Finest Servant

Chapter 590 The Golden Blade and the Silver Blade

Surveying the cavalry in front of them, it was clear that their numbers reached more than ten thousand. Each rider was robust, speeding on their horses as if flying. The blades they held gleamed in the air, a sign of seasoned warriors well-acquainted with the battlefield.

"Could it be that the Turks have discovered us?" Hu Bugui quickly moved in front of Lin Wanrong, assuming a defensive stance.

Lin Wanrong chuckled, "Don't worry, Brother Hu. Discovering us is easier said than done. These are probably the over ten thousand cavalrymen left behind by Lu Dongzan. Let's watch and see."

As he spoke, the various Turkic tribes that had been practicing the 'sheep snatching' game around them also stopped, looking forward in puzzled wonder.

The impressive cavalry of the Turkic tribes charged forward like a mountain, eventually slowing down their speed. From among them, a man emerged—tall and burly, with thick eyebrows and piercing eyes.

"Tursun?!" Lin Wanrong was taken aback. The man leading the cavalry was none other than the dashing young Turkic Right Prince. Dressed in an opulent nomadic robe, Tursun emanated a cold and dignified air. The steed beneath him was a treasure of the Turkic tribes, a blood-sweat horse, majestic and exceptional. It stood amidst the herd, the other horses following obediently as if stars encircling the moon.

"What a splendid horse!" Hu Bugui whispered, admiration filling his voice. "Back when Lu Dongzan was sent as an envoy to the Great Hua, he gave you two blood-sweat horses. Not only have I seen them, but I also personally trained them. However, the horse Tursun is riding is superior in both physique and age. It seems these treasured horses also have their grades. What the Turks gave General Lin is merely second-rate."

Having spent significant time with horses, Lin Wanrong had developed a discerning eye for equine qualities. He spat out bitterly, "These Turkic people really know how to cut corners. They dare to shortchange me? If I don't show them some mettle, they'll think Lin San is all talk!"

The tens of thousands of iron-clad cavalrymen stood firm on the plains, exuding an aura of invincibility. Tursun remained calm and collected, but his Turkic military advisor beside him was rapidly muttering something. Despite the hundreds of feet separating them, his loud voice carried clearly.

Lin Wanrong perked up his ears, then shook his head in frustration, "This guy's Turkic accent is so suburban, it's hard to understand. Brother Hu, could you do the translation?"

"Indeed, it's not very authentic," Hu Bugui chuckled. "He's saying, 'By the order of the Right Prince, to prevent conflicts among the tribes during the sheep snatching competition, from today until the end of the grand gathering, the area within ten miles of Kyzil will be guarded by royal troops. Tribes are forbidden from attacking or fighting. Those who violate will lose their rights to participate in the gathering. Once the event is over, the tribes can enter the royal court to pay their respects to the Great Khan—'"

Lin Wanrong nodded. As the grand competition approached, tensions between the tribes grew increasingly palpable. Tursun was planning to enforce martial law to prevent conflicts among them. The Right Prince of the Turkic was indeed as competent as the rumors suggested; despite his young age, he handled matters with remarkable shrewdness.

"—And at the sheep snatching competition, the victorious warrior will have their mask removed by the Great Khan himself during the royal evening banquet, as a special reward," Old Hu continued to translate.

That rule was rather interesting. Having the Great Khan of the Turkic personally unveil the face of the prairie warrior was both mysterious and thrilling. It was an excellent incentive that could fully mobilize the fervor and valor of the Turkic people, encouraging them to strive for first place. This made the sheep snatching competition even more challenging. The Turkic people were truly masters at lifting spirits.

After the military adviser finished reading the martial law proclamation, horns sounded from each tribe. The long, deep sounds echoed across the plains, signaling the Turkic people's obedience to military orders.

"Ah, women!" The usually silent Gao Qiu suddenly opened his eyes wide, emitting a flash of bright light, and murmured excitedly.

In the tents of various tribes, the sounds of cheerful, crisp laughter began to emanate. The flaps of the tents lifted, revealing the faces of Turkic young women. Indeed, they were women. Old Gao had sharp ears, it seemed.

Although these Turkic women, most of them seventeen or eighteen years old, couldn't compare to Yujia in beauty, they were still relatively rare among the Turkic people. Dressed in their finest festive clothes, they looked graceful and charming as they giggled and peered out of the camp.

It was obvious whom they were looking at. The young and valiant Right Prince of the Turkic Khanate had long been a celebrated hero across the plains, the dream prince of countless Turkic girls. Many of the tribal women who had come to participate in the sheep snatching competition to choose a husband were likely there for him—and that was probably a conservative estimate.

