The sweet blue potion slid down his throat, a momentary sweetness giving way as it coursed through him. The exhausted and dried-out acupoints within his body suddenly surged, much like a spring bubbling up from parched earth. His depleted fighting energy erupted, and in an instant, his dou jin was restored to its peak state.

“This… how is this possible?” Qian Jin started, startled by the potion in his hand. Having consumed only a tenth of the vial, his depleted dou jin had revitalized itself in a flash!

A beast's roar interrupted Qian Jin’s shock. The Jidu Zhanmadao in his hand swept horizontally, slicing through two bamboo stalks as thick as a thumb and the head of a one-armed ape.

In an environment teeming with beasts, even hiding in the trees offered little sustained safety; eventually, their keen senses would betray him.

Qian Jin gripped his blade, peering down from the branch at the clearing below, where a pack of more than a dozen wolves had already gathered. If not for their inability to climb, they would have already charged up.

Carefully stowing away the miraculous potion, Qian Jin secretly resolved that he must visit the apothecary's shop when time allowed. If the blacksmithing skills learned here could be utilized, what about the knowledge of potions? Could that also be put to use?

He leaped down from the branch. The Jidu Zhanmadao in Qian Jin’s hand cleaved downward. A wolf leaping high into the air was split in two by the flash of the blade.

Leaving behind a ground littered with wolf carcasses, Qian Jin continued forward, the Zhanmadao in hand, occasionally glancing at it. The more he fought with this weapon, the more he appreciated the effectiveness of the blade, which boasted a nearly one-meter-long edge. The only regret was that the blade was still a bit short; a five-foot edge would be perfect.

“When I forge my own dou bing, I must make one with a five-foot blade!” Qian Jin smiled, licking his lips, and then looked down at the map Black had given him.

According to the map’s description, the destination should be less than a two-hour walk away.

“Move faster, and I should get there earlier,” Qian Jin tucked the map away.

Pumping dou jin into his legs, Qian Jin vigilantly scanned his surroundings. The slightest disturbance would elicit a slash through the air, often decapitating the charging beast or rogue swordsman mid-leap.

Bursting out of a dense thicket, Qian Jin’s running suddenly halted—he found himself standing within a stockade!

The stockade was strangely constructed. It lacked a main gate, instead using wooden stakes connected to form two semi-circles, merging seamlessly with the outermost trees of the forest. But upon passing through the woods, one suddenly emerged into this man-made compound.

The quiet stockade stirred as Qian Jin abruptly appeared. Those rogue swordsmen, either sitting or lying on the ground basking in the sun, all stood up with their weapons drawn, their faces contorted into savage snarls.

“Damn it! Could I be this unlucky? Black’s map didn't mention a place like this!” Qian Jin pulled at the corners of his mouth into a wry smile. “Look, if I said I took a wrong turn… would you all pretend you didn't see me?”

Awooo! Someone among the swordsmen suddenly let out a bizarre howl. The previously quiet rogue fighters instantly raised their sabers in unison and charged madly toward Qian Jin!

“Seriously?!” Qian Jin cursed under his breath. He had killed plenty of opponents lately, but he had never truly faced such a massive number of enemies at once. Winning was highly uncertain.

Qian Jin gripped the Jidu Zhanmadao with both hands, descending like a meteor falling from the heavens. The fine tie jing material of the blade vibrated and rolled, swaying unpredictably left and right, aiming straight for the opponent’s shoulders, making it impossible to judge the final landing point—left shoulder or right.

Having executed multiple kills in rapid succession, Qian Jin was gradually beginning to understand, through sheer physical engagement, the meaning and crucial insights behind the saber strikes taught to the trainees, no longer merely going through the motions.

Thwack! After felling one man, Qian Jin did not retract his Jidu Zhanmadao; instead, he used it to hook the battle saber from the swordsman’s grip, flinging the weapon to impale another man in the throat. His knees snapped slightly to the right, and he broke into a sprint with wide strides.

Qian Jin knew he wasn't a guardian like Fabredis, capable of defending an entire city. He was merely the strongest among the students at the Ockland Academy of Magic and Warriors. No matter how brave, he wasn't reckless enough to face seventy or eighty five-star warriors armed with only his dou bing, the Jidu Zhanmadao.

Fighting a dozen opponents, Qian Jin knew he could manage if he pushed himself into a frenzy. But fighting seventy or eighty? That was a feat reserved for powerhouses like Fabredis.

Qian Jin wasn't simply fleeing; he was seeking opportunities within his retreat. He weaved around the perimeter of the stockade, employing tactics learned in the school's strategy classes: manipulate the enemy's main force, find a way to make them disjointed during movement, and then deliver a fatal blow immediately.

This principle applied whether fighting a large army or one man against a horde. Qian Jin’s seemingly erratic running gradually caused the rogue swordsmen to spread out.

“Opportunity!” Qian Jin spotted three swordsmen closest to him. He abruptly stopped fleeing, turned, and with a flurry of chops and sweeps, dispatched the three before resuming his flight.

Soon, the swordsmen realized the issue. They began forming smaller groups, which then coalesced into a large encircling formation, slowly compressing Qian Jin’s maneuver space.

One hour passed…

Qian Jin sat on the ground amidst a sea of mangled limbs, gasping for breath. The Jidu Zhanmadao was plunged into the earth beside him. His body, previously stained only with the blood of others, was now riddled with over a dozen wounds of varying depths. Even the slightest movement caused him to grimace and suck in a sharp breath of pain.

“No wonder the tactics instructor always emphasized the indispensable role of maps in warfare,” Qian Jin gritted his teeth, tearing strips from the clothing of a fallen swordsman to use as bandages. He then pulled out trauma powder from his pouch, grimacing as he sprinkled the dust over the wounds, binding them tightly with the makeshift strips.

The instant he yanked the cloth tight around his arm, tears threatened to spill from the sheer agony. “Thank Black for this map! If it hadn't been for the unmapped stockade, I wouldn't have realized how vital maps are in war. If I ever join the army and enter the Demon-God Battlefield, I must draw my own maps, otherwise, I’m placing my life in someone else's hands. That’s too dangerous.”

Leaning on his battle saber, Qian Jin pulled himself upright, gazing at the carnage surrounding him—a battlefield strewn with slaughter, resembling a scene from the Asura realm—and a surge of pride swelled fiercely in his chest.