Young White Horse: The Poison Sword Master of the Wen Family, Shocking the Apocalypse

From Tiejiling to Fuzhou, it's an eighty-mile journey.

Of the three thousand elite soldiers of the Double-Blade Battalion who set out, fewer than fifty remain by his side.

That night, they were not marching; they were fleeing.

There were no pursuers behind me, but fear was more terrifying than any pursuer.

Every cry of a night bird, every rustle of wind, would startle these battle-hardened veterans, as if those inhuman, ghostly drug-laced figures would leap out of the darkness once more.

One after another, the seriously wounded soldiers fell down. Some lost too much blood and collapsed while walking, never to get up again.

Some people suffered from the poisoning, their skin ulcerated and oozing pus, and they died in painful groans;

Some people suffered mental breakdowns, muttering to themselves, "Monsters...they are all unkillable monsters...", before suddenly going berserk and rushing into the darkness, disappearing without a trace.

Ye Xiaoying's consciousness was blurred, and he was only holding on by sheer willpower.

The wound on my left arm is worrying; every heartbeat brings a tearing pain.

His vision blurred and his ears rang, but the images of those dark purple eyes and his comrades, torn to shreds, kept flashing through his mind.

Invincible...

Those four words gnawed at his mind like maggots clinging to his bones.

"General...we're almost at Fuzhou..." The bodyguard supporting him said in a hoarse, tearful voice, "Please hold on..."

Ye Xiaoying wanted to nod, but his throat bobbed and he coughed up a mouthful of blood.

Ahead, the outline of Fuzhou City gradually became clear in the morning mist.

Torches illuminated the city walls, and the figures of the patrolling soldiers could be vaguely seen.

The guards perked up and shouted hoarsely, "Brothers on the city wall! Open the city gate! It's General Ye! General Ye is back—!"

The shouts echoed across the open field.

A commotion broke out on the city wall, and soon the city gate slowly opened, and a troop of guards rushed out.

The leader was the garrison commander of Fuzhou. When he saw Ye Xiaoying's miserable state, his face changed drastically: "Quickly! Carry the general into the city! Call for a physician!"

Several soldiers stepped forward and carefully took Ye Xiaoying from him.

Just as he was lifted up, Ye Xiaoying's unfocused gaze glanced towards the outside of the city—

In the morning mist, another group of figures staggered in.

Those were the defeated soldiers from the North Gate.

Their situation was even worse than Ye Xiaoying's—of the more than 20,000 men who went out of the city for a night raid, less than 15,000 returned, and they were all in disarray, their armor and weapons in disarray, their expressions filled with fear.

In the procession, four centurions carried a headless corpse. The corpse was wearing a lieutenant general's armor, and the cut on its neck was smooth, with all the blood drained away.

It was the lieutenant who was beheaded by Baili Chengfeng with a single sword strike.

Ye Xiaoying's pupils suddenly contracted.

The feint attack at the north gate... also failed?

Moreover, the defeat was so humiliating—the commander was decapitated, and the army scattered and fled back.

"Hah...hah..." He tried to say something, but only managed to let out a wheezing sound like a broken bellows.

The next moment, darkness completely swallowed consciousness.

In the last moments before he fell into a coma, two images flashed before his eyes:

At the Ironthorn Ridge Pass, a dark purple light shone in the eyes of the medicine man, and his comrades were torn to shreds, their flesh and blood exposed.

Beneath the walls of Qiandong City, the headless body of a lieutenant general lay with a neck cut as smooth as a mirror.

So it turns out... he wasn't the only one who lost tonight.

Leaving aside the terrifying nature of the drug-using man, the Marquis's heir, Baili Chengfeng, who was guarding the city, was also incredibly brave, killing someone with a single sword strike. He was equally invincible!

This thought, like the final boulder, crushed his taut nerves.

Ye Xiaoying's head lolled to the side, and he completely lost consciousness.

As the morning mist lingered, two groups of defeated soldiers merged and silently surged into the city gate of Fuzhou.

No one speaks.

Only suppressed gasps, painful groans, and... a lingering fear buried deep in everyone's eyes.

It's almost bright.

But for them, the darkness brought by this night may never dissipate.

Fuzhou City, north of the Lijun camp.

The night was as dark as ink, and the campfire flickered in the night wind, casting long and short shadows on the ground, swaying like ghosts.

Inside the central command tent, the stench of blood mingled with the aroma of herbs.

Ye Xiaoying lay on a makeshift stretcher, his eyes closed and his face as pale as paper.

Although the wound on his left arm was wrapped tightly with layers of bandages, dark red bloodstains continued to seep out, staining the white gauze a shocking brownish-red.

The deep, bone-revealing wound on his right leg was even more gruesome, with the white bone fragments faintly visible where the flesh had rolled back.

Two military medical officers stood around the bed, their foreheads covered in sweat.

One person used silver needles to seal acupoints to stop the bleeding, while the other carefully cleaned the wound. Whenever the medicine touched the wound, Ye Xiaoying, who was in a coma, would convulse and clench his teeth.