A few bold Turkic girls had already mounted their horses and galloped toward the Right Prince. Upon reaching Tursun, they dismounted, shyly clapped their hands, and began to dance around his horse. Their eyes occasionally met his as their melodious songs soared toward the sky.

Smiling, Tursun dismounted his cherished horse and joined the young women in a circle, initiating a lively dance. The Turkic people's natural affinity for music and dance soon revealed itself. Warriors and maidens from various tribes gradually joined in, singing and dancing. The plains transformed into an ocean of joy, filled with the sounds of laughter, applause, and cheering.

Lin Wanrong suddenly thought, if Yujia were to dance like these Turkic girls, what would that scene look like? The idea startled him for a moment, and he quickly shook his head to dispel the impractical thought.

"So, Turkic women like pretty boys and even throw themselves at them. How shameless," Old Gao muttered resentfully, seeing the young women gathering around the Right Prince.

Lin Wanrong chuckled and responded, "Old Gao, you're being unfair to them. The customs and character of the Turkic people are different from ours; their approach to love and marriage is also distinct. If they like someone, they say it openly. In this respect, the Turkic are far more straightforward than we are."

"General Lin is right. If you're really jealous, Old Gao, it's simple. After we take down Kyzil, I'll catch you a couple of Turkic women. That way, you can also experience the joy of a warm embrace," Hu Bugui said, laughing as he teased.

Gao Qiu shook his head disdainfully, "If I really wanted Turkic women to throw themselves at me, it would be easy. At the sheep snatching competition, if I win the championship, any Turkic woman would have no choice but to be mine."

"So, that's your plan?" Lin Wanrong and Hu Bugui exchanged glances and then burst into laughter. Old Gao's wish was merely a joke to them. Their main mission for attending the sheep snatching competition was to infiltrate the Turkic royal court. Whether they could win the championship or even get close to the Khan was a matter of fate.

As they spoke, a burst of cheers suddenly erupted nearby. The Turkic people, who had been dancing, scattered, leaving a large open space. Standing calmly in the middle was Tursun, and across from him were about twenty stout Turkic warriors. The excited young Turkic women gathered behind Tursun, their faces filled with adoration as they cheered and fixed their eyes on the Right Prince. Surrounding tribes and the cavalry that Tursun had brought naturally formed a large circle around them.

Though Lin Wanrong couldn't understand what they were shouting, he could tell from their expressions that they were cheering for the Right Prince. Tursun slowly removed his robe, revealing his streamlined short clothes. His physique was strong and balanced, instantly attracting a round of cheers from the young women. He took something out of his bosom and handed it to his attendant. In the twilight, a silver gleam caught Lin Wanrong's excellent eyesight, and he couldn't help but gasp, "What is that?"

"Is it a small, silver blade? Ah, I remember, Yujia has one just like that," said Old Hu, who had also noticed the anomaly.

What Tursun held was indeed a small curved blade. Its design, size, and even intricacy were identical to Yujia's golden blade. The only difference was that Tursun's was made of pure silver, slightly inferior to Yujia's golden blade.

‘Could it be that Tursun and Yujia are betrothed?’ The shock in Lin Wanrong's heart was beyond words when he saw the silver blade in the Right Prince's hand.

Tursun handed the blade to his attendant, patted his cuffs and wrists to show that he was unarmed, and then gestured. His attendants immediately distributed black masks to the Turkic warriors opposite him.

"This mask is made of pure black cloth. Once you put it on, only your eyes are exposed," Hu Bugui quickly said, "General, Brother Gao, pay attention, this is the mask used in the sheep snatching competition."

Lin Wanrong laughed, "What are they doing? There's no sheep-snatching today, why the masks?"

"It looks like the Right Prince is going to compete against some tribe," Hu Bugui peered closely, "Wearing the mask ensures the Right Prince can't recognize his opponents. This way, they can go all out without fearing reprisal, much like in the sheep snatching competition."

As soon as the words were spoken, the horn sounded from across the field, its wail echoing across the plains. The high-pitched cries of young women and the roars of warriors filled the air. The growing crowd blocked their view, so Lin Wanrong and his companions hastily found a high slope to get a better vantage point.

At the center of the field was a thick wooden stake. Tursun had switched to an ordinary steed and was standing some forty yards away from it. Opposite him were carefully selected warriors, more than twenty in total, positioned at an equal distance from the stake.

With a single glance, Lin Wanrong understood: this was a game of capturing the stake, and Tursun was taking on twenty men by himself. He had even traded his prized horse for an average one, clearly aiming to make a statement. If he could win under these conditions, who would dare challenge him in future competitions?

A sharp, urgent horn suddenly sounded, signaling the start of the contest.

"Charge!" Tursun reacted the fastest, whipping his horse into a gallop. Like an arrow, the steed shot forward. The opposing warriors were not slow either. Twenty horses raced across the field like a sweeping wind, both sides heading straight for the stake.

