Chapter 10: No Honor in Combat, Resorting to a Sneak Attack

The poison-tipped blade, like a viper baring its fangs, kissed Fan Tong’s throat in silence.

Behind him, the sharp whistle of air signaled a cold, soul-reaping arrow. This double-tap assassination was executed with seamless coordination and impeccable timing.

In that split second between life and death, Fan Tong’s mind went blank, but the combat instincts imbued by his Ogre bloodline took control of his body.

"Get lost!"

Without even turning his head, his massive frame moved with a fluidity completely at odds with his size, slamming violently to the side.

The assassin, disguised as a common laborer, had only just felt the flicker of triumph in his eyes before he was crushed by the force of a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound "mountain of flesh" slamming into his chest.

*Crack!*

The assassin’s sternum shattered, and he flew backward like a kite with a broken string. The blade in his hand managed only a shallow scratch on the tough skin of Fan Tong’s neck.

Simultaneously, Fan Tong backhanded his hundred-pound bone-cleaver, launching it behind him like a black iron crossbow bolt.

*Thud!*

A dull sound of steel piercing flesh echoed from the nearby grass. The ambush archer didn't even have time to scream before the giant blade impaled his chest, pinning him dead to the ground.

In the blink of an eye, a lethal assassination attempt had been shattered by Fan Tong in the most savage and unreasonable manner imaginable.

Seizing the gap, Li Hu’s eyes burned with a final spark of hope. He scrambled up, using his hands and feet, and turned to flee into the chaos of the milling troops.

But Fan Tong was not about to give him another chance.

With one stride, he made the ground tremble.

"Roar!"

With a suppressed, explosive shout, Fan Tong caught up to Li Hu. The bone-cleaver, which had somehow returned to his hand, carved a cruelly perfect arc of blood.

Li Hu’s body froze. He looked down at his waist.

A thin line of blood appeared, slowly spreading from left to right. His upper torso slid off, tumbling several meters across the ground. On his face, the terror and resentment of his failed escape remained frozen.

The reinforcements had arrived.

Leading them was Fu Youde, a fierce general under Xu Da known for his valor. He pulled his warhorse to a halt, staring at the carnage before him, stunned.

Bodies lay strewn across the field, blood flowing like a river. The Yuan soldiers' corpses were shattered and dismembered, as if torn apart by wild beasts. Meanwhile, the so-called "Mess Hall Squad" stood covered in blood, clutching giant axes and maces, numbly finishing off the survivors like butchers.

Fu Youde’s gaze finally landed on the fat man.

Fan Tong held a dripping severed head in one hand and a grotesquely large bone-cleaver in the other. Beneath his feet lay half of a still-twitching corpse.

Fu Youde had spent half his life on the battlefield; what horrors had he not seen? Yet, this sight sent a chilling shiver through his bones.

"What… what is the meaning of this?" he asked, gesturing to the battlefield, his voice rasping.

Qian Dayou, a surviving official from the Ministry of Revenue, crawled over, sobbing and snot-nosed. He recounted—with plenty of embellishments—how Fan Tong had anticipated the enemy, set up a wagon formation, and charged at the front to slay the traitorous officer.

Fu Youde’s eye twitched as he listened.

From the chaotic account, he gathered a few key points:
A cook had predicted a Yuan ambush.
A group of cooks had blocked a rain of arrows with iron pots.
A group of cooks had smashed through the Yuan cavalry in a frontal assault.
The head cook had casually slaughtered two hidden assassins.

Fu Youde looked at Fan Tong again, his gaze entirely transformed.

Was this really a cook? This was clearly a peerless beast that had been buried in a kitchen!

"Count the casualties!" Fu Youde finally recovered and ordered in a low voice.

The results came quickly: half of the guards and laborers were dead or wounded, and few of the officials brought by Qian Dayou remained.

As for Fan Tong’s mess hall squad, though everyone was wounded—Bao Nianfeng even had his chest slashed, splitting his leather armor—not a single one had died! Their grisly wounds were already slowly knitting shut, so subtle they were almost unnoticeable.

This astonishing vitality left even Fu Youde feeling a tremor of fear.

Fan Tong’s prestige among the logistics troops reached an unprecedented peak. No one dared treat him as an ordinary cook ever again.

"Search! Search every single corpse thoroughly!" Fu Youde issued a second order; he felt this matter was far from simple.

Soon, they made a discovery on the assassins killed by Fan Tong.

Aside from Yuan tokens, they found several tablets made of black iron, engraved with a strange pattern—a wolf clutching a copper coin.

These were definitely not items belonging to the Yuan army!

Fan Tong hadn't been idle either. Suppressing his nausea, he rummaged through the remains of Li Hu. Beyond gold and silver, he found a sealed oilcloth packet containing a secret letter that had not yet been delivered.

The letter was written in symbols he couldn't recognize, like ghostly scribbles.

When Fu Youde saw the letter and the strange tablets, his pupils contracted sharply.

He had guarded the Shanxi border for years and knew the region well. He had seen this pattern before… it belonged to the wealthy merchant guilds of Shanxi!

A terrifying thought took root in his mind.

"Eight-hundred-li urgent dispatch! Make a rubbing of these items and send them with the battle report to the Marshal at once!" Fu Youde’s voice was graver than ever before.

...

Qingyang, the Ming army’s main command tent.

Xu Da looked at the report sent by Fu Youde and laughed heartily at first.

"Good! A fine fellow, Fan Tong! Brave, decisive, and wise! Truly a lucky general for our Great Ming!"

But when he saw the rubbing of the tablet and the secret letter, the smile vanished, replaced by an intent to kill colder than the wind outside the tent.

"Jin merchants..." Xu Da hissed the words through his teeth.

These merchants colluded with the Yuan barbarians, smuggling weapons and reselling grain to line their own pockets. Now, with the Ming blade pointed at the enemy, they actually dared to reach into his own supply train!

Furthermore, the assassins carrying such obvious identification meant they were either incredibly stupid, or… they were deliberately framing someone to stir up the waters further!

Xu Da realized that Li Hu’s betrayal was no accident. A massive, hidden undercurrent was at play. Their target was not merely three thousand piculs of grain, but his Northern Expeditionary force, or perhaps the very foundation of the Great Ming itself.

Late that night.

Fan Tong was brought into the command tent by personal guards.

Inside, only Xu Da was present.

The God of War of the Ming dynasty no longer showed the kindness he displayed when bumming meals in the kitchen; his eyes were sharp as blades.

He placed the rubbing of the token and the undecipherable letter before Fan Tong.

"Fan Tong, you rendered a great service today by preserving the grain. I have already submitted a request for your reward."

Xu Da’s voice was steady, yet carried the oppressive weight of a gathering storm.

"But now, I have a more dangerous, and more important, task for you."

He stared fixedly into Fan Tong’s eyes, speaking word by word:

"Do you dare accept it?"

Fan Tong looked at the token that represented endless peril, then looked into Xu Da’s eyes—eyes filled with trust and a glimmer of expectation.

He knew he had been dragged into a vortex far more terrifying than any battlefield slaughter.