The moment word of Duan Canglong and Luo Hou reached him, Xiao Ke moved. He sounded the alarm, summoning every soldier in the camp.
Centurion Qin Bing may have called off the curfew, but by the dead of night, most of the men were back in their bunks. The shrill blast of the assembly whistle jolted them awake. Confusion gave way to instinct, and within three minutes, they were armed, assembled, and ready.
Xiao Ke was already behind the wheel of an armored truck. He gunned the engine, leading a furious convoy of soldiers as they tore through the darkness toward Ginkgo Town's only tavern.
They found it already surrounded. Men from the White Shark Battalion formed a perimeter, and as Xiao Ke's truck screeched to a halt, a Decurion and two of his grunts stepped forward to block their path.
"That's far enough," the Decurion said. "What do you think you're doing?"
Xiao Ke vaulted from the driver's seat. He took in the man before him, then scanned the cordon of White Shark soldiers, all of them armed and eyeing him with suspicion.
"Get out of my way," Xiao Ke said, his voice dangerously low.
The Decurion, a man named Liang Song, was one of Qiao Mingxuan's top enforcers—a Level 3 War Soldier. Technically, Xiao Ke, as a Centurion, outranked him. But Liang Song didn't see it that way. He knew his boss, Qiao Mingxuan, despised Xiao Ke and was just waiting for an excuse to crush him. Besides, everyone knew the Killer Whale Battalion was a joke—a ragtag collection of deserters and greenhorns. In an army that worshipped strength, the leader of a misfit crew like that barely registered next to a Decurion from a real legion.
So, he didn't move. A smirk played on his lips. "Who do you think you are? You get a little authority and suddenly you're a big shot. You can play emperor in your own little trash heap, but in front of the White Shark Battalion, you're less than nothing."
Xiao Ke's mind was on his men, bleeding or dying inside that tavern. He had no time for this. Seeing that Liang Song had no intention of moving, he let out a sharp, cold sigh, stepped forward, and threw a punch.
"You dare touch me?" Liang Song bellowed, a flash of outrage in his eyes. "You're asking for a world of hurt."
He was a Level 3. He knew Xiao Ke had beaten Qiao Dong, another Level 3, but that was different. Qiao Dong was a cheap knock-off, his rank artificially inflated with potential-enhancing drugs that had burned out his martial meridians. He had the title, but not the power. Liang Song, on the other hand, had earned his rank through sweat and blood. His meridians were forged strongly. He refused to believe he could lose to a mere Level 1 rookie.
He met Xiao Ke's attack with one of his own, throwing a punch meant to intercept and shatter.
Xiao Ke's fist wasn't fast, but it moved with an unnatural heaviness, like a mountain grinding forward. The air it displaced hissed with a strange, unsettling pressure that shook the confidence of those who heard it.
Liang Song's face went pale. He realized, a second too late, that while the punch carried little primeval energy, the raw, physical force behind it was terrifying. Like a cornered animal, he let out a choked cry and poured every ounce of power he had into his counterattack. The three nodes on his martial meridians flared to life, acting like supercharged engines pumping energy through his body and into his fist. He had to stop this punch.
But Xiao Ke had already ignited five of his bones, pushing his striking power past 600 pounds of force. Liang Song's 300-odd Kahe of meridian energy wasn't nearly enough.
The impact was a sickening, wet crunch that made everyone's skin crawl, followed by the sharp crack of splintering bone. Liang Song screamed—a raw, pig-like squeal of agony.
He flew backward and slammed into the dirt. When his men scrambled to help him up, the crowd gasped. His right arm hung limp and useless, twisted at an unnatural angle like a wrung-out towel. The bones within had been pulverized.
The sharp clack-clack of dozens of rifles chambering rounds shattered the stunned silence. The White Shark soldiers snapped their weapons up, aiming squarely at Xiao Ke and his men. Instantly, Liu Jinquan and the Killer Whale soldiers returned the favor, leveling their own rifles. The air grew thick with tension. Everyone knew that if a single person pulled a trigger, this street would run red with blood.
Through it all, Xiao Ke remained perfectly still. He let his gaze drift from the whimpering Liang Song to the hostile soldiers surrounding him.
"I am a Centurion of the Imperial Army," he said, his voice cutting through the tension. "And I report directly to Chiliarch Qin Bing. You have your guns aimed at a superior officer. Is this treason?"
A wave of uncertainty rippled through the White Shark ranks. The Killer Whale Battalion might be a joke, and Xiao Ke's rank might not mean much, but he was Qin Bing's man. She had promoted him herself. Pointing a gun at him was a line you didn't cross. If this were reported as an act of rebellion, they'd all face a firing squad.
One by one, they lowered their rifles.
Xiao Ke left the bulk of his forces outside to maintain the standoff and, with a few of his own Decurions, pushed his way into the tavern.
The place was destroyed. Broken bottles and splintered chairs littered the floor. Thrown across the wreckage were his men—thirty, maybe forty of them—battered and groaning. Duan Canglong and Luo Hou lay in widening pools of their own blood.
And sitting at an intact table amidst the chaos was Qiao Mingxuan. He casually swirled a drink in his hand, a mocking smile on his face as Xiao Ke entered.
"Xiao Ke," he said, raising his glass. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
Xiao Ke ignored him, rushing to Duan Canglong's side. He and Luo Hou were in bad shape—covered in bruises, faces swollen, ribs clearly broken. Only their sheer toughness had kept them alive.
Duan Canglong coughed, blood flecking his lips. "Boss… we screwed up. We brought this on you."
"Don't talk," Xiao Ke said, his voice gentle. "It's okay. Just rest. We'll handle this."
