The Blood Crown - Chapter 314

Feng Ye also saw Yan Sikong. He froze for a moment, then his expression suddenly changed. Without warning, he raised his spear and hurled it fiercely in Yan Sikong’s direction.

The two were separated by a distance of thirty zhang. For an average person, just lifting that spear would be a challenge, yet Feng Ye sent it flying like an arrow through the chaos of battle. The spear brushed past Yan Sikong’s ear, the gust of wind cutting his skin painfully.

Behind him came a scream of agony.

Yan Sikong whipped around and saw a Duoyan Guard soldier impaled off his horse. The spear had pierced through his chest, pinning him midair to the ground, denying him even a burial in the earth.

Cold sweat drenched Yan Sikong’s back. He dared not lose focus again. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of an enemy charging at him. The blade scraped his breastplate with a grating sound, narrowly missing him. Though his arm was slashed, the pain barely registered. Raising his spear, he swept it across, trampling over the enemy’s corpse as he shouted, “Charge! Everyone, charge! Rescue the Wolf King—”

The drums of war thundered. Smoke rose like clouds, and the once snow-covered valley had transformed into a blood-red, muddy slaughterhouse. The stench of blood, excrement, and gunpowder filled the air, choking those who inhaled it.

The biting wind of the first month cut like knives against exposed skin. The battle raged on, with no one knowing when a stray blade would pierce their bodies or whether they would survive the day. They charged relentlessly and fought without pause. It was kill or be killed. Their eyes burned redder than blood, their expressions more ferocious than demons.

This was the battlefield.

Feng Ye led the charge at the forefront, the Feng family troops following him into the fray. His natural strength allowed him to cut down enemies like harvesting wheat. Beneath him, his fiery-red Tianshan warhorse trampled over the bones of the fallen, its iron hooves pressing forward with beastly ferocity. He carved a bloody path through the enemy ranks, terrifying the Duoyan Guard, who had ravaged Liaodong for two decades. To them, he was a specter of death. Wave after wave fell beneath his blade, and none dared approach. The Feng family’s banner, bearing the snarling wolf head and the character “Feng,” though tattered, stood defiantly in the cold wind, unyielding.

The Duoyan Guard commander roared in Jurchen, accompanied by the pounding of war drums, urging his soldiers to charge again. But the Feng family troops clung tightly to the blood-soaked gap they had carved, tearing it wider with each assault. Finally, Zuihong, with Feng Ye on its back, leapt over the enemy lines, shattering a helmeted skull mid-air as they broke free of the Jurchen encirclement.

Yan Sikong shouted, “Sound the gong! Retreat—”

He saw large numbers of Jurchen reinforcements flooding into the mountain pass. Clearly, they had discovered the diversion tactic and sent an army to hunt Feng Ye. The disparity in numbers left no room for lingering.

The Feng family’s retreat signals echoed through the valley as the soldiers fought their way back along the route they had come.

Covered in blood and dirt, Feng Ye rode up to Yan Sikong. Before Yan Sikong could speak, he bellowed, “Who told you to come!”

Yan Sikong, equally unyielding, shouted back, “Save your breath! Retreat first!”

The Feng family troops surged toward the entrance of the Peach Immortal Path like a receding tide. The narrow terrain could easily cause a bottleneck, yet their retreat was orderly, a testament to their rigorous training. However, the Jurchens pursued closely, and the rear soldiers fought desperately to hold them back.

Feng Ye commanded, “You lead them out first. I’ll cover the rear.”

“No! As the commander, you must not take such risks.”

Feng Ye ignored him, rallying elite troops and riding back to engage the enemy. His presence invigorated the soldiers’ morale as they fought to the death against the Duoyan Guard. Finally, they managed to withdraw all their forces into the Peach Immortal Path.

The Jurchens hesitated to pursue, wary of an ambush in the treacherous terrain.

When the sun fully rose, illuminating the mountains and forests, Feng Ye finally returned to Yan Sikong’s side.

Seeing the general astride his fiery steed galloping toward him, Yan Sikong felt his heart pound violently. His grip on the reins faltered slightly—whether from the cold or something else, he couldn’t tell.

Feng Ye rode up beside Yan Sikong, supporting himself with one hand on his saddle, as if struggling to stay upright. He turned his head, his gaze fixed intently on Yan Sikong. His face was caked with dirt and blood, making it almost unrecognizable, but his sharp, bright eyes seemed to pierce straight into Yan Sikong’s soul.

Yan Sikong looked back at Feng Ye, his own appearance equally haggard.

“Are you hurt?” Feng Ye’s voice was hoarse as he examined Yan Sikong, the sight of blood on him stabbing at his eyes.

“Just a flesh wound. And you?” Yan Sikong asked, his concern evident as he noted Feng Ye’s sunken cheeks, dark eye sockets, and cracked lips and fingers after six days of cold and hunger in the mountains. Feng Ye, covered in blood and barely standing, had somehow managed to hold on.

“It’s nothing,” Feng Ye said quietly. “I knew you would come for me.”

“I told you this plan was too risky. Did you ever consider the consequences if I failed to rescue you?”

“From the moment I first mounted a warhorse at the age of eleven, I’ve been ready to die on the battlefield. Consequences?” Feng Ye sneered. “At worst, death.”

Yan Sikong let out a long sigh.

“I’m glad you worried about me,” Feng Ye said, his frozen face forcing out a faint smile. His gaze burned as he stared at Yan Sikong. “And you even risked your life to personally lead troops to save me… But you must not take such risks again.”

