Feng Chuan then moved on to inspect the battlefield, and his heart clenched when he noticed that Feng Ming and a squad of crack troops were struggling to escape the enemy’s surrounding troops. He looked on in awe as Marshal Yong took one swipe after another with Southhaven’s Life-Reaping Blade. The man was the backbone of their country’s defense, and even he himself couldn’t hold a candle to this man’s willpower and cultivation.
One swipe, two swipes, three swipes. Before long, the enemies were all cleared away, leaving an opening for Feng Ming’s retreat. Just as he sighed in relief, however, the system notified him of an important matter—Marshal Yong had been fatally wounded by Deputy Marshal Mo.
“I must report this to the crown prince,” he muttered.
Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his back. He exited the system and noticed a dagger protruding from his heart. He tried to circulate his qi and noticed that it was firmly sealed in place. A purple substance on the blade confirmed his guess.
“So it’s true,” Marshal Feng gasped and spurted out blood. “You used qi-binding venom on your own father, you monstrous son of a bitch.”
“All for the sake of the kingdom,” Prince Tian said as he walked away. He wore a mournful, tired expression. “We can’t win against the Southern Alliance. We can only join them. A leader must make difficult choices for the sake of his people.”
Feng Chuan coughed up more blood. “The Southern Alliance is filled with monsters,” he said. “Better that every man, woman, and child in this kingdom perish than to let them live under their oppression.”
“A difference in perspective,” Prince Tian said. “You choose honor, but I choose life. Everyone in this kingdom deserves a chance at life. The people will realize this in time.”
In Southhaven Fortress, Marshal Yong lay dying. A system notification appeared in every battle map in the room.
“Marshal Feng has been mortally wounded by Marshal Tian,” the system said. “Would Marshal Yong like to pass a motion to strip Marshal Tian of his authority?”
“Yes!” Marshal Yong gasped.
“Marshal Tian has rejected the motion, while Marshal Yong has supported it,” the system intoned. “Marshal Feng is incapacitated and is counted as abstaining. The motion has failed.”
“Dammit,” Marshal Yong said with bared teeth. “What a great crown prince you are, selling us out to the Southern Alliance like cattle for slaughter.”
The generals in the room were all pale with fright. Who could have possibly expected the simultaneous assassination of two marshals?
“A matter is pending that Marshal Yong has yet to review,” the system said. “Requesting the marshal to approve or reject the system-recommended promotion of Deputy Marshal Feng to marshal.”
“Approve!” Marshal Yong yelled.
“Motion approved,” the system said. “Authority will be transferred to Marshal Feng Ming immediately.” Another alarm sounded. “Marshal Feng Chuan has passed away. Marshal Feng Chuan’s status has been toggled to deceased, and his marshal’s authority can no longer be used.”
Looking around at the room of wide-eyed generals, Marshal Yong could only despair. “When Marshal Feng comes in, I’ll already be dead,” he said, his eyes red with rage. “You are to follow him without question, defend the wall, and take down that ungrateful bastard that calls himself a prince. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!” the generals in the room acknowledged.
Satisfied, Marshal Yong closed his eyes and sent a mental message to the system.
Please send this private message to Marshal Feng along with his marshal’s medallion and my marshal’s cloak. I know we don’t have any more cloaks in storage, but I won’t be needing it where I’m going.
Chapter 33: Converging
Feng Ming knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped into the fortress. The soldiers looked sullen and exhausted, and he was greeted by three pale-faced generals who looked like death itself. The looks everyone gave him were not those of celebration after a hard-earned victory but rather the looks of defeated men on the brink of collapse.
“What’s the situation, General Tang?” Feng Ming asked the mustached man in the lead. He bore a small black-and-gold bundle in his hands, as well as a black-and-gold medallion.
“Reporting to Marshal Feng, Deputy Marshal Mo betrayed and killed Marshal Yong,” General Tang said.
