Chapter Nineteen: The Black Bear Caravan

By now, Hu San had already determined that this caravan was not under the protection of Wolfheart Fortress, nor did it possess the qualifications to traverse its territory. This brought to mind the peculiar customs of the vast Qilian Mountains.

Through months of observation, Hu San gradually came to understand a crucial truth: every established fortress in these mountains was backed by a powerful caravan. Caravans supplied the fortresses with necessary goods and weapons, while the fortresses provided safe passage through the treacherous terrain, acting as protective talismans. The Qilian Mountains, though filled with ignorant villagers and savage beasts, produced countless treasures of nature, making the region a veritable goldmine.

Every year, caravans flocked to the Qilian Mountains from the outside world. If they managed to exit unscathed, profits were assured. Yet, faced with countless bandits, even those with fortress protection rarely made it through. Thus, the current situation emerged: each caravan displayed its emblem openly and was guarded by skilled warriors. If the passing bandits respected the emblem, all was well; if not, a bloody confrontation was inevitable.

Hu San did not recognize the meaning of the semicircular emblem, but Zhou Xing certainly did.

“That’s the mark of Bearclaw Fortress, Captain Zhou. Should we consult the Third Lord before making any decisions?” The bandits’ faces changed dramatically when they spotted the semicircular mark embroidered on the caravan’s wagons. One bandit captain, his head wrapped in white brocade, shivered and turned to Zhou Xing.

This ambush was entirely Zhou Xing’s responsibility; none of the other bandit captains had been briefed. Unexpectedly, they were targeting a caravan under Bearclaw Fortress’s protection. The Third Lord and the two commanders were absent; in matters of such gravity, Zhou Xing lacked the authority to act alone.

“What of Bearclaw Fortress?” Zhou Xing sneered, easily discerning the captain’s attempt to shirk responsibility. The caravan moved swiftly, soon to cross into another bandit’s territory. The Third Lord was still at Wolfheart Fortress; even if they sought his counsel, there would be no time for a reply.

He understood their apprehension. Bearclaw Fortress was one of the few large strongholds comparable to Wolfheart Fortress. To be frank, Bearclaw Fortress was the established power, whereas Wolfheart Fortress had only risen in recent years; in terms of foundation, it perhaps still lagged behind. The bandits, seasoned and cunning, had long heard Bearclaw’s reputation. Zhou Xing’s authority was insufficient to convince them to attack a Bearclaw-protected caravan.

But Zhou Xing did not need their conviction—only their action.

Since the annexation of Fangtooth Fortress, Wolfheart and Bearclaw Fortresses had become bitter enemies. Others might not know this, but Zhou Xing, as the chieftain’s confidant, was well aware.

“This is Wolfheart territory. I don’t care about Bearclaw Fortress or any other. Even if the King himself comes, without our travel pass, no one gets through. Gentlemen, the time has come to earn your glory. Let me be clear: anyone who falters or shirks will answer to me later.” With another cold laugh, Zhou Xing cast a chilling glance at the assembled bandits. Once the caravan entered the ambush zone, he gave a sudden wave, triggering the traps. Logs rolled down the mountainside, blocking both front and rear in the caravan’s panic.

Thick horse-tripping ropes sprang up. Under wary glances from the caravan guards, Zhou Xing gripped his long blade, charging out of hiding as the first attacker. Though anxious, the bandits dared not hesitate, fearing later retribution. With wild cries, they transformed their dread into resolve, surging forward like tigers descending from the mountain.

Rain drizzled.

With a long neigh, the caravan wagons rushed forward, forming a defensive circle. Guards and riders clustered inside, weapons drawn and ready. Clearly, those daring to travel Qilian had military discipline; otherwise, they would not have survived this long.

To Hu San’s eye, the guards were tense but unshaken, weapons held tightly, composure intact. The five wagons, forming a makeshift wall, combined with a dozen longbows inside, would exact a heavy toll on any bandits hoping to break through.

Zhou Xing noticed this as well. The bandits encircled the caravan, blocking every escape route, but did not order an immediate assault.

After a brief pause, the wagons opened a narrow gap. Protected by two sturdy warriors, an elderly man in a brocade robe emerged. His gaze was sharp; though aged, he remained vigorous, clearly accustomed to the ways of the world. With a single glance, he identified the leader here, stepping toward Zhou Xing and stopping five paces away.

