4 Nine Years Later…(1)
[Nine years later]
Through the smoky haze, the figure of a very slim but short person in full armour wearing a metal mask of a horned smiling monster advanced towards the remaining group of ten enemy soldiers.
The figure dragged the sword along the earthen ground, creating a loud grating noise.
The grating sound of metal against the gravel made their skins crawl with the rising goosebumps. Behind the figure, a burning skeleton of a wooden house collapsed. And the enemy soldiers jumped.
They witnessed the inhuman speed of this figure mowing down their comrades. The enemy soldiers glanced around at the piling corpses of horses and men. Slashed off limbs and weapons laid scattered on the bloodied ground against the burning city of fallen buildings.
The sprawled body of their commander laid slain and bloodied several paces from the monstrous figure.
His head, in partial separation, from the gaping neck wound. His eyes stayed wide opened, mouth agape with a twisted expression on his blood splattered face.
Some soldiers quivered at the possibility of sharing his fate. They retreated in unison.
Burning from the surroundings illuminated the dark red liquid flowing out on the streets like streams staining their tattered war banners in the night.
From afar, they heard the heavy stomps of horses galloping, clashing weapons and blasts. Men shouted in the local accent of Yandi. Those men formed part of the invading Dayan army.
"LUORAN HAS FALLEN!"
"NO MERCY, KILL ALL ON SIGHT! SPARE NO ONE!"
Upon hearing those shouts of victory, the swords trembled in the enemy soldiers' hands.
The figure cornered them into a backend of a cindering alley. They cannot surrender because surrender meant certain death.
Some of them spotted the war banners emblazoned with a red fire totem fluttering in the air above a blazing one storey wooden house — the fearsome symbol of the Dayan Empire.
The city of Luoran has fallen into the hands of the Dayan Empire, an aggressive empire built on bloodshed on the central plains of the continent.
Blood continued to drip from the elongated blade of a long sword, with its dragon hilt gripped tight in the figure's hands. The dark eyes behind dirt smeared and blood splattered mask appeared to glow red.
"M-MONSTER!" One of the enemy soldiers cried out as he pushed his companions in front.
The figure continued walking towards them like a cat stalking its prey.
"Screw it, it's just one person," the other said.
"Yeah, I wanna go home too," the masked figure said.
The enemy soldiers stopped and looked at each other. Its voice sounded like a child. The way it dragged the sword on the path appeared to be a sign of exhaustion.
Either they fight or die.
Ten grown men against one child. Strength in numbers may help. A look here and a look there. No words needed. They nodded at each other in silent agreement, mustering their courage. So what if the figure before them is a demon?
They had to die trying. Or die doing nothing.
After a long silent pause, someone in their group yelled, "ATTACK IT!"
All of them charged forward. None of them had anything to lose except their lives. Better a chance at escape than none.
With a leap, the figure disappeared before them. The soldiers looked around in confusion. A black shadow flitted amongst them.
The fortunate ones saw a glint of metal before dying. Others felt the splatter of warm blood, then a slashing pain across their necks before succumbing to their wounds. Their eyes wide opened at the horror inflicted upon them. They died with their mouths opened but not a single cry uttered.
The last enemy soldier staggered forward, clutching his bleeding throat with blood spraying out before dropping to his knees and collapsing dead.
Like a phantom, the shadow manifested into the earlier figure who gazed around the burning city and swung the blade in the air to clear the moist blood left.
It lifted the mask, removed the mask, revealing Yinyue's face smeared with blood and ashes.
She kicked the nearest corpse aside.
The long strands of her loose ebony hair whipping across her face as the freezing wind brushed past. She lifted her blade against the smoky orange light for a look.
Her eyes inspected every inch of the metal with a finger caressing the side of the blade.
"Fuck their mothers," she cussed at the large chips on the iron blade, then popped her head up and added. "General Weiyong, report."
He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard her command on the turn of the corner. Her sharp hearing of a skilled martial artist detected his presence, despite their soldiers strolling past and the crackling sounds of burning buildings.
Their eyes met, and he held himself back from shuddering. The eyes are windows to a person's soul. He saw many emotions in the eyes of his soldiers, but not like hers. Her eyes pierced through like a sharp blade plunging into his soul. No hint of any emotion.
The face belonged to Emperor's 13th child, Grand Prince Yinyue, a girl who held the title of a Grand Prince, first in their history. Her eyes betrayed only the lack of a human soul within the body.
She inherited the personality of the Dayan Emperor — cold and ruthless, without a shred of mercy.
General Weiyong only wondered about the other princesses who never needed to join military battles. If placed in Yinyue's shoes, would they be the same?
After all, heartlessness ran in all imperial families. For the right to rule, they killed each other.
Until the battle today, General Weiyong doubted her ability when she joined their military expedition. With the Emperor's edict, no option existed to refuse the orders. To him, a weak young girl had no place in the killing fields where men even hesitated to enter.
His Emperor created this little monster with an insatiable bloodlust and an innocent look to deceive others into lowering their guard.
Before they set off, he consulted previous generals who served alongside her in previous deployments. Not a single negative opinion given. He wondered if they feared punishment for telling the truth.
Like the other princes, she trained in the Shadow Pavilion, a place reputed for producing elite killers. Unlike the mention of other princes, a mention of her brought a look of awe mixed with fear in the other generals' eyes.
Three generals described her as the 'Killing God', leaving rivers of blood alongside fields of enemy corpses to waste in her destructive trail. Give her a platoon and she could wreak havoc in the enemy camp with the most underhanded methods.
Not that anyone minded her lack of morality or honour — honour didn't matter, only victory did.
She rose from a princess to an Imperial Prince at ten years old. Sent into battles at eleven and within four years, a Grand Prince after leading troops to subdue marauding tribes in the troublesome western front, assassinating rebel commanders and squashing a major rebellion.
He knelt down and bowed his head while forming the military fist and palm salute.
"Dispense with the formalities…," Yinyue said and paused, looking around before sheathing her sword.
He got up, hesitant at first.
"…especially on battlegrounds," she said.
Her calm voice and steady posture chilled him. Two arrows pierced through her back armor near her vital organs a day ago. The physicians dug the arrowheads out of her without using numbing powder.
Doesn't she feel pain?
Even his son of the same age suffered similar injuries, stayed in bed groaning until he recovered on the first military expedition.
"My Prince, we captured some women and children of the Gaoyang soldiers. What should we do with them?"
