Eric Bolton leaned against another tree root, his right hand warily gripping the military dagger tucked at his lower back, sizing up the man before him.

His pistol had only three bullets left; unless it was a life-or-death situation, he would never use it lightly. To deal with this man, the dagger was more than enough.

The man appeared to be just over thirty, with a short beard under his chin, a medium build, narrow eyes, a high nose bridge, and an air of both heroism and scholarly refinement—his bearing was quite extraordinary.

His left leg had been gashed by shrubs when he fell from his horse, blood streaming down. Eric Bolton took out a ball of homemade hemostatic medicine made from mimosa from his pocket and tossed it to him. “Chew it up and apply it to the wound. It can prevent infection.”

The man was in no hurry to use the medicine. He stood up and gave Eric Bolton a deep bow. “Thank you, benefactor, for saving my life. May I ask your honorable name? I wish to remember it and repay you someday.”

Eric Bolton saw that he was both distinguished in appearance and well-mannered, and couldn’t help but feel a bit of goodwill. He was from Xi’an, which was now called Daxing City and later renamed Chang’an, so he smiled and said, “My surname is Zhang, given name Xuan, a native of Jingzhao. And who are you? Why were you being chased by cavalry?”

“Oh! So you and I are fellow townsmen.”

The man bowed again. “I am Jingzhao’s James Lee.”

“So you are James Lee, Duke of Pushan?”

Eric Bolton looked at the man he had just saved in surprise. So this was the famous warlord James Lee from the end of the Sui dynasty.

“I am indeed!”

Eric Bolton had only been in this era for seven days, and had met only two people so far. The third person he encountered turned out to be the renowned James Lee from history, which left him both astonished and excited.

He knew that James Lee had rebelled with Yang Xuangan, and after Yang’s defeat, James Lee was forced to flee—this must be that very moment, and he had just saved his life.

But James Lee didn’t find it strange. His family was prominent, and most people from Jingzhao had heard of him. Instead, he was a bit curious about the young man before him, who wore tattered floral pants, had hair less than half an inch long, but was tall, sturdy, and striking in appearance.

However, James Lee was still shaken and didn’t think to question the other’s background. Just then, Eric Bolton suddenly gave a low shout, dashed forward a few steps, and stabbed his dagger like lightning into a dense bush. A miserable scream rang out, and a man wielding a long knife tumbled out, clutching his chest.

The situation changed in an instant. Seven or eight ambushers burst out from above, from the bushes, and from behind the big tree, all charging at them.

Eric Bolton reacted with extraordinary sharpness. He dodged a blade aimed at the back of his head, swept his left leg out, and struck the attacker’s head—a kick strong enough to shatter three bricks. The man’s skull was instantly crushed.

Without pausing, he threw himself sideways, tackling another man to the ground. With a crack, his iron-like arm twisted the man’s neck until it broke.

There were eight attackers. In the blink of an eye, Eric Bolton had already taken down three. But James Lee was in grave danger, grappling with one assailant who had jumped down from above, while another crawled out from between the tree roots, silently thrusting a spear at James Lee’s lower back.

Eric Bolton leapt up, about to rush over, when suddenly his neck tightened—someone had grabbed him from behind, a gleaming dagger slashing at his throat. Eric Bolton drove his elbow back hard; the attacker grunted, five or six ribs snapping.

He immediately seized the attacker’s hand and executed a powerful over-the-shoulder throw. The man’s legs flew up as he was hurled through the air, crashing heavily into the spearman, who couldn’t dodge in time and was knocked over with a thud.

Eric Bolton glanced around—two more men were charging at him from both sides. He dodged a blade, then viciously swung his dagger, the sharp blade piercing up through a soldier’s jaw and out the top of his head.

The last man, terrified, turned to flee. Eric Bolton tossed aside his dagger, leapt forward, grabbed a tree root above his head, swung his legs up, and locked the man’s neck from behind. With a forceful twist, the man’s cervical vertebrae snapped into three pieces, his head flopping limply as he died instantly.

Eric Bolton picked up his dagger from the ground, strode forward, and mercilessly finished off the two wounded soldiers.

At this moment, James Lee finally managed to kill the soldier he was fighting. Gasping for breath, he stood up—then froze. Eric Bolton was leaning against a tree root, staring at him coldly, the tip of his dagger still dripping with blood.

Seven corpses lay scattered around, each one dead in a gruesome fashion.

James Lee hurriedly raised his hands and explained, “I didn’t arrange for these men—I truly have no idea who they are!”

It was just too much of a coincidence that James Lee had chosen this spot to rest, which made Eric Bolton suspicious. He stared at James Lee for a moment, saw no panic in his eyes, and asked, “At the very least, these men must be your associates, right?”

James Lee gave a bitter smile. “Associates? With tens of thousands of people, who could possibly know everyone?”

He examined the soldiers’ uniforms, then pulled out a bronze token in surprise. “They’re all Yang Xuangan’s Tiger Guards—each one ruthless and vicious. Yet you managed to—”

James Lee gave a thumbs up and praised, “Impressive! To take on seven Tiger Guards alone—even the fiercest generals are no better!”

“It’s nothing, just seven petty thugs—not much of a challenge.”

Eric Bolton listened intently for a moment, then quickly picked up a knife and said to James Lee, “Let’s go! The Sui cavalry will catch up soon.”