Two days later, beneath the shadow of the majestic Black Eagle Mountain, a grand chess match had been quietly laid out. The sky was a clear, cloudless blue, and the mountain winds carried the scent of vegetation and wild, untamed nature. Yet, hidden beneath that tranquility, deadly undercurrents were beginning to stir.
Act One: Beating the Grass to Startle the Snake
Beside the Black Water River, the sole lifeline of the entire stronghold, a familiar silver-armored figure was crouching beside a bush. However, at this moment, Ly Tin had shed the battle armor bearing the insignia of the Duke of Dingguo's Estate. Instead, he wore simple black robes, and his face was concealed behind a vicious-looking iron wolf mask. This was the exact type of mask worn by the low-level enforcers of the Black Dragon Stronghold.
He did not perform any grand gestures. He merely took out a small vial and carefully emptied a scentless grey powder into the upper reaches of the river. This powder was not a deadly poison; it would kill no one, but if ingested, it would induce a mild stomach ache for several hours. It was harmless, yet entirely sufficient to sow paranoia.
Having finished, he did not immediately depart. He intentionally paced along the riverbank, leaving behind several distinct footprints. Finally, he drew an arrow engraved with a silver centipede—an item Tran Kien had given him, looted from the very assassins in Lac Nam Town—and planted it conspicuously in the mud.
Everything prepared, Ly Tin cast a glance toward the peak of Black Eagle Mountain. Beneath the mask, the corners of his mouth curled into a cold sneer. His figure then swiftly melded into the shadows of the forest, vanishing without a trace.
Less than half an hour later, a patrol from the Black Eagle Stronghold descended to draw water. The patrol captain, a man with a face full of bushy whiskers, immediately had a drastic change in expression upon seeing the arrow planted in the mud.
"The token of the Black Dragon Stronghold!" he cried out in terror. "Quick! Quickly return and report to the Boss! Someone is trying to tamper with our water source!"
The news rapidly reached the main encampment at the mountain peak. Within the Hall of Gathering Righteousness, the four Hall Masters of the Black Eagle Stronghold were drinking wine. Upon hearing the report, the Second Hall Master—a man as emaciated as an opium addict bearing the moniker "Ghost Monkey"—immediately slammed the table and shot to his feet.
"Motherf*cker! Those hunting dogs of the Black Dragon Stronghold actually dare to play tricks behind our backs! This Laozi will go down and see for himself!"
"Second Brother, stay your anger," the First Hall Master, a bald man with a scar-riddled face, said in a deep voice. "There is something strange about this. Though we and the Black Dragon Stronghold are at odds, we are both under the command of Marquis Vinh An. There is no reason for them to stir up trouble unprovoked. Could someone be trying to sow discord between us?"
"Sow discord my ass!" Ghost Monkey snarled. "Their token is plain as day! They are definitely jealous because the Marquis assigned us such an important task this time! Let me lead some men down to investigate; if it really is them, I'll chop off a few of their heads to make wine vessels!"
Saying so, he turned a deaf ear to any persuasion, immediately rallying fifty elites and marching aggressively down the mountain. Tran Kien's trap of "beating the grass to startle the snake" was half successful. The first snake had been lured out of its hole.
Act Two: Luring the Tiger from the Mountain
While Ghost Monkey was leading his men down the mountain, a figure quietly appeared on the sole perilous path leading up Black Eagle Mountain.
Uncle Sword.
He did not conceal himself. He simply strolled leisurely up the path, holding his wooden sword, his demeanor as transcendent and carefree as a scholar enjoying the scenery.
"Who goes there?! Halt!" The two guards at the first checkpoint immediately barked, crossing their spears to block the path.
Uncle Sword did not speak a word. He merely flicked his sleeve.
SWISH!
No one saw how he struck. They only saw two invisible streaks of Sword Qi flash by. The two guards' eyes widened in shock as a bright red line appeared across each of their necks. They collapsed to the ground, dead.
Uncle Sword did not stop. He continued his ascent. The second checkpoint, four men. The third checkpoint, eight men. All were slain in a single strike; not a single one had the time to send out a warning signal.
