The guard captain let out a shriek that cracked in the cold night air.
"Ah! Assassin! A demon assassin!"
Even as he shouted, instinct took over. His saber flashed free of its scabbard and came down in a vicious arc toward the tiny metallic figure at his feet.
The blade cut nothing but air.
The small figure had already slipped forward, nimble as a rat darting through grain sacks. It passed between the captain's boots before the man even realized he had lost sight of it.
Li Daoxuan, in truth, had once been nothing more than a city couch potato. Fighting ability? Practically none. If danger appeared, his first instinct would have been to close the curtains.
But years of controlling avatars in real combat had changed him. Practice, even secondhand, leaves traces. He was no martial hero, but neither was he helpless anymore.
One might say he had upgraded.
From useless homebody to combat-ready homebody.
As he slid past the guard captain's legs, there came a sharp metallic clink. A blade appeared in his tiny hand.
For a figure no larger than a palm, it was enormous, practically a "greatsword." If he had stood beside the protagonist of Berserk, he might have felt a strange kinship.
To the guard captain, however, it looked like nothing more than a fruit knife.
The "greatsword" swept horizontally.
Thud.
The blade struck the guard captain's Achilles tendon with brutal precision.
Anyone who knows anatomy knows that once that tendon is severed, the foot is useless.
The guard captain collapsed with a heavy crash.
The surrounding guards recoiled in terror.
"What kind of monster is that?"
"He's going to kill His Highness!"
"Captain!"
The captain was still conscious. Pain flooded him, white and blinding, but survival instinct burned hotter. He rolled frantically across the floor, scrambling away in a humiliating sprawl, terrified the tiny creature would leap onto his throat next.
Li Daoxuan did not chase him.
Instead, he turned.
Two swift flashes.
Thud. Thud.
Two more guards cried out as fruit-knife-sized blades buried themselves into their insteps.
That kind of pain was unforgettable. Sharp, electric, humiliating.
They hopped backward on one leg, clutching their feet, faces twisted in disbelief.
By then, Li Daoxuan had already slipped between them and entered the Prince of Chu's bedchamber.
Inside, Zhu Huakui had heard everything.
The screams.
The strange metallic sounds.
The word "demon."
His courage dissolved instantly.
He scrambled off his bed and wedged himself underneath it, trembling violently. From a tall man's perspective, perhaps that hiding place would suffice.
From Li Daoxuan's tiny vantage point, however, the Prince might as well have been standing in the open.
Every wrinkle.
Every trembling jowl.
Perfectly visible.
"Your Highness, Prince of Chu," Li Daoxuan said, stepping closer, his tiny metal face curved into a smile, "hiding under the bed will not save you."
Zhu Huakui's eyes bulged.
"What are you? What kind of demon are you? Stay back!"
Li Daoxuan tilted his head slightly.
"I am the vengeful spirit of the common people. You barred us from the city. We were slaughtered by rebels outside your gates. Our grievances gathered, our hatred fused, and thus I was born."
"Aaaaah!" Zhu Huakui shrieked. "Save this prince! Someone save this prince!"
Outside the door, the guards heard him.
If this had been a human assassin, they would have rushed in, even at the cost of their lives. That was duty. That was tangible.
But this was a demon.
Humans are curious creatures. Many claim they do not fear death. Very few can say the same about ghosts.
The guards did not move.
Not one step.
Li Daoxuan advanced slowly.
Step by step.
He raised his "greatsword" and pointed it toward the trembling old man.
"Prepare to die."
The Prince of Chu let out one final strangled cry.
"Ah—!"
His head lolled sideways.
His body went slack.
Before Li Daoxuan could even swing, the old man had already died.
Fear had done the work.
He was sixty-five, weakened by indulgence, burdened by paranoia. His heart simply gave out.
Li Daoxuan clicked his tongue softly.
"Tch."
Well. That saved effort.
He turned and walked out of the chamber.
