"So, what skills do you possess?" Chen Rong asked calmly, studying the man before him.
The Bamuyi lowered his head slightly, choosing his words with care. "I know many things. I can speak Egyptian, Persian, Mongolian, and Chinese. I also know how to train very powerful assassins."
Chen Rong's expression remained composed, but his mind sharpened instantly.
Assassins.
Such people were useful in every kingdom, yet openly acknowledging them was another matter entirely.
Rulers might secretly cultivate such forces, but few would ever admit it. An assassin was a weapon best kept hidden—dangerous not only to enemies, but also to those who wielded them.
"You know how to train assassins?" Chen Rong asked, his tone neutral. "That is no ordinary skill. If you presented this ability to the Mongol generals, would they not find you valuable?"
Even as he spoke, Chen Rong dismissed the idea for himself.
Train assassins? Under his current circumstances, the thought was almost laughable. He had no proper base, no loyal manpower, and no political standing.
Training assassins required secrecy, resources, and absolute control. Without those, it would only invite suspicion.
Worse still, anyone who openly trained assassins risked being viewed with deep distrust. To rulers, such efforts hinted at ambition—or worse, treachery.
"The Mongols do not favor assassins," Bamuyi replied cautiously. "The assassins I train are different. They are extremely loyal. They will carry out any command, even unto death, without hesitation."
Chen Rong remained silent, allowing him to continue.
"The Mongols value craftsmen and soldiers," Bamuyi added. "Anyone skilled in warfare or production may earn a place among them.
But assassins… they see such methods as dishonorable. They prefer open battle. To them, assassination is a crooked path."
He hesitated briefly before continuing.
"That is why my skill only kept me alive. It could not earn me favor. Otherwise… I would not have been given to you as a slave."
Chen Rong nodded faintly. The explanation made sense.
The Mongols valued strength, speed, and decisive battlefield victories.
Their cavalry swept across lands like storms. Secret killings and covert infiltration were not their preferred methods. To them, victory gained in open combat carried greater honor.
"What exactly do the assassins you train do?" Chen Rong asked. "Is it merely indoctrination? Turning them into fanatics unafraid of death?"
If that were the extent of it, Chen Rong would be disappointed. Blind devotion alone did not create effective operatives.
"Master, loyalty is only the foundation," Bamuyi replied respectfully. "They also learn many other skills.
They must learn multiple languages—Christian tongues, Turkic languages, Persian. They begin training in combat from childhood. They learn to fight with various weapons and to defeat stronger opponents."
He paused, his voice growing steadier as he spoke of familiar territory.
"They learn stealth. They learn to move unseen, to climb high walls, to cross obstacles, and infiltrate fortified castles. Once inside, they locate their targets quietly and strike without warning."
Chen Rong listened carefully.
Training assassins in such a manner was no simple matter. These individuals would be shaped from childhood, molded into tools of precision and discipline.
Bamuyi continued, his voice tinged with faint pride.
"Our order has long been hunted. Christians call us heretics. Many among Islam call us infidels.
Both sides seek our destruction. In such circumstances, those we train must become masters of survival and killing."
"I was once a mentor within the Assassin sect," he added quietly. "I have trained many assassins."
Chen Rong's eyes narrowed slightly.
"So what is the specific method?" he asked. "Do you follow the traditions of your Assassin order?"
"To ensure loyalty and fearlessness," Bamuyi said, "we must follow our teachings. People naturally fear death. We remove that fear. They must believe that what they do is righteous—that even if they die, they will ascend to heaven."
He hesitated briefly before adding, "We also use certain special herbs."
Chen Rong nearly smiled.
So that was it.
He had already suspected as much. The so-called "special herbs" were no mystery.
Substances that induced hallucinations, reinforced indoctrination, and deepened psychological control. Such methods had long existed.
To put it plainly, they created addicts—individuals bound not only by belief, but also by dependency.
No wonder the Mongols disdained such techniques.
To warriors who valued strength and discipline, relying on drugs and fanaticism likely seemed crude and dishonorable. It was little surprise Bamuyi's abilities were not highly valued among them.
Still, Chen Rong did not dismiss the idea entirely.
If the infiltration and stealth training of the Assassin sect were combined with more structured military discipline, it might produce something valuable.
A specialized force.
Such men could infiltrate enemy cities before an assault, opening gates from within. They could slip into camps, poison water supplies, burn grain stores, or spread chaos.
Used correctly, such forces could weaken an enemy before battle even began.
Compared to that, using them solely for assassination seemed wasteful.
Chen Rong recalled the concept of special operations forces from later eras—small, elite units capable of shaping battles before armies even met.
However, such thoughts were premature.
He lacked the manpower, the training grounds, and above all, the authority.
"Your skill in training assassins has little use here," Chen Rong finally said, waving his hand dismissively. "No one here values such things. And I lack the resources to train dead soldiers."
He paused, then continued, "However, your translation skills are useful. From now on, you will remain with me as my translator."
For now, that was enough.
Having someone fluent in multiple languages would be invaluable. As for future plans… those could wait.
Bamuyi bowed immediately.
"Yes, sir. As long as I can eat, I will do whatever you command."
Chen Rong nodded, then glanced toward the three other men standing nearby.
"Who are those three? Do you know them?"
"They are locals," Bamuyi replied. "Two were farmers. One tended horses."
"Good."
Chen Rong pointed toward a section of land not far away.
"Your next task is simple. Do you see those plants? You will care for them. Ensure they grow properly. That is your duty for now."
Among those plants were several crops Chen Rong had carefully cultivated—including chili peppers and other unfamiliar varieties.
In the future, he planned to present them to Genghis Khan.
Chili peppers were more than simple seasonings. They could help soldiers stay alert during long marches. Their powdered form could irritate enemies' eyes and breathing when scattered. Even when used creatively in warfare, they held surprising potential.
"Yes, sir," Bamuyi replied. "If it is only planting and tending, we can certainly manage. We will take good care of them."
Chen Rong nodded and divided the plants.
Some he entrusted to the slaves. Others he kept under his own care. After all, it was never wise to place all one's hopes in a single basket.
Over the next few days, life returned to a quiet rhythm.
Chen Rong spent his time tending plants, reviewing his supplies, and observing the movements within the Mongol camp. Bamuyi and the others proved diligent, carefully tending the crops as instructed.
No summons arrived from Genghis Khan.
Days passed in calm silence.
On the fourth day, shortly after noon, a Mongol soldier approached Chen Rong's camp once more.
"The Great Khan summons you," the soldier announced.
He wiped the soil from his hands and prepared to depart.