At this moment, Chris Lewis proved his worth. Although he was not skilled at riding, he was agile and deft, using his shield to block left and right, several times helping Richard Scott avert the danger of cold thrusts.

“General, watch out for the horse-tripping ropes ahead!”

Chris Lewis, with his sharp eyes, spotted several taut ropes on the ground that Richard Scott had not noticed. Startled, he quickly pulled the reins, and his warhorse leaped forward, clearing the ropes. With a flick of his spear in midair, he swept the ropes aside, ensuring the horses behind were unaffected.

The warhorse galloped away into the distance. Richard Scott broke out in a cold sweat. He did not fear open combat, but dreaded these insidious traps that were hard to guard against.

“Thank you, young master!” For the first time, he expressed his gratitude to Chris Lewis.

Chris Lewis, feeling a bit proud, said, “See, I’m not useless after all!”

“Young master, your reflexes are sharp—you have the makings of a martial artist. I suggest you learn martial arts; you will surely achieve something.”

Chris Lewis laughed heartily. “With those words from the famed Richard Scott of Changshan, I, Chris Lewis, have decided to learn martial arts.”

“But first, I need to learn how to ride a horse!”

Both burst out laughing. Richard Scott, reinvigorated, called out to Stephen Wood, urging his horse toward the northwest corner. This was the final obstacle—once they broke through, they would be safe.

Chapter 10: Abraham Lewis Arrives

At the northwest corner, Robert Evans had been waiting for some time. He took off his strong bow, reached for the quiver on his back, and when his hand touched the fletching, he hesitated for a moment before turning to another soldier. “Give me a poisoned arrow!”

The soldier handed a poisoned arrow to Robert Evans. Robert Evans nocked the arrow, his cold gaze fixed on the rapidly approaching Richard Scott. Standing beneath a large banner, he slowly drew the bowstring.

At that moment, Richard Scott let out a loud shout and charged into the enemy ranks. His silver spear danced like pear blossoms in the wind, like a hundred birds flocking to a phoenix. In an instant, he killed more than a dozen men. The Cao army, terrified, cried out and retreated in panic.

“You go first!”

Richard Scott shouted back. Stephen Wood, his face deathly pale, squeezed his legs to his horse and was the first to break out of the battlefield, galloping wildly toward the northwest.

Richard Scott thrust his spear again and again, killing over ten more men, blocking the pursuing soldiers. Just then, a burly officer spurred his horse forward, raising his arm and hurling a long spear at Richard Scott's right side. The spear flew like a shadow. Chris Lewis saw it and raised his shield to meet it.

Catching sight of Chris Lewis's action from the corner of his eye, Richard Scott was shocked and shouted, “Don’t take it head-on!”

But it was too late. With a loud “crack!”, the shield was shattered, and Chris Lewis's arm felt as if it had broken. He cried out in pain, the tremendous impact making him sway, about to fall from his horse.

Richard Scott, holding his spear in one hand, knocked the long spear aside and grabbed the falling Chris Lewis with his left hand.

Robert Evans seized this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He released the bowstring, and a cold arrow shot like lightning from the left, aiming straight at Richard Scott's left chest. Richard Scott, holding onto Chris Lewis, could not dodge, so he shifted slightly, avoiding a vital spot by two inches.

With a “thud!”, the arrow struck Richard Scott's left shoulder. His whole body shuddered, and he nearly fell from his horse.

Robert Evans was overjoyed and shouted, “Richard Scott has been hit! Capture him!”

Over a thousand Cao soldiers charged from all directions. At this critical moment, Chris Lewis had steadied himself. With his left hand, he stabbed his short sword into the horse’s rump. The horse, in pain, summoned its last strength and dashed out of the battlefield, fleeing northwest at full speed.

Seeing his plan fail, Robert Evans flew into a rage and roared, “After them! I want them alive or dead!”

Hundreds of Cao cavalry gave chase.

The golden glow of the setting sun gradually faded, and the sky, dyed red by the evening clouds, was growing dark. The endless mountain forests became a stretch of blackness.

Night fell over Rang Mountain. The mountain path was silent, flanked by towering trees. The half-bright, half-dark moonlight shone through the saddle-shaped ridges and mountain passes. The shadows of the trees, rocks, and peaks were made even darker, denser, and more sinister by the moonlight.

“Clip-clop! Clip-clop! Clip-clop!”

A burst of urgent hoofbeats came from afar, sounding especially clear on the quiet mountain road. In the faint moonlight, an exhausted warhorse was desperately carrying two people as it ran.

These two were none other than Richard Scott and Chris Lewis, who had escaped the battlefield. Stephen Wood had become separated from them and was nowhere to be found. Chased by the Cao army, they had run from afternoon until night, fleeing for over two hours. At last, the warhorse could go no further.

By now, the poison from the arrow wound had taken effect on Richard Scott, leaving him weak all over and in a semi-conscious state. It was a slow-acting poison—not immediately fatal, but it drained all his strength.

The warhorse could not go on, struggling with every step. Suddenly, it neighed loudly and collapsed heavily by the roadside, throwing Chris Lewis and Richard Scott more than a yard away. On the right side of the mountain path was a ravine over ten yards deep; on the other side was a slope covered in shrubs. Luckily, both men landed in the soft bushes.

Chris Lewis felt an unbearable ache between his legs—riding required strong thigh muscles, and he was lacking in this area. Though his whole body ached as if falling apart, the situation was urgent. Ignoring the pain, he quickly got up and ran to the horse. The horse lay twitching by the roadside, foaming at the mouth, clearly at its limit.

Chris Lewis hurried back and shook Richard Scott's shoulder. “General Zhao, you must hold on!”

The bleeding from Richard Scott's shoulder had stopped, but an arrow was still lodged there, and the stench of blood was faintly detectable. He had indeed been struck by a poisoned arrow.