The guard captain still sat on the ground, clutching his ruined tendon, face pale as ash. The two other guards trembled nearby. None dared move. They simply watched the tiny metal figure walk past them as though escorting their own nightmare.
After traveling a full street's length, the reconnaissance Heavenly Lord unit found a secluded nook and hid.
There was no rush.
The city would take care of itself now.
Back at the riverside camp, Li Daoxuan opened his eyes.
The soft weeping of refugees still drifted through the cold night air.
Zhuge Wangchan, Zhu Cunji, and Zhu Yujian were all staring at him, eyes wide, expressions tense.
Li Daoxuan smiled faintly.
"It's handled. Tomorrow morning, have the common people go to Wuchang again. They will be allowed in."
Zhuge Wangchan's face lit up. "Understood. I will inform those still awake."
He immediately walked among the refugees who had not slept, those who sat hunched in silence or sobbed quietly into their sleeves.
"Do not cry," he said gently. "Go to Wuchang again at dawn. You will be admitted."
A refugee shook his head miserably. "Benefactor, please do not comfort us with empty words. We know we will not be allowed inside."
Zhuge Wangchan smiled faintly.
"If the Heavenly Lord says you may enter, then you may enter."
"The Heavenly Lord?" the refugee asked blankly.
Without ceremony, Zhuge Wangchan pulled out a copy of The Heavenly Lord Dao Xuan's Demon Extermination Saga and tapped the cover.
"This is the Heavenly Lord," he said. "He has spoken. By dawn, the gates will open."
The refugees stared.
Who could believe such a thing?
Zhuge Wangchan spent half the night offering reassurance, yet words alone could not dissolve dread. Soft sobs continued until nearly dawn. Fear of the unknown is not easily soothed.
Fortunately, the rebels did not attack that night.
That alone was mercy enough.
At first light, before the sun fully rose, the refugees stood.
Without prompting, they began walking once more toward Wuchang.
As they approached the walls, something felt different.
The ramparts were manned, yes, but not by a single resplendent guard of the Prince of Chu.
Instead, there were only garrison soldiers, yamen runners, local militia, and even ordinary citizens who had volunteered to help defend the city.
Atop the wall stood the Prefect of Wuchang, beard whipping wildly in the winter wind.
The moment he saw the refugees approaching again, he did not hesitate.
"Open the gates!" he shouted. "Let the common people enter!"
No one opposed him.
The gates creaked.
Then slowly, heavily, they opened.
A stunned silence lasted only a heartbeat before it shattered.
"We can enter!"
"We're saved!"
Tears flowed openly as the refugees turned toward the fleet in the river. They bowed deeply to the Gao Family Village logistics team, then ran toward the city, clutching their children and bundles.
Zhuge Wangchan exhaled long and slow.
"Good. They are finally safe."
Zhu Cunji snorted. "That hateful prince wasted half a day of ours. How irritating."
Zhu Yujian gazed at the open gates, expression complicated.
"Let us go," he said at last. "We continue toward Sichuan."
The fleet moved from the Han River into the Yangtze, then began sailing upstream.
Shipping along the Yangtze was well developed. In theory, one could travel all the way to Chaotianmen Pier in Chongqing.
In practice, the Three Gorges were another matter entirely.
The currents were swift and violent. Hidden reefs lurked beneath the surface like silent predators. Sailing upstream using only sails and oars required both strength and luck.
It did not take long for the Gao Family Village cargo ships to stall.
"Reporting, Captain!" a sailor shouted. "The boats cannot advance! No matter how hard we row, the current pushes us back!"
Zhuge Wangchan frowned slightly as he watched the churning water.
The ships shuddered, strained, and drifted sideways.
"Our celestial ships did not accompany us this time," he murmured. "These are wooden vessels prepared in Hanzhong. They cannot contend with such force."
The river roared in answer.
Ahead lay Sichuan.
Between them and it stood the river itself.