Chapter 82: The Path to Victory

Now, with every word from Song Tianbo stabbing at his sore spots, how could Zhao Feihu possibly remain calm?

The two men sat astride their steeds and clashed at once, blade against spear, steel ringing against steel. After several exchanges, Zhao Feihu had gained not the slightest advantage.

He noticed that the spear in Song Tianbo’s hands was weighty and solid, sweeping through the air with force, while his own Wind-Cleaving Blade was both outmatched in hardness and disadvantaged in reach. Each time the spear came at him, Zhao Feihu had to muster all his strength to parry it. As the saying goes, an inch longer, an inch stronger; after six or seven rounds, though the contest seemed evenly matched on the surface, in truth, Zhao Feihu was being pressed back.

Were it not for his own formidable strength, the Wind-Cleaving Blade would have been jarred from his grip by Song Tianbo’s spear. Fortunately, his stubborn nature refused to yield—if anything, adversity only made him more tenacious.

Jiang Chen watched the battle intently, everything unfolding just as he had foreseen.

The spear in Song Tianbo’s hands was heavier than most, solid and imposing, its unique design lending itself to powerful strikes. With sufficient arm strength, the wielder could amplify his power many times over. Such weapons were often custom-made in special ways; no wonder Song Tianbo was so arrogant—he did have some skill.

Duan Yuquan, seeing Zhao Feihu struggle, turned to the assembled officers beside him and said, “Win or lose, be ready to engage at a moment’s notice.”

“Yes, sir!”

Duanmu Qing watched the fight with grave concern. She saw that Zhao Feihu was in real trouble, but though her heart was anxious, there was nothing she could do. All she could do was hope that Zhao Feihu could turn the tide and uphold the honor of Qishan.

“General Zhao has always been direct and forceful in battle, but today he’s met a worthy opponent. Song Tianbo’s horsemanship is indeed superb,” she murmured.

Jiang Chen replied, “Your Qishan Iron Cavalry prides itself on expertise in mounted combat—that’s why your name is known throughout the land. It seems General Zhao never considered the possibility that his opponent’s riding skills could rival his own.”

“And with that unusually heavy spear, General Zhao can find no opening at all. He should remember the advice I gave him just now.”

Gaining the upper hand, Song Tianbo pressed his attack relentlessly, his spear dancing and thrusting, each withdrawal followed by another tidal wave of assault. Zhao Feihu clenched his teeth, determined not to be defeated here no matter what.

A man like him had long ceased to care about his own life and death. What he bore on his shoulders was the honor of the Qishan Iron Cavalry—far more important than his own life.

It was at this desperate juncture that he finally recalled Jiang Chen’s earlier words: endure twenty exchanges, then strike hard at the center. Though he looked down on that supposed wastrel, at this critical moment he found himself naturally accepting the strategy.

As long as victory was possible, Zhao Feihu was willing to set aside his pride. He did not fight for himself alone.

From then on, he stopped exhausting himself by matching force with force, and instead shifted to a defensive stance, prioritizing evasion over direct confrontation. Though this made him look even more beleaguered, it conserved much of his strength.

Seeing Zhao Feihu on the defensive, Song Tianbo laughed loudly. “Is this all the great vanguard commander can do? I’m sorely disappointed in you!”

Zhao Feihu seethed with frustration, but he recognized that following Jiang Chen’s strategy was yielding results. There was no need to change course—wearing down Song Tianbo’s stamina was the path to victory.

As the fight wore on, Zhao Feihu gradually understood Jiang Chen’s intent. He was a hardened veteran, with a keen intuition for battle. The reason for defending first and attacking later was clear: Song Tianbo’s spear was formidable, and head-on confrontation would bring no advantage. The weakness, however, was that such a weapon was ill-suited for prolonged combat.

No matter how mighty Song Tianbo’s arms, swinging that heavy spear consumed tremendous energy. Jiang Chen had calculated that after twenty exchanges, an opening would appear—a chance to shatter Song Tianbo’s defenses in one blow.

Zhao Feihu bared his teeth, his tiger eyes wide. Never before had he voluntarily yielded ground in battle—it felt humiliating, yet he silently counted the rounds in his heart.

“Nineteen… twenty… twenty-one…”

“At last, I’ve lasted past twenty exchanges!”

With a great roar, Zhao Feihu saw Song Tianbo’s spear sweep past his brow, but both its speed and force had waned. As Song Tianbo tried to pull back and gather his strength for another strike, Zhao Feihu spurred his horse forward in a sudden assault. His Wind-Cleaving Blade, swift and fierce, found the opening before Song Tianbo.

He slashed at the center, and Song Tianbo, unable to recover in time, frantically brought his spear across his chest to block. But Zhao Feihu’s blow was so powerful that it sent blood gushing from Song Tianbo’s mouth; he was flung from his horse.

Before Song Tianbo could hit the ground, Zhao Feihu was already charging forward, ready to finish him, but a voice called out from behind, “Don’t kill him!”

The loud warning came from Duan Yuquan. Killing the vanguard commander of the Skywind Battalion in full view of both armies would surely ignite a blood feud, making the situation uncontrollable.

Fortunately, Zhao Feihu managed to regain his composure at the last moment, or perhaps it was simply his instinct to obey orders—so deeply ingrained that even in a fury, he could rein himself in and return to reason.

“Song Tianbo, did you see? It was your grandpa, Zhao Feihu, who beat you bloody and toppled you from your horse—and I spared your dog life! Next time you see me, you’d better kneel and kowtow three times to show respect!”

With these words, Zhao Feihu burst out laughing, and the Qishan camp erupted in cheers, their morale surging.

On the other side, the Skywind Battalion’s earlier arrogance vanished, their confidence shattered watching their commander defeated and unseated.

As Zhao Feihu rode back to his lines, his fierce eyes remained fixed on Jiang Chen. The joy of victory quickly faded, replaced by a troubled heaviness.

“Congratulations, General Zhao, you’ve brought honor to Qishan’s army—how satisfying!”

“General Zhao, you are truly mighty!”

But Zhao Feihu paid no heed to the accolades. Deep inside, he pondered: even I needed over ten exchanges with Song Tianbo to discern his technique and the properties of that spear.

How could this unreliable-seeming wastrel see through it all at a single glance, without ever having faced Song Tianbo up close?

Could this man truly be hiding depths yet unseen?

Though he said nothing aloud, Zhao Feihu felt a newfound respect for Jiang Chen in his heart.