Chapter Twenty: The Lord Arrives

Having just survived a near-fatal crisis, every soul in Elm Tree Bay was taut with nerves. The sudden emergence of this group of hunters from the mountain forest sent another wave of tension through the villagers.

“Zhang Can? Why are you here? My lord, even you’ve come!”

The usually downcast Wang Da Hu, who had been scolded by the old village chief, recognized the newcomers. “Wang Da Hu of the Xuan Battalion pays his respects to the lord!”

He strode briskly out of the crowd, knelt on one knee before a young man among the hunters, and pressed his lone arm to his chest in a military salute.

Encircled by Miao Xiao Yu and her sisters, Zhao Heng Yi looked up. The young lord, as he was called, possessed a dignified bearing; every gesture radiated a heroic spirit.

The young lord personally helped Wang Da Hu to his feet. “Da Hu, was it you who slew the one-eyed Black Wind that terrorized this region? You truly are a soldier of my Xuan Battalion! Well done!”

To this young lord, only Wang Da Hu—whose roots lay in the Xuan Battalion and who had fought on the battlefield—could have struck the single remaining eye of that giant beast.

“My lord, it was not I who killed the Black Wind.”

Moved by seeing his former comrade and the lord who had once led him through life-and-death struggles, Wang Da Hu still remembered to earn credit for his master. “It was my employer who shot the beast, not I; I lack the skill.”

Zhao Heng Yi, who had been quietly observing, now stepped forward to salute the young lord.

The hunters surrounding the lord watched Zhao Heng Yi with wary, dissatisfied eyes, despite Wang Da Hu’s camaraderie. Many villagers clutched odd-looking hand crossbows; the seasoned guards could tell those crossbows were already drawn.

Moreover, this Zhao Heng Yi, a rustic villager, was far too discourteous before the lord. He spoke with clarity and reason, not the ignorance of a crude peasant. This was intentional disrespect—a sheer display of insolence!

Yet the young lord was unconcerned by Zhao Heng Yi’s impertinence or the drawn crossbows in the villagers’ hands. Instead, he regarded everything before him with keen curiosity.

His name was Song Ying An, a young military commander renowned since boyhood. Though his family aided him, his title was earned through true merit on the battlefield.

The ranks of nobility in the Great Yan Kingdom were twelve in number: King, Prince, Regional Prince, National Duke, Regional Duke, Founding Duke, Founding Regional Duke, Founding County Duke, Founding Marquis, Founding Lord, Founding Viscount, and Founding Baronet. Save for the initial largesse of the founding emperor, for over three centuries, no title was lightly bestowed without great merit.

At barely twenty, Song Ying An had earned the title of Founding Lord through military distinction—a rare accomplishment.

He was granted seven hundred households in his fief in Dangyang County, and his title was Lord of Dangyang. Yet, in the Great Yan Kingdom, civil officials held sway while military men were undervalued. The court was rife with factions, and martial nobles possessed little authority in their fiefs; their titles were mere honors, with only a stipend to show for it.

Except for the oldest family lines, most military nobles could not govern their lands, and many never even visited their fiefs. This was the outcome of centuries of civil officials seeking to curb military power—a prudent measure at first, but one that had soured over time.

Because of his family, Song Ying An maintained a modest estate and some farmland on the outskirts of Dangyang, though he seldom interacted with local officials.

The Lord of Dangyang appeared here with his guards to hunt down the one-eyed Black Wind, a scourge that had plagued the region for years.

Dangyang was his true fief; having left military service for personal affairs, he had come to his estate for respite. Hearing of the Black Wind, he led his guards to rid the people of this menace.

Yet, after days of tracking, he discovered that the beast everyone feared had been slain by a band of rustic villagers!

After some brief conversation, Song Ying An requested a trial of the hand crossbow. With three sharp cracks, three bolts struck the trunk of a tree ten paces away, forming a neat triangle. The Lord of Dangyang marveled at the weapon’s power.

“This hand crossbow is remarkably potent. No wonder Heng Yi was able to kill a giant bear with it! Who crafted such a weapon?”

“I made it myself, for hunting more game to earn a little silver for daily needs.”

Such a tool could not be concealed; Song Ying An, no fool, would surely recognize its true value.

“Master Zhao, you must be skilled in smithing and forging. No wonder you dared to take on a giant bear yourself!”

Song Ying An’s gaze flickered, and he now regarded Zhao Heng Yi with newfound respect.

As commander of the Xuan Battalion—one of the few elite units in the Great Yan Kingdom—Song Ying An’s eye could discern the extraordinary forging skills behind the hand crossbow. In the army, superior weapons provided a crushing advantage. He understood well that acquiring a master smith could transform the Xuan Battalion.

Though Zhao Heng Yi was merely a lowly blacksmith, for his prowess in crafting such a weapon, Song Ying An, Lord of Dangyang, was willing to address him as “master.”

Having lived two lifetimes, Zhao Heng Yi easily sensed the lord’s shifting attitude and replied with an easy smile, “Just a humble craft, my lord flatters me. The journey has been arduous; why not you and your men rest at Elm Tree Bay?”

Song Ying An gladly accepted. As long as Zhao Heng Yi did not resist, he could eventually win him over, and time was the one thing he had in abundance.

He sent a guard to fetch the horses kept on the far side of Mount Qing, and with the villagers and their fishing boats, Song Ying An and his men returned to the village in lively fashion.

Along the short path, Song Ying An adopted a manner of humility, engaging Zhao Heng Yi in conversation. But the deeper they talked, the more astonished the Lord of Dangyang became. Zhao Heng Yi’s words brimmed with wisdom and insight, revealing a mind well-versed in worldly affairs—not merely a common smith. The title “master” was well deserved.

Yet he wondered: Was Master Zhao truly wise, or merely a braggart?

Once they entered the village, chaos ensued. Never before had Elm Tree Bay hosted such a dignitary; neither the chief nor the elders knew how to properly receive him.

“If my lord does not mind, please rest at my humble home. It is simple and may not offer proper hospitality, so I ask your forgiveness.”