It wasn't until he reached the main gates of the stronghold—a sturdy fortification built of stone and thick ironwood, guarded by over twenty bandits—that the intrusion was finally discovered.
"INTRUDER!!!" one of them shrieked in terror. The blaring sound of alarm horns instantly echoed throughout the stronghold.
Uncle Sword stood before the gates, facing the twenty-plus vicious thugs charging at him, yet his expression remained as placid as an unrippled lake. This time, he did not use invisible Sword Qi. He slowly drew his wooden sword.
He delivered only a single slash.
A downward cleave, incredibly simple.
Yet when that sword fell, the very air before him seemed to compress. An invisible but mountainous surge of Sword Intent crashed forward.
"BOOOOM!!!"
The sturdy stronghold gates, made of foot-thick ironwood, exploded into countless splinters under that single strike! The twenty-odd bandits standing nearby were blasted backward by the shockwave of the Sword Intent, coughing up fresh blood; some died instantly, while others were grievously wounded.
The entire stronghold was plunged into terror.
Uncle Sword did not advance inside. He simply stood there, using the tip of his sword to carve three massive words into the earth, the strokes sharp and arrogant: "Duke of Dingguo."
His task complete, he did not hesitate in the slightest. He turned around, his figure blurring before vanishing into the dense forest, leaving behind only a devastated battlefield and three deeply provocative words.
Inside the Hall of Gathering Righteousness, Iron Eagle, the Stronghold Master, was listening to reports about the Black Water River when he heard the earth-shattering explosion and the blare of the alarm horns. He rushed out in a fury.
When he saw the completely shattered main gates and the three words "Duke of Dingguo" carved into the ground, his rage peaked.
He was an incredibly arrogant man. To have someone strike directly at his front door, slaughter his subordinates, smash his gates, and then leisurely leave behind their name was an insult that could never be washed away!
"DUKE OF DINGGUO!!!" Iron Eagle roared, his voice echoing like the shriek of a raptor through the mountains and forests. "You dare look down upon my Black Eagle Stronghold! Do you think having a Foundation Establishment Sword Cultivator means you can do whatever you please?!"
"Men!" he bellowed at the remaining Hall Masters. "Gather all our brothers! Pursue him! Today, I will hack that old fart to pieces and use his head to anoint our banners!"
"Boss! You can't!" the First Hall Master frantically tried to dissuade him. "This is clearly a ploy to 'lure the tiger from the mountain'! We cannot fall into their trap!"
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" Iron Eagle, having lost all reason to his fury, delivered a heaven-shaking slap across the First Hall Master's face. "They have insulted us to our faces, yet you still cower in fear! Whoever refuses to go, I will execute them first!"
Under the Stronghold Master's wrath, no one dared to utter another word of protest. The remaining two hundred bandits of the Black Eagle Stronghold, led personally by Iron Eagle and the three Hall Masters, swarmed out of the gates like a nest of disturbed hornets, madly pursuing the direction in which Uncle Sword had vanished.
The tiger had truly been lured from the mountain.
Act Three: Setting the Fires
Along a treacherous, hidden trail on the rear slope of Black Eagle Mountain, three figures silently observed everything.
Tran Kien, Lam Vy, and Trinh Cong.
They clearly saw Ghost Monkey's forces descend the mountain. They clearly saw Uncle Sword shatter the stronghold gates with a single sword. And they clearly saw Iron Eagle, consumed by rage, lead the entirety of his main forces straight into the waiting trap.
"The time has come," Tran Kien said, his voice calm, but his eyes burning with intensity.
He looked toward the mountain stronghold, which was now protected by only a paper-thin defense. The lair of the eagle had become completely empty.
"Elder Trinh, Lam Vy, stay close to me. Remember the plan. We do not fight; we only set fires. Be swift and decisive, then immediately retreat!"
"Understood!"
The three of them did not hesitate. Their figures moved like three agile civets, quickly weaving through the underbrush, beginning their infiltration into the tiger's den.
The grandest act, the act that would determine the success or failure of the entire stratagem, was about to begin.