The elder clasped his hands in greeting. “We are new to these parts. If we have disturbed the great lord, I beg forgiveness. A humble token, unworthy, but may the lord accept it kindly.”

At his signal, two men brought forth heavy chests, placing them before Zhou Xing. The elder opened the lids himself, revealing a dazzling array of silver ingots, neatly stacked—roughly one or two hundred taels by estimation.

“Ha! You’re too modest, old sir. As they say, acquaintance deepens with each meeting.” Zhou Xing’s eyes brightened. He waved for his men to take the chests, then continued, “You are good friends. By our rules, friends are always welcomed. Since we’ve been remiss in hospitality, we must make amends with wine. If you would honor me, please visit our fortress.”

“Of course, we must not neglect the valiant heroes here. Our fortress is small but picturesque. You’ve traveled far; it’s the perfect time to rest, and allow me to play host.”

As Zhou Xing finished, the elder’s face darkened despite his earlier relief at the acceptance of the silver. Years spent roaming the land taught him to read Zhou Xing’s intentions—if he missed it now, his life’s experience would amount to nothing.

As the guards retreated toward the wagons, the elder grew stern. “We are pressed for time, and night is upon us. We won’t trouble the lord further. Your kindness is noted, and shall be repaid another day.”

The elder harbored a trace of hope. He had heard of the Fangtooth bandits—mere rabble, he believed, unaware that the fortress had changed hands months ago.

Alas...

What chilled the elder was Zhou Xing’s abrupt gesture. “That’s not the way friends speak. We mountain bandits are poor and unlettered, rough in our ways, ignorant of etiquette. If someone gives me an ounce of respect, I return three. If someone insults me, what do I do?”

He turned to the bandits behind him.

The bandits, well-trained in this ritual, brandished their blades and shouted in unison, “We’ll wipe out their whole family!”

“You—” The elder’s face grew grim, lips trembling as if to speak, but before he could, a youth appeared by the wagon.

The youth, about fifteen or sixteen, was handsome and clearly bred in luxury—no comparison to a rustic like Hu San.

“How dare you! Have you not seen our emblem? We are a caravan under Bearclaw Fortress’s protection. If you know what’s good for you, stand aside. Otherwise, you’ll bring disaster upon yourselves!”

The moment the youth spoke, the elder shuddered, closed his eyes, and sighed deeply.

He knew the youth’s words had sealed their fate—there would be no quarter now. If the bandits feared Bearclaw Fortress, they would not interfere; if not, stating it would only harden their resolve to slaughter.

That was why the elder avoided mentioning Bearclaw during the negotiation. But he had not counted on others bringing it up—clearly, the youth was one such.

“So be it. Now it depends on their attitude. If it comes to nothing, we fight.”

Opening his eyes, the elder signaled his guards to retreat into the defensive circle.

Silence fell. Both caravan guards and bandits awaited Zhou Xing’s decision; Bearclaw Fortress was not merely a name.

“That youth is truly reckless,” Hu San thought, hidden behind a tree, observing everything. Initially uncertain, he now understood: the atmosphere had grown tense, and a brutal battle was inevitable.

“A Bearclaw caravan? How fortunate. I was just about to invite you to our fortress for a friendly exchange. Perhaps you’ll introduce me to your benefactors.”

“Brothers, bring our guests up the mountain!”

With a sinister grin, Zhou Xing’s face turned savage. He wasted no more words, signaling attack.

The bandits surged forward; the caravan guards, under the elder’s command, readied their blades and spears.

Arrows whistled through the air, slicing through time itself, appearing on the battlefield.

A dull cry—a bandit, charging forward, suddenly staggered. Hu San saw a long arrow drop from the sky, striking him in the neck with such force it flung him aside.

Dust flew amid the wails; the first casualty of the battle had fallen.

“Kill!”

Perhaps the bandit’s death stirred his comrades’ grief, or perhaps the heat of battle finally ignited. The attacking bandits shed their earlier hesitation, pouncing like starving wolves in Hu San’s view.

Soon, the wagon formation was breached. Zhou Xing led a group of elite bandits, piercing into the caravan’s defenses like a dagger, weaving through their ranks.

His blade flashed—Zhou Xing transformed his weapon into a scythe of death; the caravan guards fell before him, unable to withstand even a single exchange.

“Horizontal Blade!”

Hu San’s eyes gleamed, focusing all his attention on Zhou Xing, comparing his own technique to Zhou Xing’s execution of the Horizontal Blade.