Panic flickered in Ruan Wei's eyes.

He thought of himself as a born general. Facing Ning Chen, though, his nerve still wavered.

Word was that every man in Ning Chen's Ning'an Army carried a musket.

Going by that gunfire, the men fighting their way up the mountain had to be the Ning'an Army.

He knew the Ning'an Army by reputation, and the reputation was thunderous. It was Ning Chen's own guard, a true army of tigers and wolves, and every man in it was a match for ten.

But it was too late to retreat now.

His way out—the hidden trail he'd kept for himself—lay right where the Ning'an Army was fighting.

Suddenly his eyes narrowed. Could the Ning'an Army have come up that very trail?

How had they found it?

But there was no time to think it through. Apart from that trail, every way down the mountain was buried under snow.

Which meant he had no choice. He'd have to meet the Ning'an Army head-on.

At least there were only two or three thousand of them. His men had a real chance of winning.

"Men, hear my order! Follow this general and kill the enemy!"

Most of the survivors were Ruan Wei's personal guard. At his command, the army formed up.

Ruan Wei led them in a charge at the Ning'an Army.

But when he got there, he shuddered.

Bodies covered the ground, and blood had turned the snow red.

And every one of them was his.

Worst of all was the moment he saw a man, not especially big, leap high into the air and bring down a strange, huge blade that split one of his soldiers clean in two. Ruan Wei shook from head to foot.

And it wasn't just one man carrying a blade like that. There were a good several hundred of them.

They all had one thing in common: they were thick through the shoulders and the waist, and the sheer bulk of them bore down on you.

When did that bastard Ning Chen train up another pack of killers like this?

Yuan…