Colin Si was lucky—three arrows took out four people, wiping out the fugitives in the woods so thoroughly that there was no need to search further. But Logan Ling and the Eighteen Riders weren’t so fortunate.
Logan Ling and the Eighteen Riders were posted on the other flank, facing opponents who were both stronger and more skilled than Colin Si’s targets. After a long struggle and even sustaining injuries, they finally subdued Prince Damien of Southlyn and his men hiding in the woods, though the white-robed monster managed to escape.
“Young Marshal will laugh himself to death when we get back,” one of the Eighteen Riders joked, slinging his bow over his shoulder and dragging Prince Damien out. As for the others—
Sorry, there were no other survivors. If not for Serena Feng’s explicit orders, Prince Damien’s group would have been corpses too. Compared to the living, dead men are much safer.
Logan Ling said nothing, silently bringing up the rear. Ever since the foreign object was removed from his throat, Logan hadn’t spoken a word in front of others—he’d completely treated himself as mute.
Unable to accept his sharp, androgynous voice, Logan would rather be mute than speak again. Even Simon Sun couldn’t do anything about it.
Serena Feng received the signal and knew everything had gone smoothly. She waited at the crossroads ahead, and when she saw Colin Si and the Eighteen Riders escorting their captives out of the woods, she smiled—radiant and brilliant, her good mood shining through the gloomy weather.
It was the first time Serena had smiled so brightly since the news of Lance Quinn’s death—without a trace of shadow.
“Miss, we’ve got him. Please give your orders.” The Eighteen Riders had accompanied Serena Feng all this way; they knew how much Lance Quinn’s death had hurt her, and how badly she wanted Prince Damien dead. But Serena only glanced at Damien, then told them to hand him over to Ninth Royal Uncle.
Not going to kill Prince Damien? Not going to tear him limb from limb?
Colin Si and the Eighteen Riders both looked to Serena Feng, but she simply turned, vaulted onto her horse, and galloped away. “You all head back first. I just need to ride for a bit—I’ll return soon.”
“Quick, protect Miss!” The Eighteen Riders didn’t dare let Serena Feng go off alone. They leapt onto the nearest horses, but one figure was even faster, chasing after Serena and vanishing at the end of the path.
“Forget it, let her be alone for a while. She’s been wound too tight lately—she really needs to let loose.” With someone already protecting Serena, the Eighteen Riders reined in their horses and didn’t follow.
When Colin Si and the Eighteen Riders escorted Prince Damien of Southlyn and his subordinates back to camp, they found a crowd of martial world fighters besieging General Warren Yu, demanding an explanation.
“What’s going on?” Colin Si asked a young soldier. The soldier started out impatient, but on seeing Colin’s rank, immediately explained the situation in detail.
It turned out these jianghu fighters believed Ninth Royal Uncle and Serena Feng had used them, making them work for nothing and letting others claim the credit. They demanded Ninth Royal Uncle give them an explanation. They’d spent countless manpower and resources to capture Prince Damien—not to help the court, but to bring him back for their own justice.
Of course, none of them dared say it too bluntly in front of Ninth Royal Uncle. After expressing their dissatisfaction in roundabout ways, they asked him to hand Prince Damien over so they could give the martial world an explanation.
Grabbing credit.
Such things are common in both court and army. Yesterday, Ninth Royal Uncle and Serena Feng really did use them—without the martial world’s massive manhunt, Prince Damien would never have fallen into the trap.
These people got nothing from Ninth Royal Uncle and didn’t dare confront his stone-faced authority, so they went to pester General Warren Yu instead.
“General Yu, you really have it tough.” Colin Si managed to suppress a smile and slipped away to the command tent to report to Ninth Royal Uncle before General Warren Yu could notice him.
Serena Feng knew Night City had just fallen and things weren’t stable yet, so she hadn’t gone far. After a brisk ride, her mood improved a lot, and she turned her horse back toward camp.
After yesterday’s battle, the wounded camp would surely be overflowing today. Serena didn’t need to guess how busy Simon Sun and the others would be—she couldn’t afford to linger outside.
“I told you, if you want answers, go to Ninth Royal Uncle. I can’t make that decision.”
When Serena returned to camp, the jianghu crowd was still pestering General Warren Yu, who was too exhausted to even yell anymore. Serena gave him a sympathetic look, greeted the guards to confirm her identity, and headed for the wounded tent.
Dorian Owen spotted Serena from afar, nearly jumping with excitement: “Feng—”
“Don’t shout.” Luckily, Colin Si reacted quickly, clamping a hand over Dorian’s mouth and dragging him into a corner.
If Dorian had called out, the whole jianghu mob would have heard—and another commotion would erupt. These people all bully the soft and fear the hard; they wouldn’t dare trouble Ninth Royal Uncle, but they wouldn’t hesitate to target Serena.
“Mmmph, mmmph, mmmph…” Dorian struggled hard, but Colin was taller and much stronger from years of archery—he simply hoisted Dorian off the ground.
He’s—he’s going to choke me to death! Serena… help! Dorian stuck out his tongue, eyes rolling upward.
“If you don’t want to die, don’t shout,” Colin Si warned Dorian Owen again. Dorian nodded desperately, nearly out of breath.
As soon as Colin let go, Dorian collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, eyes brimming with tears. The first thing he did after catching his breath was kick Colin in the leg. “You trying to murder me?”
Hiss—Colin winced in pain, furious. He raised his hand to smack Dorian’s head, but seeing Dorian’s pitiful, childlike face, couldn’t bring himself to do it. Fine, not worth fighting with a kid.
“I was saving you, you know.” Colin ruffled Dorian’s hair—a surprisingly soft mop—then did it again.
“Hey!” Dorian slapped Colin’s hand away. “Get your paws off me! Left Shore says real men don’t let people mess with their hair.”
“A real man? You? You’re just a brat pretending to be tough.” Colin’s hand stung from the slap, and he looked at Dorian with new respect—maybe this supposedly soft assassin had some real skill after all.
“Who’s a brat? You’re the brat! Your whole family’s brats! I’m already an adult!” Dorian jumped up, bristling and shouting—though with all the hopping and yelling, nobody would believe he was anything but a kid.
Ahem… After his outburst, Dorian realized everyone nearby was moving slowly and giving him strange looks. Finally, the slow-witted assassin put two and two together and realized he’d embarrassed himself. He blamed it all on Colin, glaring fiercely. “Young Marshal whatever, I’ll remember you! Just wait—you’ve made an enemy, and I’ll make sure you never have a peaceful night again!”
Dorian spat out his threat, refused to let Colin explain, dusted off his pants, and dashed away.
“Hey—” Young Marshal Colin felt wronged. He’d meant well, but now it seemed he’d only caused trouble for himself.
“Is my luck finally running out?” Colin had a bad feeling.
Turning around, he saw the crowd had dispersed and was no longer besieging General Warren Yu. His sense of doom grew.
As far as he knew, Ninth Royal Uncle had originally planned to use Dominic Zhai to replace General Warren Yu in the army, but ended up choosing him instead. Was it because he knew these people were trouble, so he sent Colin to take the heat?