Boss Liang hastily wiped the cold sweat beading on his forehead, secretly relieved that among these three was a Demon Slayer, which could keep the spoiled Third-Level Magician, Aibijia, somewhat in check. Otherwise, explaining matters to Aibijia’s parents would be a nightmare—they were, after all, two Vice Presidents of the Crystal Magic Tower!

The Crystal Magic Tower was one of the eight major powers in the Eternal Flow Province, and moreover, ranked highly among them. It truly was not a faction one could casually offend.

Once the commotion involving Aibijia subsided, everyone started worrying about the hawk circling overhead again. If this creature wasn't brought down soon, things would only become more troublesome.

"Don't look at me!" Aibijia lifted her chin proudly, refusing to meet Boss Liang's pleading expression. "Want me to cast support magic for these soldiers? Sure~ Make them come and beg me!" "Oh, right!" Aibijia extended a fair index finger. "And hand over the person who attacked me just now. Otherwise—harrumph, harrumph—" Bang!

The sharp twang of a bowstring interrupted Aibijia’s cold sneer. A swift arrow whistled faintly as it tore through the air. The ice-cold arrowhead flashed, and the circling hawk suddenly stiffened. After a rigid struggle of its wings, it plummeted from the sky, landing with a dull thud right next to Aibijia’s carriage, freezing the face that had just been fixed in a proud sneer. Qian Jin retrieved his strong bow, glanced at Boss Liang, and said calmly, "Let's move on. Just be careful."

"Hmph!" Aibijia shattered the rigidity on her face with another cold laugh. "Just some brute force, a low-grade warrior who doesn't even possess Battle Aura."

The soldiers’ faces grew stiff as they stared blankly at Qian Jin after his shot. Having lived constantly between life and death, these soldiers had far better eyesight than a magician like Aibijia. The arrow had been incredibly sudden; none of them had even seen him draw the bow, let alone how long he took to aim, and yet he struck the high-flying hawk dead center…

The hawk’s body wasn't large; from the ground, it appeared no bigger than a fist. Hitting it with one arrow after aiming for a long time would have been difficult enough. But to shoot without even looking, raising his hand towards the hawk in the sky, and piercing its heart to bring it down—unless it was sheer luck, that archery skill was worthy of respect! Even if he wasn't a Demon Slayer, that archery alone deserved respect!

No wonder archers were called the bane of magicians! If this level of archery was concealed well, few magicians could evade a sudden strike.

In the carriage, Zeng Chuandong’s expression was far more grave than that of the soldiers. The essence of that shot was something these soldiers couldn't grasp. The draw of the bow hadn't even pulled the string to its full extent before the arrow was loosed. This could only mean… the bow was no ordinary object!

Right! Zeng Chuandong quickly focused his attention on Fen Tu Kuang Ge. This young Demon Slayer had shown great respect for the archer throughout their journey. He must have known this archer was highly capable!

Zeng Chuandong paused for a moment. The strategy of discreet protection had already been exposed by Aibijia. With no outsiders around, there was no need to maintain the pretense they had kept up these past few days.

Zeng Chuandong jumped down from the carriage and stopped before Qian Jin. He gently brushed the frayed brim of the straw hat and asked in a voice that carried some depth, "Who taught you your archery? You must have just finished your studies at the Primary Warrior Academy, haven't you? Which War College are you planning to attend for advanced studies?"

Qian Jin sensed no hostility from Zeng Chuandong and replied calmly, "I haven't taken the qualification exams yet."

"Is that so?" Zeng Chuandong didn't mind that Qian Jin was dodging the questions. He reached into his robes and produced a pitch-black iron plaque, extending it. "Are you interested in joining the Eternal Flow Conquest War College? I am from the Torrent Fortress. If you're interested, I can…"

Torrent Fortress? Qian Jin raised an eyebrow. Wasn't that the other name for the Eternal Flow Warrior Guild that Fabredis mentioned? Was this man also from the Torrent Fortress? "Conquest Academy—War College?"

