John Foster joined up with David Green and the others, leaving David Green to watch over the carriage and goods with some men, while he led James Brooks and ten others downstream to search for traces of the river bandits.

David Green quietly voiced many concerns, such as whether splitting up would lead to them being picked off by the bandits again, whether so few men could handle the bandits, and whether they should reveal their identities and contact the soldiers to suppress the bandits first...

But John Foster believed that this time they had been ambushed and caught off guard, but if it came to a direct confrontation, his twelve men would be more than enough to wipe out this group of river bandits.

David Green had no choice but to obey.

He sat by the riverbank, feeling frustrated and growing more and more irritated the longer he thought about it.

For the mighty Imperial Guards to be made such a mess of by a few petty thieves—what a disgrace...

“Grandfather, will Brother William be able to come back?” Over there, Emily Scott asked softly again.

Before Andrew Scott could answer, David Green cut in, “He’s dead, dead as can be.”

“He’s not dead...”

“He’s dead.”

David Green insisted on arguing with a little girl.

Emily Scott finally burst into tears, sobbing and sniffling, “He’s not dead...”

“He’s dead. Look, I still have the key to his shackles here. How could he possibly swim in the river with those on? He’s dead, completely dead.”

As David Green spoke, he casually flicked the key, sending it in an arc into the river.

...

That night, Emily Scott tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

She quietly got up, hugged her knees, and gazed at the Yangtze River under the night sky, beginning to feel a dislike for it.

Because the ones she liked, Walt Whitman and William Thompson, had both died in this river.

She looked up at the sky and murmured softly, “Walt Whitman caught the moon drunk and rode a whale to the heavens. I wonder if Brother William can ascend to the heavens too.”

In the darkness, footsteps sounded, and a weak voice responded behind her.

“Your Brother William is someone who fell down from the heavens...”

Chapter 7: Vicious

As a professional athlete, William Thompson wasn’t a swimmer, but to train his body, strengthen his core, and build endurance, swimming was a regular part of his training camp—like being required by the coach to swim two kilometers in the sea for an hour.

His swimming skills in his previous life were no worse than those of the river bandits on the Yangtze, and he knew more techniques, skills, and knowledge...

But, the moment he leapt into the Yangtze, William Thompson choked on water.

At that time, he floundered in the water for a while, finally getting his bearings, when the bandit named Osprey came after him.

William Thompson knew that with the condition of his current body, if he tried to swim across the Yangtze, he would definitely be caught by Osprey.

He made a quick decision and discarded the longsword in his hand, letting the current carry him downstream.

Only by making the most of the river’s force, extending the distance and time of his swim, did he have a sliver of hope.

Sure enough, the bandits on the boat didn’t want to waste time chasing him, so they steered the boat toward the north bank, gradually widening the distance between them and him.

But Osprey refused to let him go and soon caught up again.

This man was an excellent swimmer, cursing at William Thompson as he swam.

“Damn you, you bastard! I’ll cut you to pieces and avenge Old Six!”

“You won’t survive! The great river is your grandpa’s bathtub!”

“You dumb mutt, look back at your grandpa!”

“Coward, are you scared out of your wits? Still running...”

William Thompson never responded. He knew better than Osprey how to conserve his strength... A bandit who’d never had systematic training, not even a coach—no matter how good he was, could he be a world champion?

William Thompson had an iron chain on one foot, so he had to use even more effort to kick. But the rapid current of the river offset most of the difference in their swimming abilities, and his body gradually adapted to swimming. Swimming wasn’t about strength, but about the rhythm of breathing, balance, and relaxation...

Osprey was fierce, William Thompson was smooth. The two chased each other downstream, little by little drifting toward the north bank.

Osprey’s patience was wearing thin. He wasn’t afraid of swimming far, but he didn’t want to have to walk all the way back upstream after killing William Thompson, so he pushed himself to catch up.

However, every time he was about to catch up to William Thompson, he found that the kid had been saving his strength, and with a burst of energy, would drift even farther away.

Normally, it would take over an hour to swim across the river at this stretch, but this time they started from midstream, going with the current and gradually angling toward the shore.

Finally, after a long time, they both reached the bank.

Here was a cliff, jagged with rocks—not a good place to climb ashore.

William Thompson was much weaker, and by now was running on willpower alone. His strength was at its limit, and he didn’t dare drift any farther, so he decided to take a gamble.

He struggled to the edge of the cliff, grabbed a protruding rock, and tried to climb up.

From start to finish, his escape strategy was clear: use his athletic skills, manage his strength wisely, find the optimal path, and neutralize his opponent’s physical advantage.

Osprey was more anxious than he was, and had used up much more energy.

But just as William Thompson pulled himself out of the water, Osprey caught up.

At that moment, William Thompson tried to pull himself up the cliff with a pull-up motion, but he didn’t have enough strength—his upper body, core, and back were all lacking.

Veins bulged on his forehead as he struggled to push himself up.

A huge force came from below—Osprey had grabbed hold of his iron chain.