another strike came, Yuchi Gong raised his lance to meet it; Xu Le abruptly changed direction mid-swing, thrusting at Yuchi Gong’s chest. Yuchi Gong had to inhale deeply and twist his waist to dodge, and Xu Le, not spent from the thrust, withdrew and raised his lance again.

Now, the two ceased circling, engaging in direct and forceful blows. Yet even as Xu Le hammered down, he kept changing techniques—straight, sideways, his lance sweeping in quick, fierce attacks, recoiling at contact, then hammering down again.

The duel rang with constant collisions, the shifting rhythm leaving Yuchi Gong near breathless, unsure where to apply his strength. Despite his mountainous build and prodigious strength, the changing tempo forced him to sway atop his mount, twisting and dodging, falling behind.

All the Eagle Guard soldiers and generals watching wore expressions of disbelief.

Even Yuchi Gong was forced onto the defensive—could this merchant youth truly defeat all the Eagle Guards?

On the other side, Yuan Junwei, thrown aside by Yuchi Gong, had risen and watched the fight, teeth clenched. As everyone’s attention was fixed on the duel, Yuan Junwei quietly drew his bow and nocked a wolf-tooth armor-piercing arrow. Drawing the bow to full, he fixed his eyes on Xu Le, and as Xu Le swung his lance once more, Yuan Junwei exhaled and released, sending the arrow straight at Xu Le’s chest!

Behind Yuan Junwei, more than ten dust-covered guards also took up their bows, nocking feathered arrows.