The news struck Feng Ming like a bolt of lightning. “Marshal Yong is dead?” Feng Ming said. “How is this possible? Marshal Yong is the strongest in the army. And what’s this about me being a marshal?”
“Please take things one step at a time, Marshal Feng,” General Tang said. “The treacherous Deputy Marshal Mo took advantage of Marshal Yong’s exhausted state when he single-handedly activated the offensive formation to carve out a path for your retreat. Please bind the medallion as soon as possible to receive his dying message.”
Feng Ming frowned when he saw the man avert his eyes and hesitate to say something else. “What else is there that I should know about? Look at me!”
General Tang swallowed. “Marshal Feng… your father. He’s also dead.” The man choked back tears as he said these words. “I served with your father for many decades. I’m sorry, but he was killed… by Prince Tian. Prince Tian has betrayed our kingdom. This has been confirmed by Southhaven Fortress’s system. Please be strong for us.”
Feng Ming’s eyes turned red, but seeing the men around him, he refused to cry. He simply took General Tang’s package and swiftly bound the marshal’s medallion with a drop of blood.
“Pull yourselves together, men,” Feng Ming said, turning around to the soldiers who were all looking at him. “Recover as quickly as possible and ready yourselves to defend the wall. General Tang, take me to Marshal Yong’s body.”
“Yes, sir!” the men said at once. A flurry of emotions vied for supremacy in Feng Ming’s mind as he followed General Tang through the hallways and into the war room. The floor was still slick with blood where Marshal Yong’s cold body lay. Feng Ming realized that the cloak in his arms was none other than the deceased marshal’s.
Feng Ming kneeled beside the man who had served his country for centuries. He pushed the man’s grizzled hair out of his face and gently wiped the blood out of his beard with a cloth. Despite his demise, the man had the peaceful smile filled with satisfaction.
When I die, I want to be wearing a smile just like that one, Feng Ming decided.
“Where is Mo Shen?” Feng Ming asked General Tang. Calling him by a military rank was an insult to the men around him, and an insult to Marshal Yong, so he refused to do so.
Four generals brought forward a manacled man. They tore off his red, black-runed cloak.
“Strip his armor as well,” Feng Ming said. Feng Ming looked calmly at the man, who looked at him a crazed expression.
“Why did you do it?” Feng Ming asked.
“For the kingdom,” Mo Shen said.
Feng Ming struck the man across the face with his qi from thirty feet away. He walked over calmly and asked again.
“Don’t give me that crap,” Feng Ming said. “How could crippling the defensive wall and killing two marshals while starting a civil war possibly be good for the kingdom?” He walked up to the man until they were face to face. “Why did you do it?” he asked again.
“I did it for the kingd— ARGH!” He screamed as Feng Ming plunged a dagger into his shoulder. He stared at Feng Ming and grinned like a madman. “You don’t have to believe me. I just wanted to tell you personally that you are doomed, and the wall will fall. Without Marshal Yong, you’re nothing. Luck can only get you so far in life.”
Feng Ming sighed before giving instructions to the generals. “Confiscate his treasures, dismember his corpse, and toss it outside the wall. He doesn’t deserve a proper burial.”
“What will be the method of his execution?” General Tang asked.
“Execution?” Feng Ming said, looking perplexed. “Look at him, General. He
’s already dead.”
The man’s maniacal grin was frozen in place, but a trickle of black blood was leaking out of the corner of his mouth.
“I don’t know what they’re up to, but I refuse to let these savage southerners win. I want a tally of our strategic situation in one hour. Come find me if anything urgent arises.”
Feng Ming walked through a corridor to the marshal’s room, which he entered with no difficulty. The bedding and furniture were all immaculate and tidy, with not a thing out of place. He didn’t touch any of them, however. He simply found a nearby wall and slumped against it in exhaustion. Then he looked at the black cloak the marshal had left him and ran his fingers along its silky surface.
