The archer studied Ning Chen for a moment, then sighed. "Then as my lord prince wishes."

The instant he said it, an arrow shot at Ning Chen like a streak of light.

There were no more than nine to fifteen feet between them. Anyone ordinary could never have dodged that shot.

But Ning Chen was a master above the ranks altogether, and one who could cut loose a sword beam besides.

As the man released, Broken Dream gave a ringing cry.

Ning Chen swept his sword sideways, and the sword beam became a thin line that ripped across the night sky... The arrow flying at him was split in two.

Horror crossed the archer's face. It was too late to dodge. He could only watch the sword beam cut through his great bow and then slash into him.

With a muffled grunt, the sharpshooter flew backward, slammed into the eaves on the far side of the roof, tumbled off and crashed down hard onto the street.

Ning Chen's face had gone a little pale. That one stroke had drained most of the breath inside him... But it had been worth it.

He swept down from the roof and looked warily around.

Going by how many arrows had come at them earlier, there had to be more archers than these few.

But there were none around. Maybe they were lying in wait at the rice shop's back door?

Sword in hand, Ning Chen looked at the sharpshooter. The man was in bad shape. The wound across his chest was hideous, deep enough to show bone, and blood kept pouring out.

If nobody saved him, he was a dead man.

Ning Chen was torn.

He felt the urge to spare a talent. This fellow wasn't just a good fighter. His archery was uncanny.

And from the moment they'd started fighting, the man had held back at every turn. Every arrow had avoided his vital points. They looked deadly, but none of them were meant to kill.

Besides, the face reflects the heart, and this man's face was upright through and through. He…