The curtain had fallen on the grand play at Kinh Phong Ridge, but its reverberations had only just begun.
While the chaotic melee between the Azure Cloud Sect and the remnants of the Black Dragon Stronghold was at its most vicious, and while all eyes were captivated by the blinding flashes of sabers and shadows of swords, Tran Kien—the very instigator who had ignited this inferno—was like a phantom, quietly blending into the panicked crowds fleeing down the mountain.
He did not flee aimlessly. Every step, every twist of his body, was calculated with absolute precision. He refrained from using his Primordial Chaos Qi to accelerate, knowing it would easily expose him to the experts. Instead, he relied entirely on the mortal survival and stealth techniques he had tempered through countless life-and-death struggles. He swapped clothes with a beggar, smeared mud across his face, and then slipped into a group of merchants hurriedly driving their cargo carts away.
Only when he had safely reached the foot of the mountain and merged with the bustling throngs on the official road did he turn his head to look back. Far away on Kinh Phong Ridge, the echoes of slaughter and agonized screams still drifted down on the wind, but they no longer had anything to do with him.
He had succeeded.
The stratagems of 'borrowing a knife to kill another' and 'shooting two hawks with one arrow' had been executed with flawless perfection. Not only had he slain Lanh Thien Phong to claim his vengeance, but he had also maneuvered two of the major factions hunting him into a mutual slaughter, carving out a precious window of time for himself.
Tran Kien did not linger. He knew this was merely a fleeting peace. He traveled to a nearby small town, sought out the most ordinary inn, and rented the simplest room. He needed a quiet sanctuary to digest everything that had transpired and, more importantly, to plot his next move.
Meanwhile, atop Kinh Phong Ridge, the battle had finally reached its conclusion.
The remnants of the Black Dragon Stronghold, having lost Lanh Thien Phong and now facing the righteous fury of the orthodox disciples, were utterly unable to hold their ground. After abandoning over a dozen corpses, they finally broke through the encirclement and fled wretchedly, vanishing into the dense, ancient forest.
The Azure Cloud Sect did not fare much better. They had won, but several of their disciples had sustained injuries. The Sixth Elder stood amidst the blood-soaked battlefield, staring at the corpses of Lanh Thien Phong and the Black Dragon Stronghold lackeys. His aged face was terrifyingly gloomy. He knew, in his bones, that he had been painfully led by the nose by a mere greenhorn.
"Elder, should we pursue them?" asked a handsome youth, his Eldest Disciple, stepping forward.
"Pursue?" The Sixth Elder gave a cold snort. "Pursue who? The sewer rats of the Black Dragon Stronghold, or that wily old fox, Tran Kien? Do you even know which direction he went?"
The handsome youth lowered his head, not daring to utter a word.
"Return to the Sect!" The Sixth Elder flicked his sleeves, his voice laden with sheer frustration. "Today's matters must be meticulously reported to the Sect Leader. Tran Kien... The Legacy of Lac Viet... This chessboard is no longer something we can casually meddle in."
Elsewhere, Thuong Quan Van stood silently beside the headless corpse of Lanh Thien Phong. He showed no signs of rejoicing over the death of an enemy. He merely gazed toward the mountain path, the place where Tran Kien's silhouette had faded away. In his mind, Tran Kien's final saber strike replayed endlessly. A strike utterly devoid of hesitation—cold, decisive, and carrying an unshakable, indomitable will.
That... is the true saber art of killing, he murmured inwardly. My sword, compared to his saber, is truly far too immature.
Today's battle had left a profound scar, a deep tremor within the soul of this proud 'Little Sword God'.
News of the earth-shattering battle at Kinh Phong Ridge spread like a violent tempest across the lands. In merely a few days, the entirety of Thanh Province, and even its neighboring regions, had learned of it.
The tale was recounted in countless varying iterations. Some claimed the mysterious inheritor of Lac Viet had re-emerged in the martial world, severing the head of Marquis Vinh An's son with a single slash. Others whispered that it was a grand play orchestrated by Duke Dinh Quoc's Estate and the Thuong Quan Clan to cripple Marquis Vinh An.
Yet, regardless of the version, the name Tran Kien—after two years of dead silence—had once again become the most scorching topic under heaven. His reputation was no longer confined to mere trickery and schemes; it had been forged and validated in an open, heaven-shaking battle.
In a distant city tavern.
Clack.
A wine cup was slammed heavily onto the table. Van Tam Thong, the veteran merchant of the Myriad Treasures Trade Guild, threw his head back and roared with laughter after hearing the rumors from the surrounding patrons. His laughter was filled with sheer exhilaration and pride.
"Excellent! Truly excellent! I knew it! There was no way that little brat would die so easily!"
Far away in the Imperial Capital, within Duke Dinh Quoc's Estate.
Upon hearing the news, Lam Vy wept and laughed at the same time. "Big Brother Tran... I knew you would definitely be alright!"
Uncle Sword merely sat in silence, carefully wiping his wooden sword, but the corners of his mouth curled up into a faint, satisfied smile.
But where there was joy, there was also boundless wrath.
Within a gloomy secret chamber at the Marquis Vinh An Estate.
BOOOOM!!!
A solid ironwood table was pulverized into dust by a single palm strike. Marquis Vinh An, a middle-aged man who normally possessed an elegant and refined bearing, now wore a visage twisted by sheer, unadulterated fury.
"TRAN KIEN!!!" he roared, the sound resembling a wounded primordial beast. "I swear, if I do not hack you into a thousand pieces, if I do not make you wish for death, then I am not Marquis Vinh An!!!"
The tempestuous rage of one of the Imperial Court's most powerful officials was destined to make the entire capital tremble.
And Tran Kien, the one who had ignited all these raging fires, was currently sitting peacefully in a small inn, quietly sipping tea. He was completely unfazed by the monstrous waves he had set into motion. He was deep in thought.
Fame is a double-edged sword, he thought to himself. After this battle, it will be impossible for me to stay hidden. I will become the target of everyone under the heavens.
The time has come to change plans, he murmured. I can no longer walk this path alone. I need a new identity... a faction of my own.
His gaze drifted out the window, looking toward the south, toward the distant Imperial Capital.
The chessboard in the Capital... will perhaps be much more interesting.