“System, please retrieve Marshal Yong’s dying words,” Feng Ming said.
“Acknowledged,” the system said. “Please approve or reject the pending proposal by Marshal Tian to appoint General Ma as marshal.”
“Denied,” Feng Ming said.
“Very well,” the system said. “Replaying the last mental communication by Marshal Yong.”
Feng Ming kept quiet for fear of missing something.
“Feng Ming,” Marshal Yong’s voice said, “I’m dying, and if you’re hearing this, you likely know that your father has also passed on. I’m sorry. He was a good man, and he and I served in the army together for a long time. We were brothers. We saved each other’s lives so many times we stopped keeping track.
“I don’t have a lot of time left, so I won’t bore you with my speculations on this. Cut and dry, Prince Tian must be stopped. But before that, I’m worried about the wall. A general never relies on a single tactic in war, so I doubt they’ll give up with this defeat. If I were to guess what their next move is, it would likely involve the Spirit Temple. You might not know this, but all our estimates indicate that they have, at most, a few thousand members. For a thousand members to be present here all at once, it must be for something big. You should have seen how happy I was when I saw you blow up half their members. Their leaders must be coughing up blood and losing some serious sleep.”
Marshal Yong paused. “My last bit of advice is to keep an eye on the other two fortresses. I was forced to weaken them, so it stands to reason that their secondary ploy will target them next. Don’t take anything for granted—I want you to personally visit them.
“Even though I was betrayed, remember to trust your men. That’s the curse of being a leader—you need to rely on the people around you, and it’s your fault if they let you down. Don’t let what happened to me stop you from having confidence in your people.
“Lastly, trust in your gut. You’re the luckiest man I’ve ever seen, but as you can see, that won’t necessarily make you happy. What will make you happy is doing your best. I might be dying, but I’m dying a happy man. Your father died happy as well—he approved your promotion to marshal only a few seconds before he passed away. He knows everything you did out there, and he was proud of you. Remember that.”
Tears ran down Feng Ming’s face as he let his bottled-up emotions pour out. He had less than an hour to grieve, less than an hour to show his respects to the man who had raised him and a marshal who had supported him.
Feng Ming walked into the war room at the appointed time. The black-and-gold marshal’s cloak felt heavy on his shoulders, but he wore it all the same. Its coloring was a symbol of hope for the generals around him, an encouragement to the otherwise dispirited men.
“Reporting to the marshal, the enemy has begun mobilizing its troops,” General Tang said. “Shortly after their defeat, they quickly packed up the scraps of their cannons and began collecting corpses and weapons. They should be ready to leave within the day.”
Feng Ming nodded. “Retreat would be wise at this point, but be ready for eventualities and keep an eye on them. Our stores of spirit stones were depleted, so they’ll consider us especially vulnerable to a follow-up attack.” He casually tossed out a small mountain of 500,000 high-grade spirit stones he should have given them earlier. “Don’t let that stop us from defending this place. What news is there from Easthaven and Westhaven?”
“Nothing to report,” the general shrugged. “There haven’t been any enemy movements within a hundred miles of their walls.”
“I want you to lead things here while I conduct an inspection at Easthaven,” Feng Ming said. “You are now Deputy Marshal of Southhaven.” He handed the man a black-and-red cloak along with a black-and-red token. “General Qin!”
“Sir!” The large man stood up. As a fierce body cultivator, he’d already recovered from their battle.
“General Qin, you will be the second deputy marshal,” Feng Ming said. “I want you to take two generals here and ten of our remaining elites to Westhaven Fortress.”
General Qin saluted him and quickly selected two generals, and Feng Ming was relieved to see that they were two of the more observant and intelligent ones. Feng Ming looked around and chose two others, General Long and General Jin. He immediately recruited ten of their elites, half of which were body cultivators, and proceeded to the departure hall.
“Please don’t make me do it again,” the old technician said. “It’ll stop my heart if I have to send you out like that again.”
