Sun Yanwan was stunned. "That sword released a green aura—am I in an immortal cultivation world, not just a martial one?"
The youth reacted swiftly. He flung his broken saber and leapt back over thirty feet through the inn's ruined entrance, landing lightly on the snow like a falling leaf. His lightness skill unfolded, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished.
Hu, the golden-faced man, dodged the flying saber with a sidestep and let out a shout before dashing out the broken doorway in pursuit.
The rest of the men followed, grabbing weapons from their fallen comrades or the blood-soaked snow. Some had been unarmed, but now no longer.
Seasoned fighters knew better than to stay in a battlefield. The older staff of the inn had long since fled. The cook, woken earlier, had never left the kitchen. Sun Yanwan, inexperienced and frozen in place, only now realized he should flee too—but it was too late.
He peered outside. Dead horses littered the ground—over ten of them. The youth's strikes had been merciless. The wounds had frozen; little blood remained. A few surviving horses neighed restlessly. Two bodies of Hu's men lay twisted in the snow, horrifying to behold. The youth had killed them as easily as the horses.
Sun Yanwan's heart stirred. "Is this like a loot drop? These guys, no matter their martial level, must be richer than the inn's staff. The dead—horses and men—must have valuables. If I can scavenge a bit, it could change my life. This kind of chance might not come again in years. I can't let it slip."
Though his legs were weak from fear, he forced himself into the snow and reached into one corpse's chest pocket. After a moment, he found a heavy money pouch—full of silver.
Suppressing a smile, he emptied the contents, kept only silver and coins, and returned the rest to the pouch before tucking it back into the man's clothes.
He was a transmigrator, after all—he knew to cover his tracks. If the pouch went missing, someone might notice. But the exact amount inside? That, no one would remember.
Not stopping there, he searched another corpse and found another pouch. He repeated the process, then went to a nearby tree and buried the loot under a pile of snow. If the innkeeper searched him, the money would be safe.
Shivering in the cold, he returned to the inn, heart racing with anticipation. "With that money, I can go south in the spring, find better work. If I could find a master and learn martial arts? Even better."
As he fantasized about the future, he stepped into the main hall—and froze.
The youth in the thick cotton robe and felt hat was sitting in a chair, propping his chin up with one hand, eyes glinting with amusement.
"You're pretty clever," the youth said lazily.
The killing intent in his gaze made Sun Yanwan's blood run cold. Without thinking, he dropped to his knees. "Disciple Sun Yanwan, humbly requests Master's guidance!"
The youth looked baffled, then suddenly burst out laughing. "You want me to be your master?"
Sun Yanwan answered, "I'm poor and low-born. Without someone like Master to lift me up, I'll spend my life scrubbing tables, dying nameless. That's a boring end, isn't it?"
The youth looked at him for a while. Then the killing intent vanished. He smiled. "Do something for me. If you do it well, I'll take you as a disciple."
Before Sun Yanwan could ask what it was, the youth raised a finger to his lips, then leapt lightly to the beam overhead, lying flat and vanishing from sight.
Inspired, Sun Yanwan ran outside and, with effort, dragged a corpse back inside. He removed a saber from the body and tossed it up. The youth caught it silently.
Wind howled. Snow flew. Seven or eight men burst in, catching Sun Yanwan with his hand at a corpse's nose. A scar-faced man barked, "Hey, what are you doing?!"
Sun Yanwan stammered, "I thought this guy moved. Maybe he's still alive. I didn't want him to freeze out there... I was checking."
Scarface's expression softened, and he stepped forward. But a cold voice interrupted, "Move."
Hu had returned. No one saw when he entered, but now he strode across the hall, pushing Sun Yanwan aside and crouching to check the body—
A flash of cold light. A saber dropped from the beam like lightning and impaled Hu through the back.
He let out a roar and leapt into the air, striking the beam with a thunderous palm that shattered the thick timber. The whole inn shook. Half the roof caved in.
Then Hu collapsed, gurgling. He writhed, clawed for the blade, but couldn't pull it free. Blood surged from the wound. He stopped moving.
The youth landed with a grin, not at all concerned with the crumbling roof. "Hu Fengwei is dead. Anyone else want to challenge me?"
The remaining men paled, shouted, and fled into the blizzard.
Sun Yanwan thought the youth might chase them—but the young warrior suddenly collapsed, coughing blood. Hu's palm had struck through the beam and wounded him badly.
Sun Yanwan rushed over. "Master! Where are you hurt? What can I do?"
The youth glanced at him, then smiled weakly. "You really have luck, kid. If I weren't injured, I'd be long gone. But now I need someone to take care of me."
Truth be told, he hadn't expected to kill Hu. The man's skills were far above his own. He'd only hoped to ambush a few grunts and vent his rage. But thanks to Sun Yanwan's quick thinking and daring, they pulled off a crude trap. Not only did he retrieve a weapon, but he also lured Hu close enough to expose his guard. One strike—and the grudge was ended.
The youth looked at Hu's corpse, satisfied. But the motion triggered his wound, and he spat more blood.
Still grinning, he said, "Help me pick two good horses. We need to leave now. If Hu Fengwei's men return, we're both dead."