Liu Jinquan knelt beside him, his face a mask of fury. "Chief, they didn't hold back," he whispered. "Most of the guys have broken bones. And… five of them are gone. They're dead."
Xiao Ke's head snapped up. His eyes locked onto Qiao Mingxuan, who was still sipping his drink without a care in the world. The intensity of his stare made Qiao Mingxuan's smile falter.
"What's with that look?" Qiao Mingxuan demanded.
"It's the look you give a dead man," Xiao Ke said, his hand closing around the hilt of the Meng Jiang blade at his hip.
"Insolent!"
Qiao Mingxuan's two personal guards roared in unison. They drew their sabers and lunged, aiming to take Xiao Ke down before he could move.
But he was already in motion. The Meng Jiang blade slid from its sheath with a whisper of steel. He stepped forward, the blade arcing in a simple, horizontal slash—a textbook military strike. But backed by the full force of his body, the basic move became a thing of terrifying lethality.
Clang! Clang!
The guards' sabers shattered, sheared in two by the superior steel of the Meng Jiang. The follow-through of Xiao Ke's blade kissed both of their wrists, opening deep, bloody gashes. They cried out in pain, their grips failing as the broken remnants of their swords clattered to the floor. They scrambled backward, clutching their ruined hands, faces ashen with shock.
The onlookers were stunned, but they didn't credit Xiao Ke's skill. They credited his weapon. That blade, they thought, is impossibly sharp. They didn't understand that it was the fusion of the weapon's edge and the raw power in Xiao Ke's wrist that made the attack so devastating.
Qiao Mingxuan's expression soured. He wasn't just angry that his men had been so easily dispatched. He was furious seeing Xiao Ke wield that blade—the blade that should have been his.
All around the room, the rest of the White Shark soldiers raised their weapons again. Liu Jinquan and his men instantly mirrored them, ready to fight.
"Everyone, stand down!" Qiao Mingxuan's voice boomed through the tavern. "Put your weapons away. This is between him and me. I don't need your help to settle my own scores."
Xiao Ke gave his men the same order. "Stay out of this. This is personal."
The soldiers on both sides understood. This was a battle between Centurions. They were just pawns, and they had no place on the board right now.
Qiao Mingxuan set his glass down. He pulled the pistol from his belt, glanced at it, then at Xiao Ke, who stood ready with his saber. With a dismissive sneer, he placed the gun on the table. His hand went to the hilt of his own saber as he slowly advanced on Xiao Ke.
They stopped, five meters apart.
Qiao Mingxuan's eyes lingered on the Meng Jiang. "You have a lot of nerve," he said, his voice dripping with condescension, "flaunting my own blade in front of me. You've been itching for payback, haven't you? Blaming me for stealing your unit's glory. Well, here's your chance. A duel. Right here, right now. I'll use this standard-issue piece of steel, and you can use that pretty blade of yours. We settle this the old way. No rules, no interference. To the death. How does that sound?"
The Empire glorified martial prowess, and among the nobility, the duel was a sacred tradition. Thirty years ago, a prince and a poet had dueled over a woman at a royal ball; the poet won, leaving the prince dead on the marble floor. By imperial law, a duel, if mutually agreed upon and properly witnessed, was legally binding. The victor, even if he killed his opponent, would face no charges. The poet had walked away with the woman, a hero. The tradition had only grown stronger since.
Qiao Mingxuan was playing a clever game. Qin Bing had warned him to leave Xiao Ke alone. But a formal duel was different. If he killed Xiao Ke in a duel, her hands would be tied. Not even the military police could touch him.
But Xiao Ke was long past caring about rules and loopholes. Qiao Mingxuan had brutalized his men, murdered five of them, all to get at him. An old saying echoed in his mind: I did not kill Bo Ren, yet he died because of me. A wave of cold, righteous fury washed over him. This wasn't about revenge anymore. It was about justice.
He met Qiao Mingxuan's challenge without flinching, his chin held high. "I accept."
The room fell silent. Everyone stared, dumbfounded. Xiao Ke was a Level 1 War Soldier. Qiao Mingxuan was a Level 5 War General. The gap wasn't just a matter of levels; it was a chasm between two entirely different states of being.
The leap from War Soldier to War General was a monumental one. An average Level 3 Soldier might command around 300 Kahe of energy. A Level 4 General, the very next step up, wielded over 1,000. The difference in power was astronomical.
For a Level 1 to beat a Level 3 was surprising but not unheard of. For him to take down two Level 3s with a superior weapon was understandable. But for a Level 1 Soldier to challenge a Level 5 General? It wasn't brave. It was a death wish.
Qiao Mingxuan could hardly believe his luck. He was overjoyed. The kid must have snapped, broken by the sight of his dead men. But if he was stupid enough to ask for death, who was he to deny him?
A cruel, triumphant grin spread across his face. "Excellent. It seems tonight I'll be celebrating both your death and the return of my blade."
He drew his saber. Power began to gather around him as he activated his martial meridians. The five nodes within him ignited, thrumming with raw energy that surged through his body and poured into his weapon. The steel began to vibrate, emitting a low hum that grew into a high-pitched, keening wail that sounded almost like a dragon's roar.
Xiao Ke's face hardened. He could feel the immense pressure rolling off Qiao Mingxuan. This was power on a scale he had never faced before, a force far beyond any Level 3 soldier. He knew, with chilling certainty, that even with his own enhanced strength, he was probably no match for this man.
But it was too late. He was in too deep. There was no turning back.
His knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on the Meng Jiang, preparing for the fight of his life. It was a fight he knew he would almost certainly lose.