Chapter 1: Fighting for Life, the Great Qin Martial Guard

The setting sun was like blood.

The dilapidated bluestone city walls were mottled with blood-colored reflections under the sunset, revealing a sense of desolation and sorrow.

The wind whistled coldly as it passed through the broken walls and ruins, carrying a faint scent of blood.

"Cough, cough..."

The smoke from the burning buildings rushed into his lungs, waking the young soldier in gray-black leather armor who had been lying by the broken wall.

His name was Zhang Yuan. He had just turned sixteen this year and had taken over his late father’s position, becoming a newly recruited Ninth-Rank Constable of the Luyang Prefecture in the Great Qin Empire.

Now, he had been conscripted by the Red Scale Army stationed in Fengtian County, Luyang Prefecture, to defend the city to the death.

For three months, a two-hundred-thousand-strong Yan army had besieged the city. Of the three thousand defenders of Fengtian, fewer than eight hundred remained.

Half a day ago, during a skirmish, Zhang Yuan had been separated from his comrades. He fought his way out and fled into the ruins of the streets to hide.

Just now, while he was unconscious from exhaustion, his consciousness had drifted into a hazy, dreamlike state.

In that dream, he had become a Zhang Yuan who wore dark blue military uniforms and gold-rimmed glasses, living in a place called Huaxia.

In Huaxia, there were chariots that spat fire.

In Huaxia, there were iron birds that soared through the nine heavens.

In Huaxia, there were Dongfeng divine arrows that always reached their targets.

In Huaxia, every inch of land was fought for, and the soldiers were like a torrent of steel.

In his dream-memory, the flying warship Zhang Yuan was riding crossed the void and came to an abrupt halt after colliding with a colossal bronze coffin ten thousand zhang high.

"Huaxia... Great Qin..."

The soreness in his muscles and bones brought Zhang Yuan back to the reality of life.

Pain meant he was alive.

Pain meant the illusion had dissipated, returning him to the truth.

There was no Huaxia here, only the Great Qin.

A Great Qin that was no less brilliant than Huaxia, perhaps even more magnificent!

"Right, my name is Zhang Yuan, and my father was a Ninth-Rank Constable of Luyang Prefecture..."

"I am a Great Qin Constable. A son succeeds his father, a younger brother follows his elder; I am a Great Qin warrior who will die a hundred times without regret for my Great Qin."

Zhang Yuan raised his head and looked at the figures walking toward the alley entrance ahead. The images from his dream faded into the depths of his mind.

Gripping the hilt of his blade, Zhang Yuan held his breath and relaxed his body, disguising himself as a corpse in hopes of avoiding detection.

There were three Yan soldiers ahead; he had no confidence in surviving a fight against them.

"These 'black-skinned dogs' have such hard bones. They've been besieged for three months, and even though they're almost all dead, they still won't surrender."

"Indeed. The one I killed just now had his neck half-severed, yet he was still staring at me with his eyes wide open. That look..."

"They're old Qin people, after all. In the end, we were considered Qin people once, too. What a pity..."

The three black-armored soldiers whispered, seemingly convinced that Zhang Yuan was just a corpse, their footsteps gradually fading away.

Three hundred years ago, the Qin Empire's Marquis of Yanbei, Murong Zhao, rebelled under the bewitchment of evil spirits and occupied a commandery to establish the state of Yan.

For these three hundred years, Yan had continuously invaded and plundered Qin territory.

Only when the footsteps had vanished did Zhang Yuan let out a long sigh of relief. Just as his body, slumped against the broken wall, prepared to stand up, he suddenly shuddered and rolled forward with all his might.

*Clang—*

The sound of a spear piercing the broken wall rang out, vibrating through the air.

"Haha, this black-skinned dog actually knew how to play dead!"

"If you really wanted to play dead, you shouldn't have gripped your blade so tightly!"

The Yan soldier holding the spear laughed loudly, retracted his weapon, and swung it horizontally.

*Whoosh—*

The spear whistled as it swept toward Zhang Yuan’s waist.

Zhang Yuan dared not block the shaft with his blade and could only retreat in a flurry.