The screams of young women cut through the night sky as the watching crowd roared in excitement. Some cheered for Tursun; others cheered for his opponents. As both sides closed in on the stake, a cloud of dust obscured Tursun's handsome face. In a flash, he stomped on his stirrups and extended both arms forward. In the blink of an eye, he had tightly gripped the stake.

The twenty-plus knights were only a few yards away from him when they saw him reach for the stake. They charged forward like mad horses, and the leading warriors swung their fists at him without any restraint.

"Ah!" Tursun let out a resounding roar, his face flushed red. The stake, driven deep into the ground, was abruptly pulled out, showering dirt in all directions. Tursun now held it horizontally in his arms.

The display of raw strength stunned the onlookers. After a moment of stunned silence, the crowd erupted into cheers and applause that seemed to go on forever.

Lin Wanrong watched in disbelief. That thick stake had been driven several feet into the ground, yet Tursun had effortlessly pulled it out while riding. What on earth had he been fed as a child? Was he Tarzan in disguise?

Just as Tursun secured the stake, the opposing warriors arrived like a whirlwind. But he remained calm. He swung the wooden stake horizontally, striking directly at his opponents.

"Ahh!" A scream erupted. The first three warriors were hit in the midsection and knocked off their horses. This momentary obstruction bought time for those who followed. More than ten warriors were now closing in on Tursun. Two or three leaped from their horses, aiming to tackle him. This was a traditional wrestling tactic among these people; if Tursun were knocked down and restrained by several men, even his incredible strength would be nullified.

However, Tursun had already seen through their intentions. With a low grunt, he swung the stake with such force that the three attackers were sent flying, hitting the ground without even a groan.

"Neigh—" Suddenly, the horse beneath Tursun let out a mournful cry, its front hooves rising before it slowly collapsed.

Lin Wanrong observed the situation clearly. The three warriors who charged head-on were merely a diversion. The instant they fell grievously injured, two more leaped from their horsebacks, their fists flying like the wind. They attacked the royal steed from both sides, aiming straight for its eyes. With a painful neigh, the Turkic warhorse collapsed to the ground.

‘Poking the eyes, is it? Just as Old Hu said, they'll use any means necessary,’ Lin Wanrong thought, alarmed and gaining a deeper understanding of the so-called sheep snatching competition.

No matter how formidable Tursun was, he had only two hands and two feet; he couldn't be everywhere at once. A seasoned warrior, he catapulted himself from the falling steed like the wind. The moment he touched the ground, he landed a heavy elbow on the nape of the attacking warrior's neck.

Even from a considerable distance, Lin Wanrong clearly heard the crisp sound of breaking bones. The warrior collapsed, limp and lifeless, struggling briefly before going still.

"So powerful, so ruthless!" Even Gao Qiu couldn't help but change his expression. Watching the Turkic Right Prince in action, one could tell he had climbed his way out of a pile of corpses. Not to mention his innate strength, even his air of ruthless determination was enough to send shivers down one's spine.

"Hooyah, hooyah—" The men and women of the Turkic tribe were completely indifferent to the fate of their kinsmen. The electrifying scene had them roaring and cheering, voices rising and falling in a chaotic melody.

The remaining warriors had already paid a steep price, but they considered forcing the Right Prince off his horse a significant success. Ecstatic, the remaining ten or so charged their horses toward Tursun.

With a swift dodge, the Turkic Right Prince swung the stake without hesitation, hitting a horse and causing both rider and steed to drop down.

With a "smack," Tursun was struck hard on the back by a whip, but he didn't even turn his head. He retaliated with a powerful punch, sending the horse flying behind him.

Within moments, several more were dealt with, leaving only seven or eight. Repeated setbacks had enraged the warriors. They dismounted, intending to surround Tursun and tackle him to the ground. But the Right Prince burst out like the wind, delivering two quick, heavy blows to the jaws of his attackers. Simultaneously, he swung the wooden stake, striking another in the legs.

With his strength, the enemy didn't stand a chance, and their formation instantly crumbled. Tursun didn’t even need his horse; he walked toward the finish line. The moment he reached it, he triumphantly raised the wooden stake he'd seized, a look of immense pride on his face.

"Roar—roar—" Tens of thousands of Turks, accompanied by the screams of countless young women, created a wave of sound that seemed to shake the very heavens.

The reputation of the Right Prince was well-deserved; every one of his strikes, honed through years of warfare, was lethal.

While the Turkic people cheered for Tursun, no one paid any attention to the fallen warriors. Of the twenty or so lying on the ground, very few could even roll over, and their cries had long since ceased.

Lin Wanrong's face was grim, as dark as coal, and he found himself at a loss for words.

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