diymy Chapter 70 Courage
Chapter 70 Courage
Chapter 70 Courage
The hall erupted in chaos.
The assassins came in from the outside. Chaos broke out first at the main entrance. Several servants who had been helping to tidy up the tables and chairs in the courtyard suddenly drew their knives and slashed down the unsuspecting guests nearby. In a flash, blood splattered onto the pillars, and some people fell to the ground before they could even cry out.
The scream jolted the drunken men in the hall awake, but their minds were in disarray. In their panic, they rushed out without a second thought.
This is the principle of "survival of the fittest." Assassins are ultimately a minority compared to the guests in the hall, and as the crowd surges out, a few lucky ones will inevitably emerge. As for who gets out and who is left behind, that's entirely up to fate and luck.
In an instant, the guests scattered and fled. Some knocked over tables, shattering cups, plates, and bowls all over the floor. Some tripped over the carpet and, before they could get up, were trampled by the surging crowd behind them.
The screams of dancers, the angry shouts of men, the dull thuds of weapons piercing flesh, the loud crashes of tables and chairs overturning—all the sounds mingled together like a pot of boiling water.
Zhao Heng moved the moment the first scream rang out, but he neither fled to the main hall, which was already packed with assassins and fleeing guests, where people were falling amidst the flashing blades, nor did he run to the side door, where several servants with knives were also pouring out and forcing back the guests who were trying to escape from there.
He crouched low, pressed himself against the wall, and retreated toward the curtain.
The assassin's timing was indeed extremely precise.
The banquet was drawing to a close, a time when everyone was most relaxed.
Most of the guards of Lord Pingyuan's residence retreated to the outer courtyard, leaving very few in the main hall. Even those actual guards who reacted were scattered and disorganized by the fleeing crowd, making it impossible for them to quickly assemble a response.
After several rounds of drinks, many guests were so drunk that they could barely walk, let alone resist. They stumbled and staggered like a flock of startled sheep.
Chaos had broken out behind the curtain as well. Zhao Heng had just retreated to the curtain's edge when he heard a scream behind him. A dancer had tripped over a corpse lying on the ground and fallen to the ground. Before she could get up, an assassin wielding a knife was cutting down a musician when he turned and slashed down at her.
Without thinking twice, Zhao grabbed a copper kettle from the table next to him and smashed it into the assassin's face.
The copper kettle struck the man squarely on the bridge of his nose, causing him to groan in pain, spurt blood from his nose, and stagger back two steps, nearly dropping the knife from his hand.
Taking advantage of the moment, Zhao Heng grabbed the dancer and shoved her towards the passage behind the curtain, the force just enough to send her out. The dancer staggered away, not even bothering to thank him, leaving only a trail of messy footsteps behind.
Zhao Heng didn't linger. He turned around and kicked open a window behind the curtain. The wooden frame cracked, and he tumbled out, landing in the corridor connecting to the side courtyard. He rolled upon landing to dissipate the force, then got up and ran towards the side courtyard.
Meng Ben and Luan Ding, along with the other guests' guards, had their weapons confiscated and were left there. Zhao Heng was unsure who had ordered these assassins who had managed to infiltrate Lord Pingyuan's residence, and needed to find them and rendezvous with them first.
A loud crash came from behind. The assassin, whose nose had been broken, smashed through the entire door and stumbled out. His face was covered in blood, his nose was crooked to one side, and his eyes were full of ferocity. He drew his knife and chased after Zhao Heng.
Zhao Gang ran a few steps when a young dancer, about fifteen or sixteen years old, dressed in a light green dress, suddenly rushed out from the corner of the corridor. She had tear stains on her face and was running towards him in a panic.
When she saw Zhao Heng, and then the assassin chasing after him with a knife, she was so frightened that she froze, her legs went weak, and she collapsed to the ground, her lips trembling, unable to even utter a sound. She had already foreseen that the young man in front of her would be killed by the assassin, and then she herself would perish here.
Zhao Heng kept walking.
He caught a glimpse of a corpse lying in the corridor, the body of which he couldn't tell if it was a servant or an assassin, with a short knife lying beside it. He quickly went over, bent down, picked up the knife, gripped the hilt, turned around, and threw it at the pursuing assassin.
The dagger spun and plunged into the assassin's right shoulder with a soft thud, the tip piercing through the gap in the shoulder blade and disappearing all the way to the hilt.
The assassin screamed, the force of the dagger sending him staggering back half a step. Blood trickled down the blade from his shoulder, instantly staining half his sleeve crimson. But he gritted his teeth and charged forward, raising his left hand as if to pull the knife from his shoulder.
Zhao Heng was waiting for him to come up. The instant the short knife left his hand, he had already rushed in front of the assassin, sidestepping and kicking him in the knee. It hit the outside of his knee. Caught off guard, the man suddenly knelt on one knee. Zhao Heng followed up with another kick, this time to his temple.
The assassin groaned, fell to his side, and lay motionless. A red mark remained on his temple, and his eyes were slightly bloodshot.
Zhao Heng didn't even glance at the assassin. He turned around, walked up to the dancer, and pulled her up from the ground.
