Immediately after, a guard fired a crossbow, and Peter King led his men in a charge.

Henry Clark hadn’t even had time to bend down and unlock the shackles on William Thompson’s feet before he turned pale with fright, trembling like a leaf.

He was indeed a thief from the underworld, but the underworld figures from the prosperous Lin’an Prefecture were nothing like these Yangtze River bandits. The big bosses in Lin’an would even go out with folding fans in hand...

Yet William Thompson remained remarkably calm, holding a sword defensively in one hand and pressing down on Henry Clark’s head with the other, saying, “Unlock mine too.”

Henry Clark hurriedly crouched down, shrinking at William Thompson’s feet like an ugly little dog.

“Unlock it,” William Thompson said, his tone calm yet commanding.

This gave Henry Clark a small sense of security. He crouched there, hands shaking as he fumbled with the shackles on William Thompson’s feet, thinking to himself that William Thompson must be a martial arts expert.

“Jiang Xing is dead,” William Thompson glanced at the situation and made his judgment.

Thomas Reed looked like a highly skilled fighter; if he was dead, it must have been due to carelessness.

William Thompson quickly glanced at George White, seeing that he had curled up into a ball...

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone rushing up.

William Thompson swiftly thrust his sword...

...

“Water Earthworm” Old Six didn’t take William Thompson seriously at all.

In his eyes, this young man was tall and thin, prettier than any woman he’d seen, and the sword in his hand was surely just for show.

Old Six liked sneak attacks, not head-on fights, and was unwilling to charge at the two guards with Peter King, so the moment he saw William Thompson turn his head, he lunged with his dagger.

An inch shorter, an inch more dangerous.

Old Six understood this principle, but he was confident that before William Thompson could even raise his sword, his dagger would slice off that sword-wielding hand.

But in that split second, William Thompson neither defended nor blocked, simply thrust his sword.

The key was in the movement of his legs.

His mind was as calm as still water; fencing is a sport for the wise, testing one’s split-second decisions...

...

“My hands are shaking, my hands are shaking...”

Henry Clark was struggling to control his hands as he tried to unlock the shackles on William Thompson’s feet.

But the trembling wouldn’t stop, and the wire kept missing the right spot.

Suddenly.

“Ow!”

Henry Clark cried out as William Thompson kicked him to the ground.

Blood splattered onto his forehead. Henry Clark looked up, stunned...

...

In that instant, Old Six lunged, William Thompson struck, and Henry Clark was kicked to the ground.

There was a faint “squelch” sound.

The longsword pierced straight through Old Six’s throat, blood dripping onto Henry Clark’s forehead.

The sword tip, slick with blood, slid by smoothly and lightly, as if it wasn’t killing at all.

But Old Six had been run through by that sword...

“Unlock my shackles,” William Thompson said.

He quickly stepped back, withdrew his sword, and Old Six’s body collapsed.

William Thompson turned to look and saw that the river bandits had already killed the two guards.

“Unlock it,” William Thompson urged again, trying to keep his tone in check so as not to frighten Henry Clark.

But the river bandits had already seen his sword strike and were now turning to attack him.

Roars of rage erupted across the river.

“Old Six!”

“Damn him! Hack him to pieces!”

“Jump into the river!” William Thompson shouted.

The sound of broadswords slicing through the air—several blades swung toward William Thompson.

“Jump!”

William Thompson leapt and plunged straight into the Yangtze River.

With a “clack,” Henry Clark had just managed to unlock one of William Thompson’s shackles when the pair of feet before him had already left the ground.

In that moment, Henry Clark also had a chance to jump, but when he looked up and saw the surging river, his heart failed him and he collapsed to the ground.

“Spare me, sirs! Spare me, sirs...”

“Splash.” William Thompson had already leapt into the river.

He knew he had no other choice.

Being able to kill a river bandit with one sword was pure luck—the opponent underestimated him, used a dagger, fought alone... all these factors combined allowed him to land that strike.

It was nothing remarkable; in a real match, you’d have to land fifteen hits to win...

The next moment, another “splash”—a river bandit jumped into the water.

On the boat, Peter King roared, “Osprey, drag him up here and hack him to pieces, avenge Old Six... You little bastard, trying to fight us in the water? You’re dead, you hear me!”

...

Far away, on another riverboat, Emily Scott raised her hand and, on the verge of tears, said, “Brother William jumped into the river...”

No one paid her any mind; everyone was busy, everyone was in chaos.

The moment John Foster saw Thomas Reed’s boat drifting farther and farther away, he immediately rounded up the boatmen and laborers on his own boat, interrogating them with blows and kicks.

“Spare me, sir, I really am just a boatman, I truly didn’t know! If I’d known... how would I have dared to row your boat...”

After John Foster had thoroughly questioned them and confirmed the boatmen were innocent, he ordered them to row after Thomas Reed’s boat—but by then, it was far too late.

Of course, even without this delay, they wouldn’t have caught up; these boatmen were no match for the river bandits when it came to rowing.

Soon, the hijacked boat disappeared completely from sight on the vast river, just as in Li Bai’s poem: “A lone sail, distant shadow, vanishes in the blue; only the Yangtze flows to the edge of the sky.”

Helpless, the two remaining boats had no choice but to head for the north bank of the Yangtze.