Chapter 25: Inferno of Revelation

Duan Xu peeled away another layer of understanding, as if separating sheets from thousand-layer paper. Written clearly on this broken fragment were three characters that explained everything: "Bone Shrinking Technique." This martial art demanded childhood practice—day after day, year after year, bending each inch of bone to its absolute limit. A skill purchased with unimaginable pain. For instance, just moments ago, the Fifteenth Master, though naturally taller than Lin Jun, could compress himself into Lin Jun's exact dimensions, undoubtedly employing the Bone Shrinking Technique.

Duan Xu moved to the window with predatory grace. He pulled aside the curtain, surveying left and right with calculating precision, then remarked casually, "The Truth-Breaking Sword is in that person's hands."

When they'd bound him earlier, his weapons had been confiscated. The Truth-Breaking Sword now rested with one of the guards stationed outside. Duan Xu extracted a piece of soft iron wire from his hairpin, wrapped it twice around his palm with practiced efficiency, and glanced toward He Simu with a smile that promised chaos. "Night is falling soon. The show is about to reach its finale."

This man excelled at defying expectations. Not a single move resembled conventional tactics. Logic dictated that someone harboring deep schemes should maintain steady, impassive composure—yet this Duan Xu displayed remarkable expressiveness while simultaneously concealing unfathomable depths.

He Simu observed Duan Xu for a suspended moment, then responded with leisurely indulgence: "Then I, as a front-row spectator, shall wait and see."

---

The sunset dissolved rapidly into darkness, and night settled like a heavy cloak. From the not-too-distant Shuozhou Prefecture city came the cheerful crackle of firecrackers, their lively, jubilant atmosphere penetrating through thick city walls, through the camp gate, and into enemy territory. The commoners of Shuozhou Prefecture remained blissfully unaware that their general was now trapped in hostile ground with only an evil ghost for company. They focused solely on welcoming a new year of favorable weather, freedom from illness and disaster.

The Hu Qi people did not celebrate the New Year. A soldier lifted the doorway curtain to deliver food to Duan Xu. Like Fifteen, he wore the distinctive braided hair of the Hu Qi people. He glanced perfunctorily at the supposedly well-bound Duan Xu and carelessly placed the food on the ground.

Duan Xu smiled with disarming warmth and addressed him in flawless Hu Qi language: "Brother, how can I eat if you put it there?"

The soldier hadn't anticipated Duan Xu speaking their tongue. When he looked up in confusion, Duan Xu was no longer secured to the rack. Soft steel wire wrapped around his throat and suddenly constricted. He collapsed before a sound could escape his lips.

Duan Xu stood behind him, his hand mercilessly tightening the wire until the man beneath his grip suffocated into stillness.

He supported the falling body with calculated care and swiftly changed into the Hu Qi soldier's outer garments. Duan Xu untied his neatly bound hair, fingers working with remarkable dexterity, and within moments he too appeared as a Hu Qi man with traditional braids.

This braiding skill seemed extraordinarily well-practiced.

He Simu stood watching with folded arms, her expression inscrutable.

Duan Xu secured the dead man to the rack, thoughtfully and efficiently arranging his hair, restoring the hairpin and ornaments to their proper positions. After tidying everything with meticulous precision, he patted the corpse's shoulder with something resembling genuine apology. "Sorry about that."

Then, with his appearance completely transformed to resemble a Hu Qi native, Duan Xu donned the helmet and strode from the tent, only to be intercepted by two guards at the entrance.

The night pressed down thick and starless, moonless. Torchlight proved insufficient to illuminate faces clearly. The guard challenged: "Password."

It seemed they maintained some vigilance after all.

Duan Xu released a light sigh. "What a pity."

Almost before the words finished resonating, the knife he'd taken from the food-bearing soldier was already unsheathed. Like a swift black wind given murderous form, he circled the tent. Before anyone could summon help, the entire ring of guards collapsed to the ground, blood spurting three feet high, their throats opened with surgical precision.

Duan Xu completed this massacre in absolute silence, then retrieved his Truth-Breaking Sword from one of the fallen guards. He discarded the heavy broadsword, secured the Truth-Breaking Sword to his waist, and silently mouthed to He Simu with a smile that belonged on a child's face: "They'll discover this soon. Let's go."

His demeanor resembled a mischievous child who'd accidentally detonated firecrackers in a chicken coop during New Year celebrations—committing mayhem and fleeing without a trace of the gravity one might expect after killing.

He Simu narrowed her eyes slightly, perching on her lantern pole and floating beside Duan Xu. She watched as he moved soundlessly as a cat between tents, with countless soldiers silently collapsing in his wake. He killed with single sword strokes and would support his victims before they fell, guiding them down quietly. This represented extraordinarily skilled assassination technique, and he executed it with clinical efficiency.

Someone had already discovered the prisoner's escape and his killing spree. Clamorous sounds erupted, with soldiers shouting in mounting panic: "The man has escaped!" "Where is he?" "This way... no, that way!"