The dancer finally snapped out of her daze, glanced at Zhao Heng, and stammered as if she wanted to say something. Zhao Heng didn't have time to pay attention to her; he simply gestured with his chin towards the backyard, signaling her to run away quickly, and then turned and continued towards the side courtyard.
The dancer's lips trembled; she wanted to say something but couldn't utter a word. She just nodded frantically and then staggered away in the direction Zhao Heng pointed.
As soon as Zhao Heng turned the corner, he heard a hoarse shout from outside.
"Assassins have appeared—Prince Yan and his entourage have been kidnapped—"
He suddenly stopped and turned around.
A servant from Lord Pingyuan's household stumbled through the door, his face covered in blood. One hand clutched his neck, blood gushing from between his fingers, staining his clothes crimson. He staggered a couple of steps, his legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground. He struggled to lift his head, seemingly wanting to say something, but his hand had already slipped from his neck, and he lay motionless on the ground.
Yan Dan was kidnapped?
Zhao turned around and continued running, his steps never faltering, but several thoughts flashed through his mind in a flash.
Yes, yes.
Yan Dan was indeed bold.
Zhao Heng couldn't help but sigh. If he were Yan Dan, he would probably also choose this day to escape if given such an opportunity.
Although it is unknown how Yan Dan managed to bring the assassin into Lord Pingyuan's residence, the timing was indeed clever.
As the banquet ended, the guards relaxed and the guests dispersed, creating the weakest point in the defenses.
Most importantly, envoys from most of Handan and even foreign countries have gathered here. Yan Dan is not the only one who can be taken hostage. This is a rare opportunity that you would never find even with a lantern.
Imagine if Yan Dan staged a hostage situation at the hostage house, would the Zhao state really care about his safety? They might just close the city gates and trap him.
However, if a few high-ranking officials were kidnapped at this banquet, it would give the garrison of Handan a bargaining chip to make them hesitate to act. Now that the Crown Prince of Yan was kidnapped at Lord Pingyuan's birthday banquet, Zhao also had to give Yan an explanation, so it could not push too far and provoke the so-called "assassin" to take desperate measures.
He even came up with a pretext for this assassination attempt: to assassinate Lord Xinling.
Crude, clumsy, yet undeniably bold.
Zhao already understood about 70-80% of what was going on, but he ran even faster.
The shouts of killing behind him grew more intense, but he didn't turn around; he simply continued to look for space to hide. As he turned the corner of the corridor, another assassin pounced out from the side, his short knife aimed straight for his waist and abdomen.
Zhao Heng sidestepped the blade, grabbed the man's wrist with his other hand, twisted and pulled, and the wrist bone made a crisp sound as the short knife slipped from his hand.
Zhao Heng caught the knife, then thrust it into the man's shoulder, pulled it out, and pushed him down—the whole sequence of movements was executed in one smooth motion, without even pausing his steps.
Just then, a loud shout came from the direction of the front yard.
The burly man who had previously slain two assassins with a single sword strike in the hall was now protecting the guests, fighting his way through the crowd. His longsword wielded immense power; with a single, powerful slash, he felled one assassin, sword and all, to the ground. Another assassin lunged from the side; without turning his head, he swung his left elbow backward, striking the man squarely in the chest. The man groaned and flew backward, crashing into a pillar and sliding down the corridor, motionless.
"Where is the Crown Prince of Yan!"
However, upon hearing that the Crown Prince of Yan had been kidnapped, the burly man, knowing the gravity of the situation, disregarded everything else and immediately demanded an explanation.
The servant had already died, so naturally no one answered.
The burly man glanced around, his brow furrowing as he surveyed the corpses strewn across the ground and the fleeing crowd. After a moment, he no longer hesitated, drew his sword, and charged towards the gate, disappearing into the chaotic throng in a few leaps.
Zhao Heng left the front yard, but he dared not be careless, because he saw some bloodstains along the way and had no idea where the assassins had started their attack.
Just then, a surprised shout came from behind him.
"That's Young Master Heng!?"
Zhao sensed trouble. Without turning around, he suddenly accelerated. The footsteps behind him quickened abruptly, and more than one person abandoned their own targets to chase after him.
"Take him down! He alone is enough!"
Zhao passed through a moon gate and was about to rush into the corridor opposite when a blade of light suddenly slashed down from the side, forcing him to stop abruptly.
A burly man blocked the moon gate, holding a short knife. Zhao Heng slowed his pace, as two gusts of wind approached from behind. Without turning around, he suddenly pushed off with his foot, leaping forward and charging straight at the burly man.
The burly man was clearly taken aback by the fact that the young prince in the wide-sleeved brocade robe dared to launch a preemptive attack. He was stunned for a moment before slashing with his short sword, aiming straight for Zhao Heng's waist and abdomen.
The man seemed not to have intended to injure Zhao Heng. He slightly reduced the force of his strike, and the blade grazed the fabric, slicing off only a few strands of cloth.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, Zhao Heng suddenly turned to the side to avoid the blade, and at the same time reached out with his right hand to grab the burly man's wrist holding the knife.
