Mountain winds swept across the peak of Black Eagle Mountain, carrying the dying echoes of warning horns and the faint scent of gunpowder from the shattered gates. The chaos following Uncle Sword's intrusion had temporarily subsided, yet the entire stronghold now sank into an eerie silence.
The tiger had truly been lured from the mountain.
Iron Eagle, consumed by rage, had taken away almost the entirety of the main forces—over two hundred of the most elite bandit minions—leaving behind a mere fifty to guard the lair. Among them was the First Hall Master, the scarred bald man, the only one who still retained a shred of reason. Having suffered a resounding slap from Iron Eagle and being forced to stay behind, his heart was filled with both bitter resentment and an indescribable, rising premonition of unease.
"Reinforce the defenses!" the First Hall Master roared at the remaining subordinates. "Station guards at the granary and the armory! I sense something is amiss!"
However, his commands carried little weight among a group of minions accustomed only to obeying the Stronghold Master. Though slightly anxious, the majority of them reasoned that since the enemy was but a single man, and the Master himself had led forces in pursuit, what danger could possibly remain? Negligence and complacency began to creep into every corner of the seemingly impenetrable mountain stronghold.
Little did they know, three of the most agile civets had silently followed the secret trail along the rear cliffs, encroaching upon their lair.
Tran Kien, Lam Vy, and Trinh Cong concealed themselves behind a massive boulder, observing the entire stronghold. The rear fortification walls, though not as sturdy as the main gates, still had patrols pacing back and forth.
"How do we get inside?" Trinh Cong whispered, his hand tightly gripping his sword.
Tran Kien did not reply. He merely signaled for the two to remain silent. Closing his eyes, he slowly circulated the Primordial Chaos Qi within his body. He was listening. Listening to the wind, the rustling leaves, and the rhythmic pacing of the enemy patrols.
A long while later, he opened his eyes. "Every time it takes an incense stick to burn, the patrols undergo a shift change, creating an opening of about ten breaths of time at the western corner of the wall. That spot is also a blind spot for the watchtower. We will seize that moment to infiltrate."
He looked at the two and instructed, "Once inside, we will split up. Elder Trinh, your martial prowess is the highest; proceed to the eastern armory. It will undoubtedly be heavily guarded. You merely need to create a commotion to draw their attention. Lam Vy and I will head to the western granary."
"No!" Lam Vy immediately objected. "That's too dangerous for Grandpa! Let me go with him!"
"This is not the time to argue," Tran Kien interrupted, his tone extremely grave. "In this stratagem, everyone has a role. Trust me." He looked into the young girl's eyes, his gaze brimming with unwavering resolve.
Seeing this, Lam Vy, despite her apprehension, said no more and simply nodded.
The opportune moment finally arrived. The patrol had just vanished behind a corner of the wall.
"Go!"
Tran Kien commanded. The three figures shot forth from their hiding spot like loose arrows, their speed utterly astonishing. They lightly clung to the crevices of the stronghold wall; in mere breaths, they scaled the summit, then silently dropped into the interior without making a single sound.
Upon entering, the three instantly separated. Trinh Cong did not hesitate; his figure, like a phantom, vanished toward the east.
Tran Kien and Lam Vy crept along the blind spots, rapidly approaching the western warehouse district. The guard here was indeed lax; there were only about ten bandit lackeys huddled together gambling, their curses ringing out incessantly.
Tran Kien signaled for Lam Vy to hide behind a pile of firewood. He was not in a rush to charge out. He knew that engaging in direct combat, even if victorious, would alert the entire stronghold.
He took a deep breath. The Primordial Chaos Qi circulated.
"Ten Thousand Li Flying Crane Formation!"
But this time, he did not lay the formation upon the ground. He used the Primordial Chaos Qi itself, condensing it in midair.
Suddenly, from behind the gambling bandits, a milky-white spirit energy crane, as massive as a wild goose, quietly materialized. It did not attack immediately but merely gave a powerful flap of its wings.
WHOOSH! A fierce gust of wind blew over, violently overturning their entire gambling ring.
"What... what the hell is that?" "G-ghosts!"
The terrified bandits hastily turned their heads. But at that very moment, the crane dissipated. In its stead, from a different direction, two other cranes appeared, letting out bizarre cries before vanishing once more.
The entire group descended into utter chaos, completely baffled by what was happening.
While their attention was wholly captivated by the spirit energy cranes, two figures silently slipped inside the colossal granary. Inside, it was piled high with sacks of rations and grain, enough to feed the stronghold for half a year. The musty scent mingled heavily with the smell of grain.
"Hurry!" Tran Kien urged. He produced a flint and a small pouch of oil prepared beforehand. He and Lam Vy swiftly poured the oil over the most flammable sacks of rations.
Right at that moment, from the eastern side of the stronghold, agonizing screams and the fierce clashing of weapons suddenly erupted. Trinh Cong had made his move!
"Something's happened at the armory! Quick, go support them!" Hearing this, the lackeys outside didn't hesitate for a second, grabbing their weapons and rushing wildly in that direction.
The entire western warehouse district was left completely unguarded.
"An excellent opportunity!" Tran Kien said. Without further delay, he struck the flint hard.
A small flame sparked to life and was tossed into the oil-soaked sacks.
FWOOSH!
Fire meeting oil, and oil meeting dry rations—the flames instantly roared with a savage intensity, transforming the entire granary into a sea of fire in the blink of an eye. A terrifying heat surged outward.
"Go!"
Without a single backward glance, Tran Kien and Lam Vy swiftly darted out of the burning warehouse.
At this time, the First Hall Master, the scarred bald man, was commanding his subordinates to besiege Trinh Cong at the armory. Although the old guard was injured, his swordplay was incredibly seasoned; he single-handedly held off over twenty men without falling into a disadvantage. Just as the First Hall Master was about to strike personally, he suddenly saw a colossal pillar of black smoke billowing up from the west.
"Not good! The granary!" he roared in horror. He finally understood. This was a trap! They had been fooled!
"Quickly, go extinguish the fire!" he ordered madly.
But it was too late. Fanned by the mountain winds, the granary fire had already begun spreading to the adjacent wooden structures. The entirety of Black Eagle Stronghold, once an impregnable fortress, was gradually turning into a giant torch. Panicked screams, cries for help, and the crashing sounds of collapsing buildings echoed everywhere.
Tran Kien and Lam Vy regrouped with Trinh Cong. The three had no desire for prolonged combat; taking advantage of the extreme chaos, they swiftly retreated toward the secret trail behind the mountain.
Standing atop a high crag in the distance, they looked back at the lair of the Black Eagle Stronghold now sinking into a sea of fire. The massive pillar of black smoke soared into the heavens, clearly visible from dozens of li away.
This was the signal. The signal for Uncle Sword and Ly Tin.
A signal declaring that the wounded tiger no longer had a den to return to. The besiegement and slaughter was about to begin.