Chapter Forty-Five: The War of Attrition

Pei Min’s patchwork sword technique, before he encountered Gongsun Xi, could be summed up in one word: “messy.” Not only was it a hodgepodge, but it was also chaotic and filled with redundancy! This was precisely why Gongsun Xi looked down on his swordsmanship—the excessive number of mundane and ordinary moves left the technique without any distinctive strengths. Ordinary and unremarkable, as plain as water, its occasional clever tricks were not even truly profound secrets, merely standing out among mediocrity, good only in a land of dwarfs. Compared to such unparalleled techniques as the Sword of the Yue Maiden, it fell woefully short. Pei Min himself admitted that within his entire mishmash of swordplay, there were only two or three moves that could be called masterstrokes, and even those were at the bottom tier of the so-called realm of ultimate skills. But after exchanging blows with Gongsun Xi, once he had incorporated over a dozen exquisite moves from the Sword of the Yue Maiden, his patchwork technique seemed reborn, its power more than doubled in an instant.

The triple sword assault Pei Min now unleashed originated from the Sword of the Yue Maiden. Zhao Ming’s weapon was a rare broadsword—unlike the longsword, the broadsword excelled in sweeping, forceful strikes, relying on strength much like the two-handed sword, yet testing the wielder’s single-arm power even more. Such swordsmen were usually endowed with formidable physical strength, though speed was their weakness. Pei Min’s sword flashed like lightning, exploiting his own strength against Zhao’s frailty. He deliberately chose the moment his opponent’s force was spent to strike; by launching his sword after Zhao but arriving before him, he left no room for his foe to recover or defend.

Step by step, each move was carefully calculated—not just with the sword, but with his mind as well!

Zhao Ming was seasoned in battle. He had encountered opponents who tried to exploit his lack of speed, and he had his own counters. Yet he had never faced an adversary like Pei Min, whose timing was so precise, whose moves so cunning, and whose sword so fast.

A sword duel is like a chess match—one misstep, and the game is lost.

Pei Min gave Zhao Ming no chance to breathe. His longsword struck like a venomous serpent lying in wait, hitting the same spot on Zhao’s sword-guard three times in succession, each blow landing with pinpoint accuracy. It was like three waves crashing, each pushing the last, the combined force tripling the power of a single strike. Though Pei Min’s strength was no match for Zhao Ming’s, with three swords joined at the tip, the concentrated force assaulted the weakest point of Zhao’s guard. In a flash, Zhao could not withstand the impact, and his broadsword flew from his grasp.

Zhao Ming had never imagined he would be disarmed at the very first exchange, defeated without warning, stunned where he stood.

Pei Min’s left foot shot out, sending Zhao Ming flying.

“I told you your brother couldn’t handle it!” As Zhao retreated from the fray, the swift-footed Su Pei whirled into the circle, brandishing an oddly shaped short dagger and calling, “Danyang’s Su Pei, please teach me!” The words had scarcely reached Pei Min’s ears when the dagger was already in motion.

Pei Min’s expression grew grave. “An inch shorter, an inch more danger”—for his opponent to dare use such a disadvantaged and eccentric weapon meant his techniques must be especially unpredictable and treacherous, difficult to defend against.

Indeed, Su Pei darted forward, his single hand a blur, filling the three-foot space before him with flickering dagger-shadows. With dozens of phantoms, he crashed straight toward Pei Min.

Pei Min knew he could not retreat. Against such close-range and unconventional weapons, to back away was to show fear and allow his opponent to close in—at that point, victory or defeat would be impossible to predict.

He thrust his longsword forward and, with uncanny accuracy, intercepted the true position of the short dagger amid the flurry of illusions.

Su Pei smiled coldly and twisted his wrist, catching Pei Min’s sword. His strange dagger, it turned out, had a notch, which he locked onto Pei Min’s blade. Then, with a sudden thrust of his left arm, another dagger glinted from his palm—

He had a second dagger hidden in his left hand, even faster than the first!

The right dagger was a feint; the left was the true killing strike.

“Well done!” Those familiar with Su Pei knew that when facing him for the first time, few survived not knowing he bore twin daggers. This series of moves had always proven effective; the outcome seemed certain.

“Too bad!” Those who had intended to vie for the fifty taels of gold but had been slower than Su Pei now regretted not acting sooner, seeing Pei Min seemingly caught.

Yet in this split-second, Pei Min raised his left arm.

Just as Su Pei’s dagger was about to land, it plunged into Pei Min’s scabbard!

This unexpected move drew a universal gasp of admiration.

After the thunderous applause, silence fell. After all, they had been hired by Jiang Bo and stood opposed to Pei Min; cheering for him was tantamount to bolstering the enemy’s morale. But the applause was already out—there was no taking it back. The crowd exchanged awkward glances and embarrassed smiles.

Jiang Bo’s face was a mix of shock and anger, but inside he was deeply shaken. Though he was no expert in martial arts, he had hired many great fighters and had picked up some knowledge. The eyesight, courage, confidence, and skill Pei Min had just displayed were far beyond the ordinary. He could not help but wonder: Who is this boy? Where did such a figure emerge from in Ji City?

With that move, Pei Min turned the tables. Where Su Pei had meant to seize him, he now held Su Pei’s hands captive.

Without hesitation, Pei Min drove his knee forward.

Su Pei, unable to withdraw his hands, instinctively thrust his hips back, loosening his grip.

But Pei Min’s attack was a feint. With a lift of his left hand and a twist of his right, he disarmed Su Pei of both daggers.

Disarmed, Su Pei shook his head with a sigh, knowing he had lost any chance at the fifty taels, and withdrew from the field.

Pei Min, recalling that last maneuver, felt a cold sweat break out on his back. The martial world was indeed full of wonders; when facing such wielders of strange weapons, one must be ever vigilant, lest a single misstep bring disaster.

He was just wondering who would step forward next when three figures advanced on him simultaneously.

The man on the left raised a heavy iron whip, bringing it down squarely; the one on the right swung a Tang saber in a slashing arc; the man in the middle thrust a great spear straight at him. The three shouted in unison:

“Luoyang’s Wei Ning, please teach me…”

“Jiuyuan’s Fang Qing, please teach me…”

“Guanzhong’s Cen Jie, please teach me…”

They had not coordinated their attack, but even now they were mindful of martial ethics—it would be shameful to gang up on a youth of barely twenty. In the martial world, honor might not outweigh life, but it could not be ignored.

But the fifty taels of gold were too tempting. Anyone with confidence in themselves could not resist. Su Pei’s earlier advantage had shown them: there was only one prize, and hesitation meant losing it. As soon as Su Pei left, the trio rushed in without a moment’s delay, as if they’d planned it together.

The heavy iron whip, Tang saber, and great spear each attacked Pei Min from different directions and angles, converging upon him all at once.