Why do I have so many masters?

The camp was soon bustling as several fast horses dashed out, galloping towards the direction of the rising smoke signals.

Zhang Zhengqing led the charge, his expression taut.

Luo Yongjie took command of the camp, mobilizing the iron soldiers, drawing swords from their scabbards, and extracting all arrows from their quivers, which he planted point-down in the mud in front of him for easy access during battle.

They were dense as the scales of a Dragon Beast, with an aura of icy solemnity permeating the modest-sized military outpost.

Luo Yongjie eyed the direction of the smoke signals.

Unease and vigilance still troubled his heart, but after two months at Baili Feng's side, he had revised his opinion of the man, recognizing that the latter was not the stubborn, naively scholastic fool he had first thought.

One with the courage to draw his sword and walk into the jaws of death,

deserved to be called a warrior, no matter who he was.

The horses used by the soldiers on the Great Qin frontier were warhorses, carefully selected and bred from various famed breeds to refine their lineage, stronger by far in both stamina and speed than the average steed.

With only a three-hundred-mile journey between the two outposts, Baili Feng and his party traveled swiftly, reaching their destination in just one hour.

They had almost completely forsaken concealment along the vast plains, racing towards the towering smoke signal like arrows shot from a Powerful Crossbow, with the cold wind lashing their faces as their hearts thumped powerfully, sending blood coursing through every part of their bodies.

Though the Great Qin's northern lands were largely grassy plains, there were also low undulating hills, which couldn't really be called mountains. Despite the fact that an hour had passed since the smoke was first seen, and it was very possible that their comrades had already met with disaster, Baili Feng still did not approach rashly.

When still more than ten miles away, he changed direction and made a wide detour, eventually finding a small hill.

Leaving their horses at the foot of the hill, they climbed up quietly and, lying prone on its crest, they took in the battle array not far away, their faces grim with consternation.

The sounds of clanging swords and cries of battle now filled the space where the Great Qin Protectorate General's outpost had stood.

With the strength of three hundred iron soldiers holding the high ground, it would be possible to drag down a force of a thousand to their doom.

Yet outside the Qin camp, there were far more than a mere thousand; two distinct armies were assaulting the Qin encampment but were not in a hurry to mount a strong attack, rather, they seemed to be toying with them, trying to wear them down, causing the faces of Baili Feng and his party of Iron Cavalry to darken.

There was an instinctive movement among the soldiers to reach for their Qin Waist Sabers.

Grinding his teeth, Baili Feng suppressed his rage. He had always been impulsive, but he became unusually calm now that he was commanding a troop, cold as ice.

He raised a hand to stop his subordinates from acting rashly, pulling a white silk cloth from his bosom and squatting down, he used a simple charcoal pen made from black clay to scrawl upon it, noting every detail he observed.

After all, he was the disciple whom the previous famous general had taken under his wing after retiring to become a Master, having been trained at Fufeng Academy, he lacked no knowledge and saw more than the average soldier might.

He identified the enemy's foot soldiers and their formations, the appearance of their leading generals, the style of battle formations they employed.

He speculated on the presence of supply lines supporting them, and the likely locations of ambushes, suggesting military tactics for the iron soldiers under the general's command in case the position fell, and detailing the enemy's defensive layers step by step.

Then, biting his finger, he pressed his bloodstained thumbprint beneath the text.

His actions were calm and steady; even Baili Feng had not anticipated his own ability to act with such composure, as if his will and body were separate, watching the reckless scholar in him mature into a leader.

Meanwhile, the army attacking the Qin camp seemed to grow impatient and visibly stepped up its offensive.

And the rate at which arrows were shot from the Qin Army started to decrease.

Baili Feng, who had been strictly trained by his Master with rod and staff, was well-versed in military strategies. His heart sank, knowing that under the laws of the Protectorate General of the Great Qin's Northern Lands, each soldier carried a Waist Saber and Light Armor, and each one had a Powerful Crossbow with two quivers of Crossbow Bolts, totaling twenty. The camp was supposed to have a thrice-replenished supply of Arrows.

It was evident that their defensive capabilities had reached their limits.

From the corner of his eye, Baili Feng could just make out Qin soldiers beginning to pick up Crossbow Bolts from the bodies of their fallen comrades.

More iron soldiers had already drawn their Waist Sabers, the frigid Qin combat blades, each forged from Hundred Refined Iron, now in their hands, signified that the defense had reached its final stage.

Now that the arrows were spent, from the Defending General to the cooks, all donned armor and gripped blades, ready to fight and die for their country.

Unless they perished in battle, the camp would not fall to the enemy.

An Iron Cavalry soldier beside Baili Feng couldn't help murmuring:

"Sir..."

Baili turned away from the scene, took a few deep breaths, and said in a low voice:

"According to military orders, once our reconnaissance is complete, we must report back to our own camp and the Protectorate General."

The Iron Cavalryman clenched his fists, a reluctant grip.

Baili Feng had made it clear; their intervention would mean certain death. More importantly, they had to deliver the intelligence they had gathered back to their own camp. Despite understanding this, watching their own men march to their death without being able to intervene was not a pleasant feeling.

Baili Feng took a deep breath.

The cold air that filled his lungs made his spirit exceedingly stern and calm.

He turned and slid down the icy hillside, followed by the Iron Cavalryman who had spoken earlier, who punched the frozen ground with a fist before silently descending. Their mounts waited below, Qin horses that had undergone rigorous training, and would not panic at the sounds of clashing swords and battle.