Duan Xu's route defied all logic—east one moment, west the next, back and forth in bewildering patterns, utterly confusing the Hu Qi forces who became disoriented, unable to determine where he struck or how many assailants they faced. Some even shouted that hundreds of Great Liang soldiers were attacking the camp. To amplify the chaos, Duan Xu contributed his own panicked cry in perfectly accented Hu Qi language: "The Han people are disguised as us!" This alarm spread exponentially, and the Hu Qi soldiers carrying swords and torches began suspecting each other of being infiltrators.

Duan Xu operated like a wolf in sheep's clothing infiltrating a flock. One moment he'd join their frantic shouting, and when he reached areas with fewer personnel, he'd resume his deadly work. Weaving in and out with serpentine fluidity, he single-handedly transformed the Hu Qi military camp into pandemonium. Exploiting their confusion, he navigated to the armory. He emerged carrying two tung oil barrels, pouring the contents liberally over the siege carts, then captured a frantic horse amid the chaos and secured it to one of the oil-soaked vehicles.

Duan Xu set the cart ablaze. Feeling the scorching heat, the warhorse neighed frantically and galloped from the tent, crashing everywhere and setting additional tents aflame. As fate would decree, tonight a rare east wind was blowing, and the fire propagated rapidly with the wind's assistance. The already chaotic Danzhi military camp descended into complete disorder.

Witnessing this orchestrated catastrophe, He Simu suddenly recalled that approximately half a month ago, Duan Xu had asked her when the east wind would blow at night.

Everything that had transpired today had been meticulously planned by him all along.

After incinerating the armory, Duan Xu rushed to a nearby tent and burst inside, slipping past the guards at the entrance like an eel through fingers. Lifting the curtain, he shouted with convincing urgency: "Reporting to the General, the armory is on fire! The Han people have set fires!"

He Simu observed the scene to discover none other than Awuerqi, commander of the Hulan army, hastily donning his armor at the tent's center. He was surrounded by numerous Danzhi guards and officers—a tent packed with black braids and martial authority. Perhaps due to the chaotic circumstances and Duan Xu's flawless Hu Qi language, he was merely scolded several times before Awuerqi strode forward purposefully, helmet tucked under arm, cursing in crude Hu Qi dialect.

As he passed by Duan Xu, Duan Xu's smile sharpened imperceptibly. In a flash of cold light, the Truth-Breaking dual swords were unsheathed. Awuerqi's bodyguards—no ordinary men—immediately sprang to pin Duan Xu down, but how could they match his inhuman speed? Duan Xu spun to evade them while slashing with both swords simultaneously left and right, moving so rapidly only shadow remained visible. Awuerqi's head, eyes wide with final shock, separated from his shoulders as easily as slicing through tofu and fell to the ground.

This famous Danzhi general could never have anticipated meeting his end this way—dying at the hands of a youth not yet twenty years old.

The guards' swords simultaneously wounded Duan Xu's shoulder. Combined with his previous injury, he now sported matching wounds on both sides—a symmetry of violence. Duan Xu blocked the guard with his right sword, used his left to retrieve the severed head from the ground, and efficiently wrapped and secured it to his waist. Following this ostentatious assassination, massive numbers of Danzhi soldiers had converged, surrounding Duan Xu completely, yet intimidation kept them from advancing.

Duan Xu held his swords in both hands, casually twirling them with showman's flair, smiled faintly, and remarked: "Wow, so many corpses."

He spoke these words in Han language—among all personnel in the camp, probably only He Simu could comprehend.

Duan Xu drew his left leg slightly backward, then explosively charged into the midst of the soldiers. His disguise mimicked a Hu Qi native so convincingly it confused the soldiers surrounding him. Not content with this advantage alone, Duan Xu began extinguishing lights while killing, and within moments he'd eliminated all four lamps in the tent. The entire space plunged into pitch darkness, filled only with intermittent sounds of groans and bodies collapsing. Archers who arrived subsequently stood dumbfounded, uncertain who to target, and urgently called for people to bring torches, but those carrying torches couldn't squeeze through the crush, only illuminating a scene of chaotic darkness and death.

Amid this pandemonium, He Simu leisurely traversed the commander's tent. The Danzhi had erected numerous tents outside the city, each appearing identical—how had Duan Xu identified which one was Awuerqi's?

As she drifted, she suddenly kicked a porcelain plate. Bending down to examine it, she discovered the plate contained several red-tailed fish, one half-consumed. Scanning the surroundings, He Simu spotted a trembling blue-eyed white cat cowering in the corner. Such felines were extraordinarily precious, breeds from the Western Regions. Only someone of Awuerqi's elevated status could afford to maintain one and bring it to the front lines.

He Simu contemplated briefly and realized how Duan Xu had known.

