CHAPTER 31

EARNING FREEDOM

Mark was led into the grand hall of Liao Cheng’s manor, flanked by guards who had been shadowing him relentlessly for days. The constant supervision had been driving him up the wall, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. As he stepped inside, he saw the General seated cross-legged on a mat, sipping green tea. Liao Cheng gestured for Mark to join him, and Mark reluctantly sat down.

“I had my men inspect the bodies of those assassins you dealt with the other night,” Liao Cheng began. “One of them was confirmed as a member of the Assassin’s Guild. After some digging, we discovered they were hired by men connected to Chancellor Han Fen. The evidence is unfortunately not strong enough to topple the bastard though.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing you didn’t drag me in here just to share the news?”

Liao Cheng smirked faintly. “You’ve got a chance to earn your freedom. While I’d hate to part with such a valuable asset, taking out Han Fen would be worth it.”

“You’re asking me to assassinate the Chancellor?” Mark said, leaning forward slightly.

“Exactly,” Liao Cheng replied. “I’ll be hosting a feast in his honor—an extension of courtesy after his own event. During the feast, you’ll kill him. But here’s the catch: it must look like the act of a rogue servant. The moment you strike, my men will be trying to take you down. If you escape, you’ll have earned your freedom. If you fail… well, that’s your problem. I can’t risk sparing you. Plausible deniability is key. It has to seem like I had nothing to do with it.”

“Even if you aren’t blamed for the assassination itself, won’t it look bad for you to have a servant go rogue like that?”

Liao Cheng chuckled, taking another sip of tea. “My military victories have earned me powerful allies in the Imperial Court. It’s the reason Han Fen has been trying to eliminate me. They’ll argue my case to the Archon. They’ll make sure I’m not held accountable for the actions of one unruly foreign servant. They will argue you were angry about the punishment you received over the death of Mao Tao, acted on your own, and that there wasn’t much I could have done to stop you.”

Mark sighed, rubbing his temples. “You realize this will make me the most wanted man in the entire realm.”

“Exactly,” Liao Cheng said with a shrug. “Which is why, if you survive, I’d suggest leaving Archon Hanying’s territory as fast as possible. Find some other land where your face isn’t on every wanted poster.”

Mark knew this was his one shot at freedom. The only thing that had kept him here was Guanyu, but he hadn’t seen her since that night. So he made his decision. With a firm nod, he agreed. He would take the risk.

The guards escorted him back to his room, and the days that followed flew by. Mark was given permission to train in the garden, sharpening his sword skills under the watchful eyes of a dozen guards. It was all part of the plan to prepare him for the feast.

And then, the night arrived. The manor buzzed with activity. Guests in elegant silk gowns strolled through the lantern-lit garden, making their way to the grand hall, where long wooden tables were arranged and laden with food and drink.

Mark waited in the shadows of the garden, wearing chainmail armor beneath his cloak. Both his swords—his trusted blade and the spirit sword—rested in their sheaths at his side. Outside the manor gates, his white horse stood ready, saddled with his belongings. This should be simple enough, he thought, steeling himself.

Then he saw him. Chancellor Han Fen, flanked by a dozen servants and guards, entered the garden.

“His Excellency the Chancellor has arrived!” a servant announced, their voice cutting through the evening air.

Liao Cheng emerged from the hall, his steps deliberate and his face alight with feigned respect. “Welcome, your Excellency,” he said, bowing slightly. “It is a great honor to have you here. This feast is a humble token of gratitude for the magnificent one you hosted for me.”

Han Fen inclined his head. “Thank you for your generosity. I’m sure tonight will be as delightful as my own gathering.”

Servants guided Han Fen to the seat of honor at the head of the table. He sat down, and a servant poured him a cup of wine. Liao Cheng took the seat beside him and raised his own cup, his voice booming. “To Chancellor Han Fen, a wise and sagacious minister of our esteemed Archon!”

The hall echoed with the sound of raised cups and the polite hum of agreement. Everyone drank, including Han Fen, who smiled thinly as he sipped his wine.

Mark stayed back in the garden, keeping out of sight. He watched, waited, and gripped the hilt of his sword. Soon, his moment would come.

Minutes ticked by as the guests feasted, drank, and lost themselves in the music and dance. The hall was alive with the rhythm of drums and the fluid movements of dancers, holding everyone in rapt attention. Then came the sound of a sharp clap—Liao Cheng’s signal.

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Mark stepped into the hall, all eyes turning to him as he walked to the space before the main table.

“My servant,” Liao Cheng announced, “will demonstrate his swordsmanship for your enjoyment.”

Han Fen sighed, clearly unimpressed.

“Think of it as his apology for the unfortunate death of Mao Tao,” Liao Cheng continued. “He insisted on performing to entertain your Excellency.”

The Chancellor gave a curt nod, waving his hand for Mark to proceed.

Mark unsheathed his blade and began an elegant display, cutting through the air with swift, precise movements. The audience watched, mildly intrigued, as the blade danced in his hands. Han Fen leaned back in his chair, looking just entertained enough to keep watching.

Then, in an instant, the air shifted. Mark lunged forward, closing the distance in the blink of an eye, and drove his sword straight into the Chancellor’s chest. The blade sank deep before anyone could react. Mark pulled it free in one clean motion, and Han Fen’s lifeless body slumped over the table, blood spilling onto the polished wood.

The hall erupted in chaos. Guests screamed, stumbling back from their seats.