"How is it?" Deputy Commandant He Qingshan stood to the side, also covered in blood. A wound on his right cheek ran from the corner of his eye to his jaw, with the skin and flesh turned outwards, but he was completely unaware of it, staring intently at the physician's hand.

The older physician didn't even look up, his voice hoarse: "General, your left arm is badly injured, the tendons are damaged, but thankfully the bones are fine... It seems this arm will be unusable for the time being..."

There was dead silence in the tent.

Several guards turned their heads away, their eyes red, their fists clenched tightly.

He Qingshan's lips trembled; he wanted to say something, but couldn't utter a single word.

He recalled the battle at Tieji Ridge—of the three thousand brothers of the Double-Blade Battalion, less than a hundred were able to return to Fuzhou alive.

Those drug-infused people... those monsters that are neither human nor ghost...

"Stabilizing their lives is the priority," the younger physician whispered. "We need to stabilize their internal injuries first, otherwise..."

Before he could finish speaking, Ye Xiaoying, who was on the bed, suddenly coughed violently, coughing up several mouthfuls of dark red blood clots.

His eyelids trembled, and he slowly opened them.

Those eyes, usually sharp as an eagle's, were now bloodshot, hollow and unfocused, as if they were still lingering in the mountains of corpses and seas of blood in Ironthorn Ridge.

"General!" He Qingshan rushed forward and knelt on one knee. "You're awake!"

Ye Xiaoying stared at the top of the tent for a long time before slowly turning his eyes to look at He Qingshan.

A hoarse sound came from his throat, like a broken bellows being pulled.

“Battle…battle report…” he managed to utter two words, his chest heaving violently with each word, aggravating his wounds and causing the veins on his forehead to bulge in pain.

He Qingshan's eyes welled up with tears, and he forced back his sobs: "General, please recover from your injuries first. As for the battle report..."

"Speak!" Ye Xiaoying's eyes widened suddenly, and the imposing aura of a fierce general on the battlefield erupted, making He Qingshan's heart skip a beat.

He gritted his teeth, knowing he couldn't hide it, and there was no need to.

"In this battle..." He Qingshan's voice trembled, "of the 20,000 troops that feigned an attack on Qiandong City, more than 2,800 were killed in action, and after the rout, more than 2,000 deserters and missing soldiers were also killed."

Of those who returned to Fuzhou City, only slightly more than 15,000 survived, including over 3,000 wounded soldiers with varying degrees of injury.

He paused, his breathing becoming rapid: "The Double Blade Battalion, with its three thousand elite soldiers... was almost completely wiped out. In the end, fewer than fifty men returned to Fuzhou City with the general."

Each number was like a heavy hammer, striking Ye Xiaoying's heart hard.

He closed his eyes, his chest heaving violently, and a low growl like that of a trapped beast escaped his throat.

The tent was deathly silent, save for the crackling of the torches and Ye Xiaoying's heavy breathing.

After a long while, Ye Xiaoying opened his eyes again.

Those eyes were bloodshot, but they no longer showed any signs of wavering; instead, they were filled with a deep-seated hatred and resolute determination.

"The drug user..." He squeezed out the two words through gritted teeth, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping, "Wen Yanzhao... good, very good!"

He struggled to get up, but the movement aggravated his wound, causing him to groan in pain, and cold sweat poured down his forehead.

"General, you mustn't!" He Qingshan quickly pressed him down.

"Help me up!" Ye Xiaoying roared. "Get me paper and a pen!"

He Qingshan knew he couldn't persuade him otherwise, so he and his personal guards carefully helped him up and placed a soft pillow behind his back.

Ye Xiaoying's left arm was useless, so he could only use his right hand. He took the brush, his hand trembling violently, and ink dripped onto the rice paper, spreading into a blotchy stain.

He gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, forcibly steadied his wrist, and began to write.

Each stroke carries immense weight.

He recounted in detail the defeat at Chaisang, the night raid on Fuzhou, and the complete annihilation of the drug-using army at Tiejiling.

The descriptions of the drug users, in particular, are lavish—they are fearless of death, unaware of pain, with bones of iron, and able to fight even with missing limbs…

When he wrote "Of the three thousand soldiers of the Double-Blade Battalion, not one in ten survived," his pen paused, and the ink splattered on the paper like a drop of blood and tears.

This man, who wouldn't flinch even when hacked or slashed on the battlefield, now had bloodshot eyes, bitten his lower lip until it bled, and blood trickled down his lips, mixing with the ink and leaving a dark red mark on the battle report.

But he didn't stop.

After writing the last word, Ye Xiaoying felt as if all his strength had been drained, and he collapsed onto the couch.

"Send...send a team of the most reliable scouts..." He stared at He Qingshan, enunciating each word clearly, "with an urgent dispatch of three hundred li, to deliver this battle report...to the Langya King's camp in the north of Juzhou."

"Your subordinate obeys!" He Qingshan took the battle report with both hands, carefully folded it, put it into a waterproof oilcloth bag, and turned to leave the tent.

Ye Xiaoying stared at the top of the tent, and tears of blood finally rolled down his cheeks.

"Brothers..." he murmured to himself, "I have failed you all... If I do not avenge this, I, Ye Xiaoying, swear I will not be a man!"

……