Fan Shangzheng watched as the enigmatic warrior charged forward alone, and his heart nearly leapt out of his throat.
He spun around and grabbed Chen Yuanbo's sleeve.
"Why are you just standing there? Hurry up! Take your men and support him! How can one man charge straight into an enemy formation like that?"
Chen Yuanbo's expression was… complicated.
"Well," he said slowly, "our forces don't actually have any close-combat soldiers. Sending musketeers into melee would be extremely irrational. It would only cause meaningless casualties."
Fan Shangzheng was furious.
"Soldiers can't suffer meaningless casualties, but a commanding general can?!"
Chen Yuanbo laughed.
"Governor, please rest assured. That man won't suffer any casualties at all."
Fan Shangzheng stared at him.
"He is," Chen Yuanbo added calmly, "the foremost hero of the Divine Land."
Fan Shangzheng: "!!!"
Amid the chaos, the Eight Great Kings of the Southern Camp was already preparing to flee.
Bullets screamed in from the surrounding darkness without pause. One glance was enough for him to know—the battle was lost again.
So he ran.
Bandits learned many things in life, but the most important lesson was always how to escape. Among the countless rebel leaders roaming the land, the Eight Great Kings' escape skills ranked above average. Those who couldn't run had already been wiped out by government troops back in the early Chongzhen years.
With a sudden burst of speed, he dove into the nearby forest.
Ten loyal subordinates followed, crashing through dense grass and ferns, fleeing in complete disorder.
But the moment the Eight Great Kings plunged into the undergrowth, he heard a faint swish—as if something small, palm-sized, was slipping through the grass beside him.
"A rat?" he thought dismissively.
He didn't even slow down. Rats were nothing. All that mattered was running—running far away from this musket-filled death trap.
He took a long step forward.
His right foot extended. His left foot stayed planted, bearing his weight.
And at that exact moment—
A palm-sized little man burst out of the grass.
Only its face was intact. The flesh on its body was torn and ragged, exposing bare bones everywhere.
Steel bones.
From its steel arm, a tiny fruit knife flashed.
"Fruit Knife Technique—Ultimate Kill: Extract the Jackfruit!"
The little man roared and slashed downward with all its might.
"PFFT!"
Blood sprayed into the air.
A scream tore out of the Eight Great Kings' throat as agony exploded just above his heel. His left foot instantly went numb.
His Achilles tendon—severed.
His balance vanished. He slammed into the ground with a heavy thud.
Only then did he clearly see the steel little man. It grinned at him—a stiff, horrifying smile—then froze, becoming completely motionless.
"What… what the hell was that?"
The Eight Great Kings was paralyzed with fear, every hair on his body standing on end.
"What kind of demonic thing is this? What kind of terrifying contraption?!"
His subordinates rushed over.
"Boss! What happened? Boss—your foot!"
"That little man…" he stammered, eyes wide.
"That little man… a-a-ah… that little man—!"
The subordinates looked down.
It was just a motionless iron figurine.
It wasn't moving at all.
What was there to be afraid of?
They hadn't seen it move. They hadn't seen it attack. So fear hadn't reached them yet.
"Quick! Quick—help me walk!"
The Eight Great Kings roared in panic.
"Get me out of this cursed place! Away from that little monster!"
From afar, Fan Shangzheng was witnessing a scene he would remember for the rest of his life.
He saw the Miraculous Hero—no, the Miraculous Hero—charging alone with a single sword.
A bandit lunged and stabbed straight into the Miraculous Hero's abdomen.
Fan Shangzheng gasped.
From this distance, under flickering firelight, he couldn't tell whether the Miraculous Hero had been injured. All he saw was the sword flash—and the bandit fall.
Two more bandits rushed in, blades hacking into the Miraculous Hero's body.
Two flashes.
Two throats pierced.
Fan Shangzheng stared in disbelief.
The Miraculous Hero never slowed. Never staggered. Never fell. Even after being struck again and again, his movements were completely unaffected. Anyone who faced him couldn't survive more than two exchanges.
"Why?" Fan Shangzheng cried out.
"Why does the Miraculous Hero always take a hit before counterattacking? He's strong enough to avoid the blow and kill them first!"
Chen Yuanbo shrugged, saying nothing.
Under Fan Shangzheng's shocked and reverent gaze, the Miraculous Hero plunged deep into the forest.
The Eight Great Kings of the Southern Camp and his remaining men were still scrambling to escape.
But with one Achilles tendon severed, he was nothing but dead weight. They couldn't run fast.
Then a young man's voice sounded calmly from behind them:
"Eight Great Kings of the Southern Camp, stop running. Do you really think you can escape with a severed Achilles tendon?"
Everyone spun around.
A young man stood there.
His flesh was torn in several places, as though he had been slashed repeatedly. Yet there was no blood—only exposed steel bones beneath the damaged skin.
The Eight Great Kings recognized him instantly.
The little man.
Only… Big versions.
"You… you…" he shrieked.
"What kind of demon are you?! You're not human—what are you?!"
The young man smiled.
"I'm just a wanderer," he said lightly. "A hero by inclination."
The Eight Great Kings: "..."
"Kill him!" two bandits roared.
Their blades slammed into Li Daoxuan's body.
Clang! Clang!
Both swords bounced away uselessly.
At the same time, Li Daoxuan's sword pierced both men.
When you trade your body for a life, accuracy skyrockets.
Li Daoxuan bared his teeth in a stiff, terrifying grin and looked at the Eight Great Kings.
"We're old acquaintances, aren't we?"
"Do you remember Shi Jian and his two hundred musketeers in Pingyang Prefecture?"
The Eight Great Kings' heart nearly stopped.
"Th-those were your men?!"
"That's right," Li Daoxuan replied calmly.
"And the ambush at the Yellow River? Also mine."
The Eight Great Kings: "!!!"
"You can be lucky once. Maybe twice," Li Daoxuan continued.
"But never three times."
"You keep barging into my territory, wasting my bullets. Don't you find that annoying?"
"How about you stay here forever?"
"Kill him!"
Three more bandits charged.
Steel rang uselessly against Li Daoxuan's body.
His sword swept out.
One neck split open. Blood sprayed a full meter.
The other two froze, terror flooding their faces.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Gunshots rang out from the forest.
The last of the bandits fell.
With no one supporting him, the Eight Great Kings collapsed onto his back, staring at Li Daoxuan in utter despair.
Li Daoxuan walked over, sword in hand.
He knelt down.
Slowly, deliberately, he drove the blade into the Eight Great Kings' remaining uninjured foot.
"Let's see," he said softly,
"how fast you can run now."