Duan Xu must have discovered that Awuerqi was a devoted cat lover who wouldn't abandon his pet even during warfare, and who fed it exclusively small red-tailed fish. So that day on the city wall, when she'd mentioned seeing soldiers carrying red-tailed fish into this particular tent, he'd identified it as the Hulan army's command tent, where Awuerqi resided.

When He Simu looked up again, Duan Xu had vanished. The commander's tent, newly illuminated by firelight, was littered with corpses, almost all killed by having their throats cut, dying in remarkably orderly fashion, though blood had sprayed everywhere.

Just before Duan Xu began his slaughter, hadn't he commented about so many corpses?

He Simu smiled lightly and murmured with something approaching admiration: "Arrogant boy."

She floated from the tent on her Ghost King Lantern and soon located her little general with the most beautiful skull. Now the Hulan military camp existed in complete chaos, with soldiers suspecting each other of being Han infiltrators in disguise. The armory blazed, fire-laden war carts careened everywhere setting everything ablaze, and with the commander dead, it resembled a pot of scalding oil splashed with water—droplets splattering in all directions. Duan Xu ran at astonishing speed, reaching the horse pens at the camp's edge, seizing a warhorse, vaulting onto its back, and galloping toward freedom.

Though some attempted to stop him, they proved no match, and many fell dead from arrows Duan Xu shot with a bow he'd appropriated from some unfortunate soldier. He could be seen growing farther and farther distant.

This fellow who orchestrated such catastrophic disruption and then simply dusted himself off and departed.

Among the living in this world, there was probably no one with superior skills.

He Simu floated to his side and inquired coolly: "The armory?"

"Awuerqi habitually positions the armory adjacent to his command tent," Duan Xu explained with economical brevity.

"You truly possess a naturally exceptional physique."

Duan Xu laughed aloud, spirits soaring. "The last person to say that was my master. He always believed I was intelligent with extraordinary aptitude, destined for greatness, so he was quite favorable to me. Although he made me start killing at seven and had me eliminate all my peers by fourteen." His smile turned sharp as broken glass. "But at least I deceived him, surviving through his favoritism."

He Simu felt startled, her gaze sinking slightly with new understanding.

In the reflection of the firelight, Duan Xu bore wounds in multiple locations, his handsome, well-defined face stained with blood that might have been his own or others'. Yet his eyes shone extraordinarily bright, as if discussing something fascinating, excessively joyful in a way that felt wrong.

Previously, though his eyes always contained mirth, appearing carefree and inattentive, the depths of his gaze consistently held a sharp glint. But now, that glint showed signs of dispersing, fragmenting.

His joy was not quite normal.

"What's wrong with you? Are you still clearheaded?" He Simu asked with cold directness.

No one else would question whether a person who'd skillfully thrown an enemy camp into disarray and assassinated the commander retained mental clarity.

Duan Xu seemed momentarily stunned by the question.

Suddenly, two arrows came whistling through the air. Duan Xu dodged the first one, but the second struck his horse's leg. The horse neighed and tumbled to the ground. Duan Xu simultaneously leaped off, rolled across the earth, and stood upright, regarding the mounted archer in the distance.

The Danzhi military camp had no time to react and couldn't catch up with Duan Xu—but at least someone had caught up.

Tian Zhi Xiao Fifteen.

Fifteen pressed his lips together tightly, his cold eyes finally spreading with towering rage. He aimed at Duan Xu, gritting his teeth as he demanded: "Duan Xu! Who exactly are you? What have you done?"

Duan Xu remained silent for a suspended moment, then suddenly burst into uncontrollable laughter. Stroking his forehead, his eyes curving with mirth that bordered on manic, he replied: "For someone from Tian Zhi Xiao, fighting one against a hundred, taking a general's head amid ten thousand troops—isn't that quite normal, Senior Brother Fifteen?"

New Year celebration fireworks ascended from Shuozhou Prefecture city, bursting brilliantly across the sky, illuminating the pitch-black night with colorful splendor, lighting up the shock frozen on Fifteen's face.

"Senior Brother, you've got the wrong person. Han Lingqiu isn't the Seventeenth; he was supposed to die because he lost to me in the Dark Trial."

Duan Xu pointed to himself with casual finality and said leisurely: "I am the real Seventeenth."

Historical Context: 

The Tian Zhi Xiao organization represents one of the darkest institutions in Danzhi culture—a training ground for elite assassins who serve the Cang God and the Royal Court. Children are taken young, stripped of their names and identities, given only numbers. Their training culminates in the "Dark Trial" (also called the "Blindfolded Test")—a final examination where two disciples from the same cohort must duel to the death while blindfolded, with the Danzhi nobility watching as entertainment.

The survivor earns their number and officially becomes Tian Zhi Xiao. The dead are forgotten. This brutal system creates perfect killers—individuals with no past, no identity, no hesitation. They exist solely to serve Cang God and can infiltrate anywhere, become anyone.

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