Chapter Fifty-Three

Surrounded and attacked from both sides, Xin Changhe stood no chance. Their method of targeting enemies relied on sight, and their combat style depended on close-quarters fighting within two or three meters. If they couldn't keep up in speed, their defeat was inevitable. Within just two minutes, three arrows pierced his back, and as he fell from his horse, barely clinging to life, more arrows rained down upon him. In that final moment, he finally understood: "Ranged combat truly is superior to melee. If I keep playing the fool, I'm doomed." As for Xin Changhe's companion, he had already been struck through the chest by a second arrow and fallen from his horse long ago.

Once both men lay dead, their bodies riddled with arrows and motionless for some time, only then did the five approach. As soon as they drew near, Liu Dahuo immediately beheaded them. Only after both heads were separated did the five finally relax and begin to loot the bodies. "Two horses! Now our chief can finally patrol the mountains with us!" Liu Yun exclaimed with delight.

The others nodded in agreement. They were all very satisfied with their new chief—he always thought of them first when there was something good, the division of labor was fair, and he acted decisively. Even someone like Helan Jia, who’d been a background figure herding livestock on the outskirts of Black Tiger Stronghold for over a decade, had been captured under his leadership.

Their attention turned to the weapons. "Shall we give these to the chief?" "We still have a merchant caravan to deal with. Su Bing, you take these to the chief, the rest of us will go back and rob the caravan, and then hand everything over to the chief to distribute."

Thus, the five split up. Four headed back along the road toward the caravan.

Meanwhile, at the other end, the merchants were growing anxious. Those who had gone to fight had long since disappeared, and no one knew how the battle had gone. "Young Hero Wei, perhaps we should leave now," one merchant suggested. Wei Chengguang sneered, "Xin is a disciple of the Meteorite Sect and wields the Meteorite Flail. What are you afraid of?"

The merchant felt reassured. True, while the Meteorite Sect wasn’t the strongest force in Youzhou, when it came to close combat, no one could withstand more than a few blows—a single strike from that flail caused massive fractures at best and instant death at worst.

Glancing at his caravan, the merchant mused, "Thank goodness that damned Black Tiger Stronghold was wiped out, otherwise I’d have had to hire even more escorts. Maybe I can do with one less next time."

After waiting an hour, the caravan finally heard hoofbeats. Wei Chengguang happily jumped out of his carriage. "They’re back!" But soon he realized something was wrong—there were four people, not two. "That’s not Xin!" Instinctively, Wei reached for his weapon, but the Meteorite Flail, usually as light as a feather in his hands, now felt as heavy as a mountain. His arm felt as limp as a straw rope, pain shooting through it, and he immediately let go.

The merchant witnessed it all, his face ashen. The four newcomers stopped not far away and casually tossed two round objects toward them. "Drop your weapons and surrender if you want to live."

Ten minutes later, everyone’s hands were tied, and they were herded toward Black Tiger Stronghold, forced to drive their own wagons.

Half an hour later, Cheng Yuan gazed at the captured caravan, disbelief in his eyes. "You actually caught them." Wei Chengguang was filled with shame. This bandit gang’s overall strength was lower than his, yet they had still managed to subdue all three of the caravan’s escorts. From his perspective, it was as if a group of minions had taken down a hero unit.

Cheng Yuan found it hard to believe as well. "This mounted archer unit is almost broken." At that moment, Wei Chengguang looked up. "You’re not an NPC?" "No, I’m not."

The two stared at each other, eyes wide. "Wait, Black Tiger Stronghold, mounted archers… Are you playing war mode in this martial arts world?" Cheng Yuan quickly waved his hands. "Not at all, not at all." "Really?" "Look into my clear eyes—would I lie to you?"

Wei Chengguang looked into Cheng Yuan’s deep black eyes—so clear and honest it was almost disarming, especially with his delicate features. For some reason, he felt a sense of straightforward sincerity.

Suddenly, Wei Chengguang realized something—this style of play was actually quite fun. With such a high degree of freedom, doggedly following the main quest seemed rather foolish.

Ancient warfare? As a scholar who spent his days using tiny brushes to clean ruins, this was hardly unfamiliar to him. "Alright, I’ll join you." Cheng Yuan was taken aback. "I was planning to just charge you a toll and let you go—wait, you actually want to stay?" "Chief, I’m willing."

Cheng Yuan picked up his weapon. Grabbing an ordinary bow and arrow from nearby, he closed his eyes. "Devour." This online game centered on weapons—the stronger your weapon, the greater your combat power. Cheng Yuan understood that it was all about sharing traits.

Weapons were divided into four tiers: Common, Named, Spirit, and Divine. Weapons casually crafted by ordinary smiths were considered Common. Named weapons had specialized forging recipes and far surpassed Common ones in strength—hence their names, like Xin Changhe’s Meteorite Flail or the late chief’s Black Tiger Blade.

Spirit Weapons were created by master craftsmen, requiring the union of heaven, earth, and man. Born with sentience, they could choose their own masters and had their own wills. With a Spirit Weapon, one could become a regional warlord. Divine Weapons existed only in legend.

But a weapon’s grade was not set in stone. There was a way to elevate it—through ascension. A Common weapon could devour a Named weapon, or a large number of Common weapons, to ascend. However, the further one went down this path, the more specialized the weapon would become—since weapons also had compatibility. Random devouring would not lead to ascension, although devouring rare treasures could also work.

Cheng Yuan watched as the dozens-of-kilograms-heavy Meteorite Flail slowly disintegrated, its fragments swirling around the bow and arrow. The once ordinary weapon gradually became adorned with dark red patterns. As the Meteorite Flail vanished, the bow and arrow transformed—the weight and size increased, strictly speaking, it became much heavier. It had leapt directly from a Common weapon to a Named weapon. Upon successful ascension, Cheng Yuan automatically acquired the forging recipe for the Named weapon—this was the first Meteorite Heavy Bow in the world.

At the same time, the skill "Meteorite Archery" was uploaded into Cheng Yuan’s mind. By now, Wei Chengguang’s face had gone from flushed to deathly pale—paler than a corpse in a horror film. In this world where martial prowess was used to nurture weapons, "nurturing" was far more than mere cleaning and maintenance. Simply carrying a weapon would allow it to absorb one’s vital energy, automatically draining stamina and health. But with the shared traits, at most it was like lending a bit of blood to a temporary reservoir—nothing he couldn’t handle.

However, if a weapon was suddenly devoured or left out of reach for a long time, the bond would be abruptly severed—like having a vital organ ripped out at full health.

Cheng Yuan soon felt a warm current flowing from the bow and arrow—strengthening the weak, his own vital energy would recover over time. He untied Wei Chengguang’s hands. "From now on, you’re one of us at Black Tiger Stronghold. Go pick a horse and choose a weapon." "Chief, do you have any spears?" "I think so."