A powerful force suddenly struck, and the burly man was instantly terrified. He instinctively tried to pull his hand away, but Zhao Heng suddenly twisted downwards, and his wrist bone made a crisp sound as the short knife slipped from his grasp.
Zhao Heng caught the dagger with his left hand, then stabbed it into the burly man's shoulder with a backhand motion. He pulled out the knife and kicked the man away. The burly man screamed as he fell, crashing into the courtyard wall and sliding down to sit on it.
A gust of wind swept towards the back of his head. Without turning his head, Zhao Heng swung his sword backward with a backhand motion. A clang of metal rang out as he deflected a soft sword, the blade vibrating and humming. A tall, thin man wielding the sword staggered back two steps, his hand going numb, his face showing shock and disbelief in his eyes.
Zhao then took the knife, took a half-step, turned around, and retreated.
There were three people in the courtyard. The burly man he had kicked was clutching his shoulder and struggling to get up. The tall, thin man stood in the direction of the corridor, holding a soft sword, his hands trembling slightly. There was also a lean, middle-aged man standing at the moon gate, holding a narrow-bladed longsword in his hand, the tip of which was pointing towards the ground, blood dripping down the blade.
The lean man glanced at the burly man struggling to get up, then at the tall, thin man whose hands were trembling, and finally his gaze fell on the blood-dripping dagger in Zhao's hand, his brows furrowing slightly.
"Take them alive," he said.
The burly man spat out a mouthful of bloody foam, tore off a piece of his shirt, and hastily tied it to the wound under his shoulder. The tall, thin man drew a short knife from his waist and tossed it to him. The burly man caught the knife, gritted his teeth, and pressed forward again. The tall, thin man flexed his fingers holding the sword, and the soft sword straightened again, humming.
The two moved at the same time.
The burly man charged forward first, pushing off with his feet and crashing into Zhao Heng like a wall. His short knife slashed horizontally, aiming straight for Zhao Heng's waist and abdomen. The strike was powerful and heavy, accompanied by a whistling sound.
Zhao Heng sidestepped, the blade grazing past his clothes. Instead of retreating, he took a half-step forward, his short knife thrusting towards the burly man's ribs. The burly man reacted quickly, hastily parrying with his own blade; sparks flew as their blades clashed.
Zhao Heng followed up with a kick to his knee, and the burly man groaned as he knelt on one knee. But his physique was so strong, and he was now on guard, that he couldn't completely knock him down. Instead, he retaliated with a slash, forcing Zhao to retreat and dodge.
The tall, thin man's sword slashed diagonally from the side at that moment. By the time Zhao Heng sensed the whoosh, the sword was already upon him. He had no time to turn around; he could only lunge forward and roll away. The blade grazed his scalp, severing a few strands of hair.
Zhao Heng rolled over and got up from the ground, grabbing a wooden stick from the base of the wall. It was used to support the pottery urn, about the thickness of an arm, and felt heavy in his hand. The burly man had already stood up, and he and the tall, thin man flanked him again.
The two exchanged a glance and moved simultaneously.
The burly man launched a frontal assault, slashing three times with his short sword, each strike faster than the last, forcing Zhao Heng to retreat repeatedly. The tall, thin man, on the other hand, circled around to the flank, his soft sword targeting Zhao's weaknesses, each strike precisely timed to coincide with Zhao's exhaustion and lack of renewed strength.
With a wooden stick in his left hand and a short knife in his right, Zhao Heng blocked two blows from the burly man, after which a section of the wooden stick was cut off.
He threw the remaining half of the wooden stick at the face of the tall, thin man, and in the instant the man turned his head to dodge, he suddenly closed in on the strong man and stabbed him in the heart.
The burly man hurriedly parried with his sword, but Zhao Heng suddenly changed his move, turning the blade and slicing a gash in the man's ribs. The burly man groaned, staggered back several steps, and his face turned pale.
But the tall, thin man's sword was already upon him. Zhao Heng only had time to turn sideways, his sword held horizontally against his arm. The sword and blade crossed over his left arm, slicing through with a piercing, sharp sound, and sparks flew as the blades rubbed together.
Zhao Heng thrust his sword upwards, the blade suddenly flipping upwards and directly overturning the opponent's sword, then leaped forward to close the distance.
The tall, thin man was thrown backward by the force of the blow, his steps faltering. He only had time to draw his sword to barely block, and the blade went astray. Zhao Heng seized the opportunity, elbowing the tall, thin man in the chest, followed by a punch that struck his throat, the fist hitting his Adam's apple with penetrating force.
A muffled thud escaped the tall, thin man's throat, as if something had shattered. He fell backward, his eyes wide open, his mouth agape but no sound came out. Zhao Heng tossed the short knife in his hand, reversed his grip, and swiftly slashed across the throat, the blade cleanly and decisively slicing through the left carotid artery.
The bloodline burst open.
The tall, thin man staggered back several steps, clutching his throat, staring at Zhao Heng with wide eyes. His face gradually paled, turning from flushed to ashen in just two breaths. Then his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, motionless.
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