Chapter 26: The Might of the Vanguard Battalion

Fan Tong watched Zhu Di, whose eyes were burning with fire yet saturated with confusion. He slurped the final spoonful of horse meat soup, let out a comfortable burp, and wiped his greasy, shiny face with deep satisfaction.

"The difference?"

He struck his iron spoon—cleaner than Zhu Di’s own face—against the rim of the pot with a heavy "Clang!" The crisp, thunderous sound shattered the deathly silence of the mountain hollow, startling the birds in the forest into frantic flight.

"The difference is this," Fan Tong gestured toward the corpses on the ground, now stiff and devoid of warmth, then pointed to the steaming, bubbling hotpot before him. He grinned, revealing teeth slightly yellowed by the savory broth. "We won, so we are human, sitting here eating meat. They lost, so they are meat, lying there waiting to feed the dogs."

"It’s just that simple."

These words, crude and barbaric, devoid of any sage wisdom, struck Zhu Di’s heart like an invisible siege ram. Every strategy he had studied since childhood, every ideal of kingly rule or hegemonic power he had believed in, was shattered at this moment by this simple, brutal, and twisted logic of "man versus meat."

He opened his mouth, his throat working, but not a single word emerged.

He realized, to his horror, that he had no rebuttal.

The return of the Vanguard Battalion was like a massive boulder crashing into the deep waters of the Beiping camp. Over a hundred dried heads of Yuan soldiers were stacked outside the command tent like a small mountain, radiating the chilling scent of death and military merit.

The entire camp was in an uproar. While other scouts merely gathered intelligence, Fan Tong’s unit went hunting.

Inside Xu Da’s command tent, Fan Tong was recounting their victory with theatrical flair. Meanwhile, Zhu Di returned to his barracks in silence, using a cloth dipped in water to wipe his mace, which was still caked with dried blood and brain matter, over and over again. The cold touch of the metal helped calm his turbulent mind.

Echoing in his head were Fan Tong’s "teachings" from the journey:

"War is just a contest to see who is more unreasonable and who has a darker heart. If you preach benevolence and morality to them, they’ll turn your head into a wine cup the moment they get the chance."

These words rang like demonic incantations, continuously eroding the walls of his perception.

Fan Tong’s reputation in the Vanguard Battalion, and indeed the entire Beiping camp, reached an unprecedented peak. But behind the scorching glory lay deeper, colder currents of jealousy and suspicion.

Finally, someone could no longer sit still.

Regional Military Commissioner Chen Qian, born into a prestigious military family, looked down upon Fan Tong as nothing more than a wealthy "cook." That day, he led several confidants to block the entrance to the Vanguard Battalion’s training grounds, radiating hostility.

"Commander Fan!" Chen Qian’s voice was loud, carrying a condescending arrogance. "I’ve heard much about the soldiers under your command. I am no expert, but I’ve brought my men to offer some pointers!"

A challenge! The soldiers watching from the sidelines suddenly lit up with interest.

Fan Tong, who was busy directing his men to scrub the pots, didn't even bother to lift his eyelids. He snorted, "Pointers? No time."

Chen Qian’s face turned the color of liver. "Fan Tong! Are you afraid? Afraid that your underhanded tricks will be exposed?"

"Afraid?" Fan Tong finally turned around, wiped his hands on a greasy sleeve, and moved his two-hundred-and-fifty-pound frame like a small mountain. The pressure he exerted caused Chen Qian to subconsciously take a half-step back.

"General Chen, the men under my command are trained in the art of killing, not street performance," Fan Tong said, his smile cold. "I don't know how to play 'lightly'."

He paused, a dangerous glint flashing in his small eyes. "However, if you really want to play, we can change the rules."

"We won't compete in martial arts; we’ll compete in life and death. Sign the waiver—fists have no eyes, and injuries or death are of no concern. Do you have the guts?"

The entire training ground fell into an eerie silence. Everyone was stunned by Fan Tong’s ruthless aura.

Cold sweat beaded on Chen Qian’s forehead, but trapped by his own pride, he gritted his teeth and shouted, "Fine! As you wish! Five against five, with the whole army as our witnesses!"

Half an hour later, the training ground was packed tight. Even Xu Da appeared on the steps of the nearby command tent, watching with an expressionless face.

In the center of the field, Chen Qian and his four elite personal guards stood in formation, clad in armor and holding spears. On the other side, Fan Tong yawned and pointed casually, "Bao Nianfeng, you five, go up and play with General Chen and his men."

Bao Nianfeng shouldered a giant axe, bringing four muscular camp cooks with him. They wore no armor, only short tunics, standing like five ferocious beasts unleashed from the primordial wilderness.

"Begin!"

At the command of the military judge, Chen Qian roared, "Thrust!" Five long spears shot out like venomous dragons, aiming straight for the chests of Bao Nianfeng and his men!

Bao Nianfeng grinned, his palm as wide as a fan darting out like lightning to grab a spear shaft and yanking it with violent force. The soldier was jerked off his feet, and Bao Nianfeng used him like a meteor hammer, swinging him into his own comrades!

"Bang! Bang!" Two dull cracks of bone echoed as two elite soldiers flew out like broken sacks, knocked unconscious instantly.

One move, and three were out of the fight!

The remaining two were terrified and turned to flee. But the other four cooks were faster, pouncing with inhuman explosive power. There were no techniques, only the most primitive, savage mauling. One cook had his shoulder pierced by a spear, but he didn't even blink; he backhanded an elbow into his opponent’s nose and bit off the man’s ear!

"Ah—!" The shrill scream made the scalps of all the onlookers crawl.

Chen Qian stood frozen, his entire body turning cold. He watched as the last of his guards had his spear snapped by Bao Nianfeng’s axe, only to have his limbs broken like a chicken’s.

This wasn't a duel; it was a slaughter.

Zhu Di stood among the crowd, his fists clenched tight within his sleeves.

After Bao Nianfeng finished off the last man, he walked toward Chen Qian, the only one still standing, while carrying his blood-dripping axe.

"Thud!" The Regional Military Commissioner’s knees gave way. He knelt directly, and a dark stain quickly spread across his crotch.

He had been scared out of his wits.

Only then did Fan Tong saunter onto the field. He kicked Chen Qian’s helmet aside and spoke lazily to the entire assembly:

"You all see this?"

"On the battlefield, your enemy won't give a damn about your rules or etiquette!"

"They will use the most despicable, vicious methods to kill you! Then they'll steal your military honors, sleep with your wives, and slaughter your children!"

He pointed to the challengers on the ground, whose conditions were unknown, his voice rising sharply: "The wealth, glory, and titles you desire are all hanging around the enemy’s necks! If you want them, go cut them off yourselves!"

"If anyone dares to pull this flashy nonsense on my turf again, next time, it won't just be a matter of broken hands and feet!"

Having said this, he didn't even glance at the kneeling Chen Qian, but turned and shouted, "Dinner time!"

The entire camp was silent. Every eye was fixed on that massive, retreating back, filled with profound awe.

Zhu Di looked at Fan Tong, and the wall in his heart, the one called "perception," finally crumbled to dust.