An inch longer, an inch stronger. A spear thrust by a battle-hardened soldier could shatter a bluestone the size of a head; it was not something the three-foot steel blade in Zhang Yuan’s hand could block.

Outside the broken wall, the other two Yan soldiers—one holding a short blade and a round shield, the other a heavy axe—scanned the area with vigilance.

This street was a chaotic battleground near the city gate; soldiers from both sides could appear at any moment.

After retreating three steps, Zhang Yuan’s back hit a cold corner, the hard wall causing his back to tense.

In front of him, the black-armored soldier with the spear shook his weapon, creating a bowl-sized spear-flower, and stepped forward, forcing Zhang Yuan into a desperate situation.

Watching the vibrating spearhead, the soreness in Zhang Yuan’s body vanished, and he felt as if his very breathing had ceased.

This was a moment of life and death.

His eyes were locked on the spearhead, his hand on the hilt slowly relaxing.

The veteran of the Red Scale Army who had trained him once told him: when facing a spear, you must keep your eyes on the tip and strike the moment it thrusts.

To break a spear with a blade, you only have one chance.

That veteran had died two months ago.

His throat had been pierced by a spear.

*Hum—*

The vibrating spear thrust toward Zhang Yuan’s chest. The faint whistling sound from the tip told him just how fast this strike was.

Such a rapid strike would surely pierce his leather armor and run him through.

The spearhead was two feet from Zhang Yuan’s face in an instant.

Zhang Yuan could feel the icy chill of the blade and the wild, murderous intent in the opponent’s eyes.

In battlefield combat, life and death are decided in a single strike.

The spearhead was one foot away!

The chill radiating from the tip seemed to pierce through Zhang Yuan’s chest and abdomen.

Now!

Zhang Yuan flipped his blade from a vertical grip to a horizontal one, edge facing upward, and flicked it forward with an arm that had long been coiled with tension.

*Screech—*

The blade scraped against the spear shaft, producing a harsh, grating sound.

The spearhead shuddered, deflected upward by two feet, and passed over Zhang Yuan’s head, slamming into the broken wall with a *ding* and sending sparks and stone fragments flying.

The black-armored soldier, having missed his strike, let out an angry roar and pulled the spear back, preparing to thrust again.

He would not be given a second chance!

If he thrust again, Zhang Yuan would surely die!

"Kill—"

With a low shout, Zhang Yuan took a step forward as the opponent retracted his spear, his left hand darting out to grab the man’s throat.

This was a variation of the "Iron Armor Fist" used in the military; a punch meant for the chest had transformed into a claw, extending his reach by the length of his fingers.

He gripped with such force that the moment he caught the man’s neck, he tore through the skin, leaving five bloody gouges.

His fingers crushed the man’s windpipe, causing the black-armored soldier’s face to flush red as blood.

The soldier tried to retreat, but Zhang Yuan’s right hand, holding the blade horizontally, slashed diagonally across the man’s waist.

*Puchi.*

The blade sliced through the gap in the soft leather armor at the man’s waist, drawing a spray of blood.

The black-armored soldier groaned in pain, dropped his spear, and grabbed Zhang Yuan’s arm with both hands.

Outside the broken wall, the soldier with the heavy axe realized the situation had turned and charged over with a roar.

Zhang Yuan did not let go of the man’s neck, instead lifting his right knee and slamming it into the man’s abdomen, right into the wound he had just opened. Blood and viscera burst forth.

*Bang—*

The impact made the soldier shudder and collapse, his grip on Zhang Yuan’s arm loosening.

Zhang Yuan pulled back his left hand, gripped his blade with both hands, and raised it high.

"How dare you—"

The soldier with the heavy axe roared as he charged toward Zhang Yuan.

Zhang Yuan did not hesitate, bringing his blade down in a single strike.

*Puff—*

The blade sheared through the neck bone with a sound like grinding teeth. A spray of bright red blood erupted, and as the head rolled away and the body collapsed, the sounds intertwined, revealing the unique, tragic beauty of the battlefield.

In battlefield combat, life and death are decided in a single strike.

Kill the enemy, risk your life.

Great Qin Warrior.

A new book sets sail; time to kill once more.

(End of chapter)