Chapter Twenty-Three: None Can Withstand, Ennobled on the Field of Battle

The halberd swept across, carrying a gale in its wake. Tong Zhi danced his long spear like a willow branch swaying in the wind, conjuring layers of overlapping spear shadows to meet the assault, while simultaneously kicking his feet free of the stirrups.

He knew better than to rely on softness to overcome hardness. After all, a few ounces could not deflect a thousand pounds, nor could a basin of water extinguish a wildfire. Yet, by dissipating the force layer by layer, his cultivation was sufficient to save his own life.

The halberd descended with the weight of a mountain. The spear shadows shattered, and Tong Zhi was flung from his saddle, crashing toward the roadside. However, after sweeping him aside, the attacker didn't spare him a second glance, urging his horse straight toward the main command post.

Tong Zhi hit the ground, rolled, and lay flat. He rolled his eyes back and forced a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth—he had done his part. It was one thing to fight a winning battle for Prince Jiu, or to serve him once he ascended the throne of Wu; but as things stood, with no bond of loyalty between them, the idea that someone like Tong Zhi would die for a mere heir-apparent was out of the question.

The warhorse, Black God, neighed and charged forward, hooves thundering. Lu Wu spun his halberd in a blur, deflecting seven or eight arrows, his eyes locked firmly on a middle-aged man dressed in pure black woven silk, standing amidst the ranks of the Golden Guard.

In the traditions of the nobility, black was the most prestigious color, and woven silk the most prized material. It was almost certain that this man, standing behind layers of guards, was Prince Jiu.

Prince Jiu’s face drained of color. He was not merely startled by Lu Wu’s gaze. As a son of the late King of Wu and a survivor of the treacherous royal court, he possessed no lack of courage, especially with his coronation set for the morrow. Yet, under the gaze of the golden-crowned knight, his body tightened as if a rope had been coiled around his soul.

He had heard the legends. Every royal child was warned during their upbringing: this was the sensation of having one’s soul locked by a master. Martial artists of the third rank and above, who had attained the innate state and could sense the world, were capable of projecting their spirit—and soul-locking was one such terrifying ability.

A master of the innate realm could not, however, lock the soul of a "noble." Nobles were protected by the aura of destiny, which would disperse any such spiritual imprints. But this referred to those of great renown; a common aristocrat, before rising to power, was just as vulnerable as anyone else. And yet, Prince Jiu was on the verge of becoming the King of Wu; his destiny should be at its zenith, impervious to even the most skilled occultists. How could he be locked by a mere glance?

Unless his destiny itself had shifted! *Could this man be the cause?*

***

Morale is the lifeblood of an army. The failure of the so-called "Sword God" An Lian might have been overlooked by the rank-and-file, but the loss of Shi Lie and Tong Zhi was catastrophic. Shi Lie, in particular, was a man of immense strength and charisma, revered by the Golden Guard. Seeing him reduced to a mist of blood by a single strike of a halberd shattered the soldiers' spirit. As Lu Wu charged into their ranks, the front lines broke, soldiers fleeing to either side in terror.

Prince Jiu looked left and right, panic mounting. His attendants, all experts of the fourth rank or higher, lowered their heads, some even surreptitiously backing away. They knew the truth: An Lian, one of the strongest masters in the court, had been countered so violently that his own sword aura had backfired, leaving him crippled.

The realization crushed Prince Jiu. The attacker was relentless, his own guards were useless, and there was no time to flee.

How arduous his path to the throne had been! Through years of meticulous maneuvering, he had finally established himself in the Ministry of Rites. Despite the King’s suspicion—fueled by his mother’s Chu heritage—and the military’s disdain, he had persisted. His brother, Prince Yuan, had gained favor effortlessly, and it was only through Jiu’s own secret efforts that the army had been supplied. Now, with his father dead and his position precarious, he had been forced to trade two cities to a Chu master to have his brother assassinated.

*Where is that master now?* he wondered desperately. He needed to buy time.

"I hereby grant you the title of Earl of the Southern Frontier!" Prince Jiu bellowed. "Join me, and together we shall strike at the might of Chu!"