Henry Smith kicked down this boulder as a warning to the assassins not to try to force their way through the gap.

No matter how skilled these assassins were, if he hit them from above with a boulder the size of a washbasin, no one would come out unscathed.

The three assassins stopped sixty or seventy paces from the cliff, and the leader stared at the top of the cliff, his face dark as he asked:

“Who is your eldest brother? Since you knew we would make a move against Brian Walker here, you must also know who sent us, right?”

“You murderers have already been exposed, and you still have the nerve to ask questions? You’re really bold, aren’t you? Aren’t you afraid the soldiers from the military camp will get word and come to arrest you?” Henry Smith shouted in a rough voice.

“In broad daylight, what evil have we done that the officials from the patrol camp would come to arrest us? Just because of Brian Walker’s one-sided story?” The leader laughed recklessly and said, “Brian Walker was convicted and exiled. Not to mention he’s still alive and well, even if he really ended up dead in these Tongbai Mountains, which county office would dare investigate the case thoroughly?”

Seeing how brazen the assassins were, Henry Smith was secretly alarmed.

A few days ago, a brief line of text had flashed through his mind, saying that Brian Walker died at Yingzizui in the Tongbai Mountains, killed by bandits. But thinking about it now, perhaps it wasn’t that the assassins covered their tracks well, but rather that the real reason was the power of the people behind the scenes was so overwhelming that the county offices didn’t dare investigate, and in the end, the case was closed as a bandit attack?

To be honest, Henry Smith didn’t really know what kind of person Brian Walker was, but he did know that before his exile, Brian Walker had served as the Censor-in-Chief, a position not to be underestimated—one of the few high-ranking officials in the court who could be addressed as “Minister,” while ordinary officials were only called “Sir.”

A person of ministerial rank, even if stripped of his title, could never be regarded as a commoner. If he died a violent death in the Tongbai Mountains and the county offices didn’t dare investigate, just who was the power behind the scenes?

Henry Smith suddenly felt that figuring out who was behind all this would do him no good at all; he just hoped to muddle through the current situation as quickly as possible.

Henry Smith said nothing, stepping on the boulder with one foot, his right hand gripping the hilt of his sword at his waist, looking as if he wasn’t even in a hurry to draw it—yet this gave the assassins a strong sense of pressure.

The three assassins all had full beards, clearly fake and hastily stuck on. The leader had a noticeable scar on his left cheek. From a distance, that man narrowed his triangular eyes, staring at the top of the cliff like a hawk, his thoughts unreadable.

“Should I sneak up from behind?” the thin-faced assassin on the right said.

“Look at the way he crouches and grips his sword—doesn’t it seem familiar?” The scar-faced assassin’s expression darkened as he asked the other two.

“Yeah, it’s a bit like the sword stance of the Jing Sheng Army. And just now, even though he was distracted, he still managed to dodge Lord Jin’s arrow at the last moment. He’s not weak, and he’s so tall and strong…” The thin-faced assassin seemed to be losing his nerve.

“Over twenty years ago, Charles Walker was the prefect of Tangzhou and led a major campaign to wipe out the bandits in the Tongbai Mountains. Later, he was transferred to command the Jing Sheng Army and recruited many bandits into the army. After Charles Walker died, part of the Jing Sheng Army’s old soldiers were disbanded and returned home. It’s no surprise there are remnants of the Jing Sheng Army in these mountains. But for Luke Lewis, also a remnant of the Jing Sheng Army, to choose this route to escort Brian Walker to Biyang from a thousand miles away—things might be more complicated than we thought—” The scar-faced assassin frowned, pondering.

“Could it be that Luke Lewis has joined forces with the Jing Sheng Army remnants to protect Brian Walker, intending to overturn the old case from back then?” Another, who knew the old story, gasped and asked.

“Whether that’s the case or not, this is no small matter. Someone must return to Bianjing immediately to report to the Minister…” said the scar-faced assassin.

At that moment, the sound of galloping hooves came from the west, rushing toward them like a sudden downpour. The three assassins’ faces changed dramatically. After a moment’s hesitation, they turned their horses and rode east…

……

……

Henry Smith didn’t know the old affairs of the Jing Sheng Army. Seeing Luke Lewis quickly arrive at Yingzizui with several armed riders, he thought the assassins had been scared off by them.

Among the soldiers who arrived, the leader was about thirty, wearing brown leather armor, sturdy and muscular, with thick brows and leopard-like eyes, a rugged face, and a saber in his hand. He pulled the reins to stop his horse at the foot of the cliff, looked up to see Henry Smith standing safely at the top, and asked:

“Henry Smith, you rascal, you weren’t hurt by those horse bandits, were you?”

“No—they ran off to the east!” Henry Smith finally breathed a real sigh of relief, greeted his seventeenth uncle James Smith, carefully found a foothold, and slid down the cliff.

“Those dog bandits, daring to cause trouble in Huaiyuan! If we catch them, we’ll skin them alive!” shouted a young soldier with only a fuzz of a mustache on his upper lip, just a year or two older than Henry Smith. He could still see the “horse bandits” in the distance and yelled angrily, wanting to chase after them with his saber.

But James Smith reached out to stop the impulsive young soldier and said:

“Don’t chase desperate bandits. Besides, it’s almost dark. Today, those horse bandits are just lucky—we’ll let it go.”

Although the sky was a bit overcast, it was only just past noon. To say it was almost dark was such an obvious lie that even a blind man wouldn’t dare say it.

But in James Smith’s view, as long as Henry Smith was unharmed, that was all that mattered.

After all, they only got so much pay each month at the military camp—was it really worth risking their lives against those horse bandits who lived by the blade?