Charles Brooks shook his head vigorously, still finding it hard to believe. “Boss, was that really Frank? Did I kill him all by myself?”

“Hahahaha, with you, ‘Bloodhand’ Charles Brooks, it’s not like you’re that useless. Back in the day, you were the type to charge in and out of enemy lines, killing a few people was nothing special—why are you acting so modest now?” the young man teased him.

“It’s not that, boss. It’s just that this Frank isn’t an ordinary person—he’s the ‘Smiling Tiger’! That year, the ‘Three Tigers Beyond the Pass’ came to the Central Plains together and threw the entire martial world into chaos. Later, my master and seventeen of my martial uncles had to use the Eighteen Arhats Formation to injure them and drive them far beyond the frontier. You can imagine how formidable Frank was. For someone like that to be taken down by me alone, it’s just too... too... too unbelievable.” As Charles Brooks spoke, he started to stutter a little.

“Brother Brooks, it’s not that your masters lacked skill, it’s that they didn’t have killing intent in their hearts. So, their moves lacked murderous force, and in the end, they only wounded, not killed. It’s not that those three were truly that skilled. Didn’t you handle it alone today?” the young man said seriously.

Charles Brooks said, “Boss, what exactly is the move you taught me? Why is it so powerful, leaving not even a whole corpse behind? And every time I use it, I feel an urge to kill?”

The young man glared and gritted his teeth. “My hatred for the Prefect is as deep as the sea, utterly irreconcilable. The blade techniques I comprehended amidst the carnage of thousands were all for the day I could execute his entire family, grind their bones to dust. That’s why my swordsmanship is driven by murderous intent—the stronger the intent, the fiercer the moves.”

Sensing the situation was turning bad, Charles Brooks quickly changed the subject and asked, “Boss, this time the Khitans sent a general disguised as an envoy—do you think there’s some plot? Should we strengthen our defenses?”

“You’re only thinking of that now? You’re too slow. I was here directing the guards before your duel with Frank, otherwise how could we have lost over a dozen brothers?” the boss said bitterly.

“Go take care of the brothers’ bodies and give them a proper burial. Brother Brooks, you go deal with Samuel Wright, I’m heading back.”

With that, he turned and disappeared into the cluster of tents nearby.

Before his figure vanished, the boss turned and shouted, “Brother Brooks, don’t forget the feeling you had when you fought Frank just now!”

Only after the boss’s figure disappeared did Charles Brooks begin directing everyone in the aftermath.

Watching his brothers busy themselves, Charles Brooks lowered his head to look at his own hands, drew his blade and pondered for a moment, as if replaying the moves he exchanged with Frank. When he looked up again, his face was already much more confident.

After instructing his men to finish up, Charles Brooks straightened his armor and headed toward the central command tent.

In the fourth camp, military banners fluttered in the wind. In the biting wind, a dark green wolf’s head bared its fangs to the sky, appearing and disappearing as the flag waved. Beneath the banner, a mass of soldiers exuded a murderous aura.

Chapter Two: Origins

The young man strolled slowly into the camp, his mind churning.

Frank’s martial arts were extremely strong, his inner strength profound. Although Charles Brooks ultimately killed him, their duel still served as a warning to the young man.

In the Wolf Army, aside from the cowardly main general and his few confidants, everyone else had received the young man’s guidance. The loss of over a dozen brothers reminded the young man once again that his own techniques still needed refinement.

Inner strength was also his weak point. Although his internal power had greatly improved over the past five years, he was still no match for these martial arts experts.

After a brief moment of reflection, his self-developed internal energy began to circulate automatically, clearing his mind.

“If I were to fight Frank, he wouldn’t last three moves,” the young man’s eyes flashed with steely resolve.

“But Frank isn’t really a top martial artist—at best, he’s second-rate. I still need to work harder. When the day comes for revenge, I’ll travel the world and see the greatest masters under heaven.” At this thought, a silly smile appeared on the young man’s face.

He quickly walked into his tent and began to meditate, soon entering a state of deep concentration.

In truth, the young man’s assumptions were completely wrong.

Frank was by no means merely a second-rate expert, and the young man had seriously underestimated himself.

But it was understandable. Five years ago, the young man had been a child who knew nothing of martial arts, and had never witnessed the skills of true masters. The people he met were mostly captured prisoners, and the few highly skilled ones close to him, like Charles Brooks, all happened to be disciples of prestigious sects, much like himself—sent to the prison camp after being falsely accused. Who knew how well they had learned their sects’ martial arts, but they had certainly mastered the humility and forbearance of their schools.

As Charles Brooks put it, without that, you couldn’t even leave the mountain gate. When the young man first heard this, he could only smile wryly and shake his head.

So, when Charles Brooks said his own martial arts were still unrefined, the young man believed it. In five years, the skills of Charles Brooks and the others had improved by leaps and bounds, but in the young man’s mind, they were only a bit stronger than Frank, still not first-rate masters.