The boundary between heaven and earth blurred as a violent snowstorm descended upon the battlefield, completely covering the Hongyan Eastern Mountains in a blanket of white.
Hassen had originally departed, but the storm was too severe tonight. Concerned about losing his way in the snowfields, he had returned to the abandoned relay station. The Scorpions accompanying him, all bearing faces strikingly similar to the people of Dazhou, had removed the armor they had used for disguise and now sat together drinking tea.
“Zhou…” one of them wiped his waist token, straining to identify it in the firelight, “this one’s surname is Zhou.”
“My surname is Fu,” another held up his token, “I’m a man of Dajing.”
“All wolves come from Dajing,” the scarred, bearded man scanned the playful juniors before finally fixing his gaze on the silent Hassen. “Tonight, you slew the Wolf King, Hassen. From now on, you are the king of the northern battlefield.”
The northern battlefield had always been the Wolf King’s domain. Xiao Fangxu, with his strength and ferocity, had held the summit of Hongyan Mountain, and over the past twenty years, the twelve tribes of Bian Sha had trembled at his name. Every one present knew the tales of him well. Tonight, they had returned victorious; the one they had slain was no ordinary man, but the god of Libei.
Hassen sipped his tea, offering a shy smile to Wulihan.
Hassen had always been restrained in demeanor, but after tonight, no one would dare underestimate him again. Wulihan could already foresee the speed at which Bian Sha would sweep across Libei in the coming years. They knew Libei too well: Xiao Jiming gravely wounded, Xiao Chiye still inexperienced, and the main generals severely depleted—Libei faced an unrelenting winter. Hassen had been waiting for this moment for a long time.
“But you don’t seem very pleased,” Wulihan remarked.
“Unexpected,” Hassen said, holding his bowl, thinking of the prize he had claimed. “I grew up hearing tales of him; my father spoke of him as invincible in battle.”
“Ersu and Ri will be proud of you,” Wulihan said after a pause. “Tonight, you also beheaded the Libei Iron Cavalry.”
Hassen drank his tea without replying.
Wulihan’s words were not mistaken. Tonight, Hassen had indeed decimated the Libei Iron Cavalry. This army, long considered an immovable iron wall in the north, had a fatal weakness that revealed itself when Hassen truly faced them.
The force was overly centralized; though their faith sprang from the land itself, it depended excessively on their commander. Their foundation was too young; every soldier’s eyes were fixed on Xiao Fangxu, as though as long as he existed, the Iron Cavalry would be invincible.
Amur understood this principle, and so did Hassen. The Tianchen Year marked the turning point when the Iron Cavalry lost its initiative. Xiao Jiming’s retreat symbolized the beginning of collapse, and Xiao Fangxu’s return revealed the Cavalry’s true vulnerability. Hassen had been assigned to the northern battlefield to study Xiao Fangxu. Since the age of eight, he had followed Amur on campaigns, hearing Xiao Fangxu’s name most often in the command tent. By the time Xiao Fangxu knew nothing of him, Hassen already understood all his battle habits.
Hassen did not want to win a single battle; he wanted to completely collapse Libei. Who suffered in the process was not his concern, just as Libei had never cared for Bian Sha’s pain. He intended to strike at their heart and leave them broken, creating the perfect opportunity for Bian Sha to reverse its fortunes. Both sides sharpened their claws in the blood-soaked enmity that had accumulated over time; excessive pity for either was equivalent to suicide.
As the fire dwindled, the Scorpions dispersed to find corners for rest. Wulihan kept watch while Hassen leaned against an old cabinet, closing his eyes.
Outside, the wind howled against the eaves, and the iron horse hanging by the station door rattled violently.
One of the Scorpions, relieving himself outside, had not yet undone his belt when his throat was struck, followed by the faint sound of a crack. The Scorpion’s body was slowly laid upon the ground.
Wulihan, with his exceptional hearing, immediately grasped his iron hammer, eyes fierce as he fixed them on the door. “The wolves are here.”
The Scorpion closest to the door silently shifted, pressing against the crack to peek out. At the moment he leaned forward, a long blade shot through the gap, piercing his skull.
Silence fell inside. Hassen observed calmly as the blade was withdrawn, leaving a splash of crimson on the door. Firelight extinguished from the gust, plunging the room into darkness. A figure resembling Xiao Fangxu stood there, nearly making Wulihan break into a cold sweat.
In that long stillness, the Scorpions inside suddenly surged. Half were lost in the attempt to ambush Xiao Fangxu; the remaining, exhausted, were gripped by fear at the Wolf King’s ferocity. They prayed that the cub did not possess his father’s strength, but upon contact, the Scorpions were pinned to the floor.
The sliver of light at the door was blocked, and sticky blood splattered across faces. Wulihan did not wipe it away. In the pitch black, he swung his hammer at Xiao Chiye’s face—just as he had tried to strike Xiao Fangxu.
But Xiao Chiye intercepted Wulihan’s forearm. The blade caught on the bodies nearby and, in the cramped circle, did not change its angle. He smashed the pommel into Wulihan’s face.
Wulihan staggered, trying to retreat, but Xiao Chiye did not release him. When the blade snagged on a Scorpion behind him, he abandoned it, using his free hand to strike Wulihan down.
Wulihan screamed in pain, staggering backward two steps, when a cold touch grazed his neck, and blood gushed forth.
Xiao Chiye wiped the stench from his hands, eyes blazing with madness and hatred, like a starving wolf consumed by the storm. He stared at Hassen and spat each word through gritted teeth: “Give me my father back.”
Hassen brushed his red hair from his eyes, voice cold: “Then when will your father return my brother?”
Xiao Chiye leapt forward, no longer listening. The two collided through the broken window, rolling into the blizzard outside.
Hassen struck back with full force, pinning Xiao Chiye to the snow before springing up nimbly, coldly stating: “Your father crushed his skull underfoot in the storm, leaving him to die on the desolate plains.”
Xiao Chiye pushed himself upright, spitting blood.
Hassen’s hands spun a new blade between his fingers, sliding along the cold edge with an expressionless face: “I am merely repaying tooth for tooth.”
They collided again, wind howling, snow stabbing their eyes, breaths ragged; the world itself seemed to roar. Xiao Chiye locked Hassen by the throat, slamming him against the dilapidated wall. Snow flaked off as Hassen twisted, nearly breaking Xiao Chiye’s arm.
Xiao Chiye’s right hand went numb from old injuries. Hassen was tackled by the remaining Scorpions, rolling into the snow, but Hassen used the opening to stab at him. Xiao Chiye avoided the lethal point, catching it with his shoulder.
Hassen could not lift his head, pinned under Xiao Chiye’s hands.
Xiao Chiye yanked at Hassen’s red hair, eyes bloodshot, voice hoarse as he bellowed: “Give… him… back… to… me!”