“I don’t want you to send us to the battlefield,” Feng Ming said. “I want you to send us to Easthaven.”
The technician sighed in relief. It only took a few breaths before the white-and-gray glow of teleportation materialized.
“As I said many times, Marshal, there is nothing to report,” General Liu said. “Nothing has happened here. In fact, you can take more men if you want. Just be sure to send them back if we need them.”
Feng Ming nodded as he inspected a large screen in the war room. Small red dots were displayed on a map of the fortress. He wasn’t sure why, but something felt off about them. They were too… orderly. Which was ironic, given that order was considered a good thing in military circles.
“I’m going to go for a walk,” Feng Ming said to the two generals and ten elites. “Why don’t the both of you stay here for the time being?” He left them to relax in the room as he randomly roamed about throughout Easthaven Fortress.
His resplendent force picked up whispers and mental messages as he passed by soldiers who looked at him reverently. Many of them were discussing the events in Southhaven and Feng Ming’s rapid promotion to marshal. Some were envious, but most of them respected him. Only a minority of the men were quiet. Among the five thousand men in the fortress, perhaps one in ten didn’t speak much.
One in ten, one in ten, Feng Ming thought. Why does that ring a bell? As he thought this, he caught the silhouettes of two sergeants walking down the corridor with serious expressions. They walked with ordered steps toward the north end of the fortress.
Where could they be going? Feng Ming wondered. And why would they head toward the north? The only thing there is the storeroom.
Since he needed to stop there anyway to reallocate military supplies, he quietly followed the men, using his resplendent force to probe any potential mental conversations. He was surprised to discover that they weren’t talking. They were part of the one in ten.
“What can I do for you today?” a man’s voice said from within the store room when the two men arrived.
“My sword was dented during training,” one of the men said. “I need a replacement.”
“I’ve come to collect my monthly spirit-stone quota,” the other man said.
“Just one moment,” the man in the storeroom said. “I need to go to the back.”
“Take your time,” one of the men said. They began speaking about mundane topics. This concerned Feng Ming—as far as he knew, soldiers gossiped more than any other profession. That was why every general in history emphasized morale. The slightest rumor could decimate an army quicker than any enemy tactic.
Unusual soldiers and one in ten, Feng Ming thought. Why does that bother me so much? As he thought of this, he made his way to the storeroo
m, where he planned on retrieving half of their spirit-stone supply.
Suddenly his hair stood on end. Instead of ducking for cover, he rushed over to the room where the two men had previously been talking and was surprised to see that the door was shut. Unfortunately, it was built from a material that isolated his resplendent force. He moved to open it but discovered that it was not only shut but locked. Frowning, he took two steps back and kicked the door down.
“What in the world?” he whispered. The two men who had previously been chatting were now standing beside the quartermaster, who had dropped both the sword and the spirit stones. The quartermaster’s eyes were white, while to his side, wisps of crimson gas left the soldiers’ eyes and seeped into the quartermaster’s.
Feng Ming wasted no time. He quickly summoned his lucky spear and threw it at the nearest man, who dropped dead instantly. He then darted to the next man and slashed with a short sword, swiftly separating his head from his body. To his surprise, the body dropped to the floor, but the head didn’t. It continued emanating the crimson vapor in which he now saw a ghastly face. Feng Ming quickly retrieved his spear and hacked the head in two. The red vapor let out a wail of frustration and vanished into thin air.
“What happened to me?” the quartermaster said as he suddenly woke from his daze.
“They were doing something to you,” Feng Ming said. “What happened to you? This is important.”
“Marshal!” the quartermaster said, his eyes widening. “Of course. When I’d returned with the sword and spirit stones, those two men dashed right up to me. I thought they were attacking me, but to my surprise, their eyes suddenly turned crimson, and I blacked out. I came to just now.”
Feng Ming frowned. System, he sent mentally, can you identify what happened?
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