Forging Immortality: The Undying Blacksmith

Chapter 16: The Plan

The border camp buckled under the assault. With over 5,000 horse bandits swarming the defenses, the remaining Wuli Army soldiers stood no chance. Amidst a sea of roaring flames, the lines broke, and the defenders scattered into the night.

With General Yuan Xiao leading a large contingent on a separate campaign, the camp’s garrison had been reduced to less than 2,000 men. Though many were trained martial artists, the sheer disparity in numbers was overwhelming. Two fists cannot fight four hands; the battle was lost before it truly began.

However, on the night of the rout, two commanders—masters who had cultivated Inner Force—made their move. Their methods were brutal and efficient. In a blur of motion, they cut down dozens of bandits and came dangerously close to killing the chieftain himself, Tuwa Ha’er.

But even a grandmaster of Inner Force knew better than to be swarmed by cavalry. After delivering their devastating blow, they disengaged, melting away into the darkness.

“Cough, cough!”

Tuwa Ha’er, who had been violently unhorsed, was quickly surrounded by his men, their faces etched with concern. He simply wiped a trickle of blood from his lips, swung himself back onto a fresh mount, and stared grimly in the directions the two masters had fled.

These were Qian Hong and Guo Zhentong, the two commanders stationed at the camp. Their formidable power had nearly ended the life of the Herculean Tuwa Ha’er.

“Leader, are you alright?”

Tuwa Ha’er shook his head, a grim smile twisting his lips. “These Feng Country fighters are no joke. To think they could threaten me from that distance.”

The tribe’s strategist spoke up, his voice calm amidst the chaos. “Men who can reach such heights in martial arts are exceedingly rare. You wouldn’t find many in the whole of Feng Country; otherwise, they would have conquered Liang Country long ago.”

Shaking off his earlier brush with death, the bandit leader’s eyes hardened. “Take a detachment and hunt down the deserters,” he commanded. “It’s best not to let a single one of those martial artists escape. The rest of you, strip this camp bare! Take all the supplies back to the Bandong Grassland!”

“Leader, we’ve captured some prisoners!” another bandit reported.

Tuwa Ha’er’s grin turned predatory, his eyes flashing with a cruel killing intent. He roared, his voice carrying over the crackling flames.

“The Tuwa tribe does not keep prisoners! Kill them all! Hahahaha!”

“TUWA!!!” the bandits bellowed in response.

With their chieftain’s command echoing in their ears, the horde began to systematically plunder the camp. For men of the grasslands, things like salt, iron, grain, and cloth were treasures worth dying for. It was for these very resources that they raided the surrounding nations year after year, undeterred by the heavy casualties.

They rarely traded. Compared to the resource-rich lands of Feng and Liang, a tribe with only cattle and sheep would always get the short end of the stick.

So, they plundered.

As the bandits swarmed through the camp like locusts, a cry of alarm cut through the chaos.

“Not good! The granary is on fire!”

The words struck Tuwa Ha’er like a physical blow. His face contorted with fury as he wrenched his horse’s reins, galloping toward the source of the shout.

Moments later, the formidable chieftain arrived before a granary engulfed in a raging inferno. He stared at the sight, his expression turning to stone.

“This wasn’t an accident,” the strategist said with a sigh, riding up beside him. “It was arson.”

Raw killing intent radiated from Tuwa Ha’er. “Send another 500 men!” he snarled. “Hunt down every last deserter and slaughter them all!”

Grain was a lifeline for the grassland tribes. To have it burned to ash was an unforgivable insult. In past raids, the defeated would always leave their provisions behind—an unspoken rule to ensure the victors wouldn’t pursue them too relentlessly.

This fire had burned away that convention, igniting a deep, personal hatred in the chieftain’s heart.

***

At that very moment, in the Extreme Night World.

The arsonist himself, Li Qing, was carefully stashing the massive quantity of grain he had hauled with him.

The effort had left him utterly drained. Transporting so much food between worlds was a monumental ordeal, even for someone who had begun to walk the path of martial arts.

Li Qing collapsed onto a pile of rice and flour sacks. Even if he ate with abandon, this stockpile would last him a very long time.

“If I’m frugal, this could last a year or two. Just have to hope it doesn’t go moldy,” he murmured, patting the sacks beneath him. A grin of pure satisfaction spread across his face.

It messed up my original plan, but I guess this is freedom, isn’t it?

His initial scheme had been to wait for the bandits to attack, then find a corpse of similar build in the Extreme Night World to fake his own death. He would have tossed the body into his forge, burning it beyond recognition. His disappearance would have been officially accounted for—a blacksmith’s apprentice, just another casualty of a bandit raid. No one would have suspected a thing.

Now, having escaped the army with enough food to last, he was safe, for the time being.

There was just one problem: his entry point into the Extreme Night World was fixed. Wherever he crossed over from, that was where he would return.

He had been so exhausted from moving the grain that he hadn’t had the strength to find a safer, more discreet location before making the jump. If he were to return now, he would reappear inside that very same granary—now a blazing inferno.

Let’s see… if I stay here in the Extreme Night World for a year, about four months will pass on the other side. That should put it right around winter.

That’s actually not a bad time to go back, he mused. I just hope they don’t rebuild a granary on that exact spot.

A military granary was always a high-security location. That was precisely why he’d set it ablaze. It wasn’t just to cover the tracks of his theft; it was to ensure the site would be abandoned. The last thing he wanted was to reappear after a long absence in the middle of a heavily guarded fortress. The risk of exposure would be far too high.

Winter was the ideal time for a return. With no active campaigns, many soldiers would be on leave, visiting family back in the heart of Feng Country. The grassland bandits would also retreat to the Bandong Grassland to wait out the cold. Regardless of what happened to the border camp, the frontier would be relatively quiet.

“Sigh. A full year in this bitterly cold wasteland,” Li Qing said aloud, his voice flat.

Having recovered some of his strength, he pushed himself off the sacks and dusted off his pants. “Just as well,” he continued, trying to sound more optimistic. “It gives me time to properly explore Obsidian City. I can finally calm my mind and focus completely on my training. With any luck, I can break through to the realm of Outer Force.”

Back in the camp, his time had never been his own. Disappearing for too long would have raised suspicion. His visits to the Extreme Night World had always been fleeting—slipping over in the dead of night and returning just before the first light of dawn.

A full year. This was a first for him.

He had no intention of staying in this desolate, starving world forever. He would return. But before he did, he was going to become much, much stronger.

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