I slaughtered my way through the border at the start, I am the Great Ming's Night Raider!

Xuanfu Town, North Gate.

Wang the Cripple, an old soldier guarding the city, rubbed his hands together and peered out from the crenellations.

Dawn was breaking, and the east was beginning to lighten, but the chill was only intensifying.

"Damn weather."

He cursed, pulled a small wine flask from his pocket, and took a sip.

The strong liquor warmed me up a bit after going down my throat.

Wang the Cripple had guarded Xuanfu for thirty years. His right leg had become lame during the Yongle era when they fought against Arughtai. The centurion took care of him, letting him keep watch at night, a leisurely job with a good salary.

"Boss Wang!"

Shouts came from below the city wall.

Wang the Cripple peeked out and saw Zhang Meng, the Hundred-Household Commander who was not in charge of the night, standing in the city gate with seven or eight soldiers, leading their horses.

"Commander Zhang, so early?" Wang the Cripple asked with a smile.

"To pick someone up."

Zhang Meng's expression was not good. "The Seventh Squad was supposed to return yesterday, but they haven't shown up yet."

Wang the Cripple's heart skipped a beat.

Night Scouts are the most elite scouts in the army, and they usually return every three days.

If someone fails to return on time, something has likely happened.

Which team is it?

"Chen Yuan's team."

Wang the Cripple fell silent.

He knew Chen Yuan, a young man in his early twenties who was taciturn but ruthless. Last winter, a small group of Tartar cavalry raided a village outside the city. Chen Yuan charged into the enemy lines alone, killing six and rescuing twenty-seven civilians.

When asked about his contribution afterward, he simply said, "It was what I should do."

"Chen is tough, he'll come back," said Wang the Cripple.

Zhang Meng didn't reply, but just stared at the end of the official road.

As dawn broke, the official road was deserted.

As time went by, Zhang Meng's heart sank little by little.

The twelve members of the seventh squad were all skilled fighters, and Chen Yuan was one of the soldiers he had personally trained. If even they were...

"One hundred households!"

Suddenly, the sentry on the watchtower shouted, "A horse! A lone rider!"

Zhang Meng's spirits lifted: "Can you see who it is?"

"Too far! Wait, it's a chestnut horse, not one of our military horses!"

Zhang Meng roared, "Prepare for battle!"

The soldiers inside the city gate immediately dispersed, nocked their bows and crossbows, and pointed their spears forward.

The sound of horses' hooves grew louder and more urgent as they approached.

Finally, a man and a horse burst out of the morning mist and headed straight for the city gate.

The horse was a chestnut horse, and the rider was lying on its back, his cotton armor tattered and his body covered in blood.

"It's Chen Yuan!"

Zhang Meng, with his sharp eyes, recognized the face.

"Open the city gates! Quickly!"

The city gate creaked open halfway, and Chen Yuan spurred his horse straight in, only reining it in when he reached Zhang Meng.

The chestnut horse reared up on its front hooves, neighed, foamed at the mouth, and collapsed to the ground! It had actually died from exhaustion.

Chen Yuan tumbled off his horse and barely managed to stand.

"Three thousand Tatar Iron Falcons have assembled at Wild Fox Ridge!"

Chen Yuan, panting heavily, his voice hoarse, said, "There's another army behind us, at least twenty thousand! We'll attack Xuanfu in five days!"

After saying that, his body went limp and he was about to fall to the ground.

Zhang Meng grabbed him and steadied him: "Medic! Quick!"

Two soldiers brought over a stretcher, but Chen Yuan shook his head: "No need, it's just a superficial wound."

He pulled out a sheepskin map and a bronze plaque from his pocket. "These were taken from a Tatar commander. The map marks the assembly point."

Zhang Meng took the map, glanced at it, and his expression changed drastically.

Are you sure?

"I saw it with my own eyes."

Chen Yuan's eyes dimmed: "Of the Seventh Squad, only I survived."

Zhang Meng remained silent for a moment, a deep sadness flashing in his eyes, then patted Chen Yuan's shoulder heavily: "Well done. You go and treat your injuries first, I'll go see General Zhao."

"One hundred households!"

Chen Yuan called out to him, "General Zhao, will you believe it?"

Zhang Meng paused, but didn't turn around: "I'll do my best."

As Chen Yuan watched Zhang Meng's figure disappear around the street corner, an ominous premonition welled up in his heart.

Zhao Guang, the general of Xuanfu Town, was a spoiled brat who rose to power through his family's influence. He was greedy for money and lustful, and knew nothing about military affairs.

Last winter, during the winter defense campaign, he actually withheld military pay to buy jewelry in the capital, almost inciting a mutiny.

Would someone like that care about the warning from the night watchman?

The military doctor cleaned Chen Yuan's wounds, applied medicine, and bandaged them. The arrow wound wasn't deep, but the frostbite was severe; three fingers on his right hand were swollen and purple.

"He needs to rest for half a month and cannot be subjected to violence," the military doctor said.

Chen Yuan remained silent.

With the Tartar army pressing in, how could he have time to recover from his injuries?

After bandaging himself, he got up and walked towards the barracks.

The guerrilla barracks were located in the west of the city, in a small, secluded courtyard, with twelve people per room.

Now, he's all alone.

As I pushed open the door, the familiar smells of sweat and leather wafted out.

The first stall on the left belongs to Old Liu. Old Liu is forty years old, from Henan, and has a wife and three children. He always says that he will work for two more years and then retire, go back to his hometown, buy a few acres of land, and grow crops.

