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Fortunately, this time, He Lingchuan leaned into what he was best at, which was being durable. He fought steadily until he finally caught his opponent’s opening and finished the match with a single decisive blow.
Lifting the tent flap, he was greeted by rain coming down in sheets. The curtain of water was so dense that he could not even make out men or horses ten meters away.
With visibility like this, it might as well have been thick fog.
If he stuck his hand out for a few seconds, he could literally scoop up a palmful of rain to wash his face.
He splashed some cold water over himself, then mulled over what technique he should trade his next batch of military merits for. Every real fight gave him precious experience, and now he had come to realize he lacked a truly high-burst martial technique.
Next time, I really should exchange for the Mirror Image Technique.
The Yuan camp had once again been pulled back over three hundred meters, now set squarely on hard, rocky ground. This at least removed the risk of landslides, and the camp now sat a good six to seven meters higher than the current river surface.
The price, however, was a surge in the number of snakes, rats, and assorted vermin, and bites had become much more common.
Neither Zhao Pan nor He Chunhua relaxed their guard. Both men were wary of Hong Chenglue’s revenge, and each day their expectations for...
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