Yan Sikong turned his face away, avoiding Feng Ye’s fiery gaze. “I, Yan Sikong, can wield both pen and sword. What do you take me for? A frail woman?”

“I take you for my most cherished person,” Feng Ye said softly. “Even the slightest harm to you is unacceptable.”

Yan Sikong spurred his horse forward. “Hurry through this path. We must return to Guangning as quickly as possible.”

The Peach Immortal Path was long and narrow. It took them three hours to traverse it.

As they exited the mountain pass, a gust of wind swept through, carrying a faint, unpleasant odor—possibly horse dung.

Yan Sikong and Feng Ye simultaneously looked up. The cliffs on either side were low, dotted with sparse trees partially buried in unmelted snow. The trees, stripped bare of leaves, stood desolate but stubbornly upright, as if struggling to grow toward the sky, trying to escape the frozen earth.

The bleak scenery was not worth lingering on. What caught their attention were the occasional, subtle tremors among the branches.

Feng Ye’s face changed. He shouted, “It’s an ambush!”

The soldiers, weary and wounded from their grueling battle, were jolted awake by his roar. Feng Ye’s years of strict training ensured that they maintained their composure even in dire situations. The troops swiftly split into two columns, pressing close to the cliffs. Shields were raised high above their heads to protect their commanders.

In the next instant, countless heads appeared over the low cliffs, and a rain of arrows descended!

Screams erupted in waves. Soldiers who thought they had narrowly escaped death now fell lifeless in foreign lands before they could celebrate their survival.

How cruel.

Feng Ye and Yan Sikong hid beneath the shields, listening to the muffled thuds of arrows hitting overhead, like blades licking at their necks, sending chills down their spines.

Their lives depended on just these few pieces of shields, as precarious as floating on a leaf in the ocean, their fate hanging by a thread.

The neighing of horses reached their ears. Drunken Red, beside them, convulsed violently. Feng Ye shouted, “Move closer to the mountainside, quickly!”

Yan Sikong turned back to see that Drunken Red had been hit by two arrows in its hindquarters. It was writhing in pain, frantically trying to break free from its reins.

Feng Ye gripped the reins tightly, on the verge of being dragged away. Yan Sikong and several soldiers also grabbed hold of the reins, forcing Drunken Red into a sheltered spot.

The rain of arrows overhead was relentless. Soldiers unable to dodge in time fell one by one, and the narrow mountain pass quickly became littered with corpses.

Feng Ye and Yan Sikong exchanged a glance, their eyes filled with despair.

When the Jin soldiers exhausted their arrows, they began to roll stones down from above. Feng Ye shouted loudly, “Retreat!”

As they fled, the archers of the Feng family army counterattacked, but being at a disadvantage in position, they were at the mercy of the enemy. Boulders and logs tumbled down from the low cliffs, crushing everything in their path. Flesh and blood were pulverized under their weight—a sight too cruel for this world.

Feng Ye and Yan Sikong mounted their horses. Drunken Red, enduring the pain, dodged the deadly arrows and falling debris, charging madly toward the mountain pass.

Yan Sikong heard arrows whizzing past and saw boulders crushing flesh and bones. His blood surged within him, and his heart pounded as if it would leap out of his throat.

Suddenly, a sharp arrow shot straight toward Yan Sikong.

“Kong’er—!” Feng Ye roared, leaping from Drunken Red to embrace Yan Sikong.

The two of them fell from their horses, tumbling to the ground. Yan Sikong’s vision swam. When he managed to get up, he saw Feng Ye lying on top of him, trembling violently.

Yan Sikong tried to lift Feng Ye, but as he reached out, his hands came away sticky with hot, viscous blood. He froze, then looked more closely—an arrow had pierced straight through Feng Ye’s chest.

A loud buzzing filled Yan Sikong’s mind. He lost control and screamed, “Feng Ye—!”

Feng Ye, pale and bloodless, his eyes unfocused, felt as heavy as lead. He could hear Yan Sikong calling his name, calling his name—his Kong’er was finally calling his name, not the cold, distant “Wolf King.” But he couldn’t get up…

“Protect the Wolf King!” Yan Sikong bellowed with all his might. “Protect the Wolf King!”

The shield-bearing soldiers quickly gathered, forming another barrier above them.

Yan Sikong’s heart ached as if it were being torn apart. He trembled as he touched Feng Ye’s face. “Feng Ye, Feng Ye, wake up. I’ll take you back to the city now. I’ll take you back. Do you hear me? Feng Ye!”

Feng Ye coughed lightly, muttering weakly, “Kong…er…”

“Feng Ye, hold on, you have to hold on!” Yan Sikong felt an unprecedented despair, a despair he’d never experienced even when facing death by fire, which had seemed like a release compared to this moment. Now, it seemed they were all doomed to perish here.

He wasn’t afraid to die. Kill him a thousand times over, and his unyielding spirit would remain. But Feng Ye couldn’t die. Feng Ye was a god of war, destined to shine across the world and live on through the ages. Someone like him couldn’t die here, not in this crude, nameless place.

But who could save them?

Holding Feng Ye’s lifeless body, Yan Sikong cried out in rage and sorrow.

“Don’t… be afraid…” Feng Ye whispered faintly into Yan Sikong’s ear. “We’re… together…”

Yan Sikong couldn’t hold back his grief. Tears streamed down his face.

Was the heavens truly set on ending them here?!

Suddenly, a piercing wolf’s howl cut through the desolate battlefield!