“Guards!” Liao Cheng roared, pointing at Mark. “Kill this treacherous dog!”

The guards drew their weapons and charged, their blades glinting under the lantern light. Mark turned and sprinted toward the garden, but two guards barred his path as the rest thundered after him from the hall.

The first guard swung at him, and Mark’s blade parried the attack. Then, but with one swift motion, Mark drove his blade through the first guard’s forehead, killing him instantly. Blood sprayed as the body crumpled.

The second guard swung at Mark but he parried his attack and landed a brutal kick on his groin, causing him to stumble back. As the man doubled over, Mark didn’t hesitate—he slashed across the guard’s face, dropping him in a heap.

With the path clear for now, Mark took off again, running through the garden as the shouts of the pursuing guards closed in behind him.

Mark sprinted through the garden, guards shouting and pounding the ground behind him. Suddenly, three guards appeared ahead, cutting him off. They had come sprinting from the side to block the exit. One of them, a burly man wielding an axe, swung it with a grunt. Mark twisted just in time, the axe blade tearing through his cloak with a loud rip.

Wasting no time, Mark yanked off the cloak and hurled it into the man’s face as he wound up for another strike. Blinded by the fabric, the guard staggered back. Before he could tear it away, Mark lunged forward and drove his sword deep into the man’s chest.

Mark wrenched the blade free as the other two guards rushed him with their swords. He ducked under their wild swings and rolled to his left, creating space. The guards spun around and charged again, but Mark vaulted into the air, landing smoothly behind them. Before they could react, he stabbed backward, his sword plunging through one of their backs, the tip bursting out of his chest. The guard groaned, collapsing in a heap as Mark pulled the blade free.

The last guard turned, slashing his sword in a desperate arc. Mark spun just in time to parry, the clash of steel ringing through the garden. Sparks flew from the force of the strike. Mark knew he had seconds before the others caught up. The guard lunged, thrusting his blade at Mark’s gut, but Mark sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the tip. In the same motion, he slashed his sword across the guard’s neck. The man froze mid-motion as his head tumbled off his shoulders, both the head and body crumpling to the blood-soaked ground.

No time to waste. Mark dashed toward the garden’s exit, his breath ragged. He burst into the street, spotting his white horse waiting where he’d left it. The thundering of boots echoed behind him. With a leap, Mark landed in the saddle just as the guards swarmed out of the garden.

“Let’s go, boy!” he shouted, slapping the horse’s flank. The animal bolted forward, hooves pounding the road as startled citizens leapt out of the way, tumbling onto the street corners.

“Stop him!” one guard yelled.

An archer stepped into view, bow in hand. The first arrow hissed through the air, barely missing Mark as he ducked low, the shaft grazing his hair. Another arrow flew, whistling past his cheek and slicing a thin line across his skin, drawing blood. He grimaced but kept riding. A third arrow struck his back, the impact jarring him, but his chainmail armor held strong, deflecting the shot.

With the wind whipping past him and shouts fading behind, Mark pushed his horse harder. His horse thundered through the crowded streets of Zhongdao, hooves pounding as people screamed and scattered. Some managed to dive out of the way just in time, while others weren’t so lucky, knocked aside like rag dolls. Mark didn’t slow down. He couldn’t afford to care. Every second counted. By now, he was the most wanted man in the realm, and his only chance was to get out of the city—fast.

Ahead, the massive city gates loomed open. A dozen guards stood at the exit, unaware of who Mark was or what had happened. He still had the advantage.

“St–!” one of the guards started to shout. Mark spurred his horse forward, the beast barreling straight into the man and sending him flying, blood trailing through the air. The others scrambled in confusion as Mark charged through the gate, leaving chaos behind him.

“Get him!” came the shout, and two guards mounted their horses in a frenzy, racing after him.

Mark galloped down the dirt road outside the city, dust billowing in his wake. The two guards were closing in, wielding swords, their armored bodies swaying in the saddle.

Mark made a split-second decision. He yanked the reins and turned his horse sharply, charging straight toward his pursuers. One guard’s face twisted in surprise. Before the man could react, Mark hurled his sword like a javelin. The blade flew true, striking the guard square in the forehead. Blood sprayed as the man toppled lifeless from his horse, crumpling onto the road.

Mark galloped up to the body and ripped the sword free, slick with blood. Just in time. The second guard was already on him. Steel clashed as the man swung his sword in a furious arc, Mark parrying just in time. Sparks flew as their blades met, again and again.

He couldn’t drag this out. More guards would be coming soon. Mark urged his horse forward, ducking low to avoid another slash. He rode past the guard, forcing some distance between them, then turned sharply to face him again.

With a deep breath, Mark kicked his horse into a sprint. As the two closed the gap, Mark did the unthinkable—he stood in the saddle. Balancing on the galloping horse, he propelled himself forward, launching his body through the air.

He collided hard with the guard, tackling him off his horse. The two men hit the ground with a thud, rolling through the tall grass in a tangle of limbs. Mark scrambled on top of him, pinning the man down, and drove his fist into his face—once, twice—before plunging his sword straight into the man’s skull. The guard went still.

Panting, Mark yanked the bloodied blade free and pushed himself to his feet. His horse had stopped nearby, waiting for him. He wasted no time, swinging himself back into the saddle.

Spurring the horse on, Mark galloped away, the city of Zhongdao shrinking behind him. From now on, he was once again a wandering swordsman.