The second shop belonged to Xiaohu. Xiaohu was only eighteen, from Shandong, talkative, and always smiling. The night before he left for the campaign, he secretly told Chen Yuan that he had taken a liking to the girl from the cloth shop on East Street and that he would propose marriage when he returned.

The third one, the fourth one...

Chen Yuan walked to his bunk and sat down.

The bed was as hard as a rock, and when he lay down, he felt more tired than ever before.

If you close your eyes, you can see your teammates' faces, one by one flashing before your eyes.

"Brother Chen, do you think what we're doing counts as serving our country?" Xiao Hu once asked.

"I guess so," Chen Yuan replied at the time.

"If they die, will the imperial court provide compensation?"

"Probably."

Xiao Hu laughed: "That's good. My mother said that a person should do something that is true to their conscience in their lifetime."

Chen Yuan opened his eyes and stared at the roof beam.

conscience.

In this world, those with a conscience are often the first to die.

He sat up and began to clean the knife.

The goose-feather knife needs regular maintenance, otherwise it will rust.

After wiping the knife, he checked the crossbow, quiver, and dagger. He always kept the standard equipment of a night scout in top condition.

This is what my master taught me: "A martial artist is one whose sword is his life. If the sword becomes dull, the man dies."

Around noon, Zhang Meng returned, his face ashen.

Chen Yuan sensed something was wrong.

"General Zhao said that the Tartars had just been defeated by the Duke of Ying, and it was impossible for them to regroup so quickly."

Zhang Meng slammed his fist against the wall. "Damn it, this idiot!"

"What should we do then?"

"I have already sent messengers to Datong and Jizhou. However, Zhao Guang here in Xuanfu forbids us from strengthening defenses, saying, 'So as not to disturb the people.'"

Chen Yuan gripped the hilt of the knife tightly.

"Commander, if the Tartars really attack..."

"Hold on to the death."

Zhang Meng said, "There are still twenty-three night watchmen who can still move. You're injured, so stay behind."

"I can fight."

"This is a military order!"

Zhang Meng glared at him. "Chen Yuan, I know you want revenge. But the revenge for the Seventh Squad isn't just yours. Only by surviving can you take revenge."

Chen Yuan remained silent.

Zhang Meng sighed, his tone softening: "You should focus on recovering. If you're alright in five days, I'll grant you leave to go back to Yingchuan for a visit."

"Thank you, Commander Xie."

Zhang Meng is gone.

Chen Yuan sat on the bed, looking out the window at the sky.

The clouds are thick; it's going to snow again.

In the evening, Chen Yuan arrived at the "Veteran's Tavern" in the east of the city.

The tavern owner was a one-armed veteran named Zhou, from Liaodong. The tavern wasn't big, but the liquor was strong and the food was affordable, so the soldiers loved to come.

Chen Yuan ordered a pot of strong liquor and a plate of braised beef, and sat in the corner.

There weren't many people in the tavern. A few old soldiers who had guarded the city were bragging about the glory of following Emperor Chengzu on his northern expedition.

Chen Yuan listened quietly and drank his wine slowly.

"Have you heard? General Zhao has taken another concubine, his seventh one," an old soldier said.

"That's right. I heard that girl was only sixteen and was forcibly taken into the manor."

"What a tragedy!"

"Keep your voice down! General Zhao has plenty of eyes and ears."

Chen Yuan poured himself a glass of wine and drank it all in one gulp.

The alcohol was very spicy, and it burned my throat.

"Brother Chen?" someone greeted.

Chen Yuan looked up and saw it was Wang the Cripple.

Wang the Cripple came over with his wine bowl and sat down. Without any ceremony, he picked up a piece of beef.

"How's the injury?"

"fine."

Wang the Cripple lowered his voice: "I've heard about what happened to the Seventh Squad. My condolences."

Chen Yuan nodded.

Wang the Cripple took a sip of his drink and suddenly asked, "Brother Chen, you're not an ordinary person, are you?"

Chen Yuan paused.

"I, Old Wang, have guarded this city for thirty years and have seen many people. You have a certain spirit about you that ordinary soldiers shouldn't have. You're literate, knowledgeable in military strategy, and your martial arts skills are exceptional. Are you from a noble family?"

Chen Yuan said calmly, "Ordinary people."

Wang the Cripple chuckled, not pressing further: "Alright, whatever you say. But let me give you a piece of advice: Xuanfu is about to descend into chaos. If you can leave, leave as soon as possible."

"Where are you going?"

"Go back to your hometown, or head south. Zhao Guang is unreliable, and so is the imperial court. After the Yongle era, the borders of the Ming Dynasty have deteriorated year by year."

Chen Yuan remained silent.

Wang the Cripple chatted for a few more minutes, then got up and left.

Chen Yuan continued drinking until the wine pot was empty.

When it was time to pay the bill, Boss Zhou did not accept any money.

"The debts of the Seventh Squad are wiped clean. They were all heroes."

Chen Yuan looked at the row of empty wine bowls behind the counter—each member of the Night Scout team had their own bowl; Lao Liu's bowl had a chip in it, and Xiao Hu's bowl had the character "Tiger" engraved on it.

The bowl is still there, but the person is gone.

"Thanks."

It was already dark when I stepped out of the tavern.

The snow started falling again, fine and dense, landing on my face, icy cold.

Chen Yuan slowly walked back to the barracks and stopped at the entrance.

There was a note slipped under the door.

He looked around cautiously, making sure no one was around, before pulling out the note.

The note contained only one line of text in familiar handwriting: "Family in danger, return home immediately. Chen San."