Outside the city gates, a large crowd of commoners wanting to enter the city had already gathered. Although these people were poorly dressed, they were still much better off than the refugees huddled timidly by the main road, wanting to approach but not daring to.

Those refugees were all in rags, with disheveled hair and dirty faces, their skin sallow and thin, looking every bit the part of people who had been displaced and malnourished.

William Carter even saw several corpses of refugees lying by the roadside outside the city. A yamen runner was directing people to load the bodies onto a cart, which then creaked its way toward the mass grave outside the city.

“Sigh, when will times like these ever end?”

“Yeah, I heard that now the governor of Nanding Prefecture, Wang Lang, has declared himself king, slaughtering anyone who refuses to submit—heads rolling, rivers of blood. Who knows, maybe one day he’ll bring his army to our Xiyun Prefecture!”

“I also heard that the vassal state of Luodian to the southwest has rebelled, repeatedly invading the borders, burning, killing, looting, committing every imaginable crime. Many people have fled from Heyai County.”

“Over in Jiugao County, I heard there have been years of floods and locust plagues. In many places, the people have harvested nothing, but not only has the government refused to open the granaries and distribute relief, they’ve even increased taxes, making life unbearable. Uprisings have broken out everywhere. Now, they say, in Jiugao County, bones are exposed in the wild, and for a thousand miles not a single rooster crows. It’s tragic.”

“Hmph, is our Fangshuo County any better? Who among ordinary people dares to travel far these days? Bandits and marauders are everywhere. Only the areas around the city seem relatively peaceful, with some signs of life. Go more than ten miles out, and see how many households are left? Those officials only know how to fight for power and pleasure in the city, oppress the people, and amass wealth. No one is willing to lead troops to wipe out the bandits.”

“Shh! You shouldn’t say things like that carelessly!”

“Sigh, these are troubled times indeed!”

“……”

William Carter stood among the crowd, looking at the scene before him and listening to the people’s hushed whispers, unable to help but let out a deep sigh.

In the past, he had only read in history books about the suffering of chaotic times, human life as cheap as grass, and even stories of people eating their own children. But that always felt too distant. Living in a prosperous era of advanced civilization and technology, any imagination William Carter had was pale and inadequate.

It wasn’t until ten days ago, when he was reborn into a world much like the feudal chaos described in history books, that he truly experienced what it meant to suffer in troubled times, and how little a human life was worth.

In such a world, with no power or influence, a poor family, a home outside the city in a village protected only by a broken, low wall, and no real martial achievements—just an ordinary martial apprentice at the muscle and tendon training stage, able to handle three or five untrained men at best—if war spread to the county city, or if bandits and marauders roamed into the area, his meager skills wouldn’t even be enough to protect himself, let alone his family or, laughably, save the people.

So, a few days ago, after recognizing his situation, William Carter truly felt utterly hopeless.

It wasn’t until yesterday that hope was rekindled in William Carter’s heart.

Lightly pinching a faint black mark on the little finger of his left hand with the thumb and forefinger of his right, William Carter strode confidently through the city gate.

The county city was divided into an inner and outer city.

The inner city had its own walls and moat, and was home to the great clans and high officials.

Four main streets running east-west and six running north-south divided the city into neighborhoods of various sizes.

After entering the west city gate, William Carter crossed two main streets and, familiar with the way, arrived at a large mansion in Xianyuan Ward, XC District, with two stone lions flanking the entrance.

A plaque hung above the vermilion gate, bearing four bold characters: “Cold Iron Palm Academy.”

William Carter pushed open the vermilion gate, revealing a spacious martial arts training ground.

About twenty people had already gathered in the training ground, both men and women, though more men than women.

They were all quite young; some were practicing punches and palm strikes, some were lifting stone locks to build strength, and others were gathered around wooden dummies...

Under a large tree in the corner of the training ground sat a man.

Though his temples were already streaked with white and his body was slightly stooped and thin, his frame was large, and his hands were especially bigger than most people’s, giving him an imposing and powerful presence.

He was the head of the “Cold Iron Palm Academy,” Samuel Foster.

“Master, Ziling greets you.” William Carter entered the academy, bowed before Samuel Foster, and paid his respects.

Samuel Foster continued sipping his tea, not even looking up, and waved his hand, signaling him to go practice on his own.

William Carter wasn’t surprised at all by Samuel Foster’s indifferent response.

As an apprentice still at the muscle and tendon training stage, he was just a source of income for Samuel Foster. New batches came and went every day; he couldn’t be considered a true disciple.

Only those who reached the skin and membrane training stage could catch his eye and become his disciples and the focus of his training. Only they were qualified to call Samuel Foster “Master.” People like William Carter could only address him as “Academy Head.”

Just as William Carter turned to leave, a young man approached, dressed in high-quality training clothes, with narrow eyes and thin lips, exuding a faintly cold and callous air.

“Ziling, spar with me later.” The young man stopped in front of William Carter, his narrowed eyes looking at him with a hint of mockery and disdain, his tone brooking no refusal.