Chapter 12: The Sow Dragon

The chieftain was dead, the treasure recovered, and now the river bandits faced two choices. First, to find the murderer and avenge their leader. Second, to divide up the gold, silver, and valuables, and go their separate ways.

Yet these bandits chose neither the first nor the second, but rather a third—“and.” That is, they brandished their curved blades at their so-called “comrades.” With so much wealth before them, who wouldn't want a larger share? And with such a beautiful widow, who wouldn't wish to claim her for himself, to keep her as his own?

The second and third lieutenants, along with the loyalists of the slain chieftain, quickly split into three factions, clashing with weapons at the mouth of the tunnel in a deadly struggle. The body of the decapitated Ma Pei not only failed to receive the burial befitting a leader, but was trampled repeatedly in the chaos. Soon his features were unrecognizable, and even his severed head vanished, kicked who knows where.

The fighting raged from noon until the sun set, leaving all three groups exhausted, locked in a stalemate—three-legged, like a classic power struggle among bandits. At last,

“Stop! Stop!” shouted the second lieutenant, blocking the third’s curved blade. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. At this rate, we’ll all be dead. Why don’t we join forces to finish off the chief’s loyalists? There’s enough treasure in the tunnel for the two of us to split and live in comfort for generations.”

The third lieutenant had already been thinking along these lines, but his gaze flickered. “And what about the widow? How do we divide her?”

Money could be halved, but there was only one widow.

The second lieutenant looked over. In the distance, the alluring widow in her pink strapless gown, her lips lightly pursed, exposed more than half her ample chest—more enchanting than any temptress in a storybook.

The second lieutenant was ruthless. If he couldn’t have her, nor could the third. Best that no one have her at all. He drew his curved blade and strode toward the beautiful widow. Before she could utter a word, he split her down the middle like a pig at New Year’s slaughter in the countryside.

Covered in blood, the second lieutenant dragged the two halves of her body and her spilled entrails, then turned with a grim smile to the third. “Who says a person can’t be split? Which half do you want?”

The third lieutenant turned pale. What use would he have for her now? For soup?

He turned to his men. “Stop fighting! Kill Ma Pei’s loyalists first!”

With the two joining forces, Ma Pei’s loyalists could no longer hold out. After brief resistance, they were all slaughtered, and those quick to surrender were tied up and tossed aside.

The two lieutenants counted their remaining men and nearly wept. At their peak, Blackwater Stronghold had over three hundred able bandits, feared even by the authorities thanks to the treacherous river and the river god. Now, they barely mustered seventy, some wounded—a return to the days before their rise.

But then again, with fewer people, the share of the loot would be greater.

Just as the two were mentally tallying their future fortunes, a cry from their men interrupted them.

“Damn! We haven’t made the river god’s sacrifice today!”

Everyone was startled. They looked up—the sun was still setting behind the hills, half an hour from darkness.

“There’s still time,” the second lieutenant said, springing up. “Quick, throw those black-skinned dogs into the river!”

The Blackwater Ditch river god demanded a live sacrifice every three days, rain or shine. Ma Pei had never missed one. Even if no merchant caravan was caught, they would toss in some of their own to appease the god—because if they missed the time, the river god would come ashore to hunt, and wouldn’t leave satisfied until he’d eaten his fill.

The group rushed to the wharf. But aside from a pile of cut ropes on the ground, there was no sign of the black-skinned dogs.

At that moment, the air was split by the whistling of arrows. Several bolts shot into the crowd, felling a number of bandits.

Scarface Cai Wei emerged from the shadows with dual crossbows, laughing loudly. “Looking for me, you bastards?”

Behind him, four officers filed out, each armed with a powerful crossbow. Cai Wei’s party originally numbered eight; two were killed by the river monster, one beaten to death by the bandits, leaving four at his side.

These crossbows, tightly regulated by the court, were deadlier than bows, able to pierce ordinary chainmail with ease. Unarmored bandits were no match.

The five advanced slowly, their six crossbows humming—reaping bandit lives like grim reapers.

Meanwhile, the last rays of sunlight vanished, darkness fell, and only a few distant braziers cast faint light.

Suddenly, the waters of Blackwater Ditch trembled, and a gaping whirlpool appeared.

The two surviving lieutenants’ faces turned to despair.

“It’s too late... The river god is coming for us!”

In panic, the surviving bandits scattered, as if the thing in the water was even more terrifying than the crossbows.

Scarface Cai Wei discarded his empty crossbow and drew his broken blade. “Brothers, I’ve failed you. In the next life, you take the lead and I’ll serve you faithfully.”

The four behind him, some with bows and some with blades, took their stand at his side.

“We knew when we followed you that we wouldn’t be coming back. If we die together, at least we’ll have company on the road to the afterlife.”

Cai Wei laughed heartily. “That’s the spirit!”

“Boss, it’s coming!”

From the whirlpool, the same ripple that had smashed the ferry the previous day surged toward the shore.

As it neared, the creature revealed itself—a pig-dragon, known today as a crocodile.

But this beast was over ten meters long, its body covered in hard scales, eyes glowing red, its thick limbs cracking the riverbank beneath it—clearly more monster than animal.

Two officers who still had bolts fired immediately. The heavy-tipped arrows shot out.

Clang! Clang!

The bolts left only white scratches on the beast’s scales before bouncing aside—military crossbows at twenty paces couldn’t even penetrate its hide.

Cai Wei’s face fell. “Run!”

They were resigned to dying, but such a pointless end was still hard to accept. If crossbows couldn’t pierce the scales, their blades stood even less chance.

Enraged by the bolts, the pig-dragon crawled forward, ignoring the corpses along the bank—it had long since developed a taste for live prey.

Scarface glanced back, almost losing his soul in terror. The beast’s steps were slow, but each one was six of theirs—an instant, and it was upon him. He could already smell its fetid breath.

“Miss! If you don’t act now, it’ll be too late!”

As he shouted, a figure standing atop the stockade leapt down, landing on the pig-dragon’s rough back.

Bai Xian steadied herself, the tip of her spear already glowing red.

“Dragon’s Strike!”

A clash of metal and sparks burst forth—the spear met the armor, sliding aside half a foot before wedging between the plates.

A burst of crimson exploded beneath the scales, leaving a wound as large as a head on the beast’s back.

Had this been the dog demon from before, its organs would have been shredded. But the pig-dragon was too massive, and the scales absorbed much of the force—the spear didn’t go deep enough to deal a mortal blow.

At the same time, Bai Xian felt a sharp pain in her palm, blood staining the shaft red.

The pig-dragon howled in pain, its limbs and tail thrashing as its colossal body rolled to the side.