Zeng Chuandong caught the hint of doubt and caution in Qian Jin’s tone and smiled dismissively. "That's what you people usually call the Conquest Magic and Warrior Academy. Because they are high-level academies, we usually just refer to them as War Colleges, after all…"

Qian Jin nodded. Those who joined these colleges would likely serve in the army of the True Policy Dynasty, and some might even dedicate their entire lives to its service. Calling them War Colleges was fitting, as these high-level institutions were created specifically for warfare. "Take it."

Zeng Chuandong pushed the iron plaque a little closer. "Even if you don't want to go to the Conquest Academy, I still invite you to join the Torrent Fortress. It's always better to join the Warrior Guild sooner; you gain access to far more resources and information."

"Torrent Fortress?" Aibijia’s thin, red lips curled into a disdainful sneer as she crossed her arms, observing Qian Jin from a distance. "As expected, the Torrent Fortress can only recruit people who aren't even Demon Slayers." A flash of anger briefly crossed beneath the frayed straw hat. Zeng Chuandong’s chest rose and fell sharply a few times before returning to calm. The black iron plaque in his hand no longer held the pride it did initially, and he started to pull it back.

Boss Liang shook his head and sighed, watching Zeng Chuandong. Ever since Fabredis left the Eternal Flow Warrior Guild, it had truly been declining. Despite being one of the eight major powers, they were now reduced to sending people out to serve the magicians of the Crystal Magic Tower, especially such a spoiled one. No wonder many factions in Eternal Flow said that if any of the eight major powers could still be provoked, it would be the Torrent Fortress.

Qian Jin felt the subtle shift in Zeng Chuandong’s mood. With a slight impulse, he snatched the iron plaque, laughing, "Yes, I was planning to test for the Conquest War College anyway."

"Heh heh—" Aibijia covered her cherry-red lips from afar and sneered again. "Do you think the Conquest—War College is a place you can just enter if you want? I’ll be watching from the academy to see how you are rejected at the gates."

Qian Jin shrugged. Going to the Conquest War College wasn't merely a spur-of-the-moment decision; he had seriously considered it. The Luo family’s estate was very far from the Divine Capital. If he went there, Luo Qingqing would inevitably have to follow, which would cause great damage to the business left behind by Fatty Luo.

Luo Lin was dead, and Qian Jin did not want to see the legacy Luo Lin built up crumble. Fabredis's hopes and suggestions had also pointed toward the Conquest War College. Although this academy ranked slightly lower among the high-tier institutions overall, its collection of ancient texts and research into Battle Aura were still top-ranked among them.

Zeng Chuandong let out a dry chuckle, then pulled his straw hat lower before returning to the carriage. He felt a profound sense of shame that as a warrior of the Torrent Fortress, he had to protect such an arrogant magician from the Crystal Magic Tower. Yet, for the sake of the Torrent Fortress’s development, he had to humble himself to guard her, simply because her parents were Vice Presidents of the Crystal Magic Tower—their combined authority was enough to challenge the Tower’s President, not to mention the President was this young magician's grand-uncle.

Qian Jin examined the black iron plaque in his hand. The characters [Torrent Flow] were strong and vigorous, faintly conveying a sense of surging momentum. The reverse side was engraved with Zeng Chuandong’s name, followed by the title 'Steward'—his rank and position within the Torrent Fortress.

A burst of rapid horse hooves sounded from the distance, approaching quickly. Two mercenaries serving as scouts spurred their mounts back, followed closely by a dozen more galloping horses, with arrows occasionally flying toward the scouts. "Not good… form up the defenses quickly…" The scout bent low over his saddle, his body bobbing with the rhythm of his charging horse, shouting, "It's the Black Wind… the Black Wind…"

"Black Wind?" Boss Liang’s pale, plump face turned ashen. His usually nimble short legs went weak, and he sank limply to the ground, asking dully, "The Black Wind Bandit Group, eighth among the Ten Great Bandit Groups of the Outer Regions? The Black Wind Bandit Group that never leaves survivors, only symbols?"

The mercenaries’ expressions immediately grew solemn. There were many bandit groups beyond the frontier, but the Ten Great Groups were the truly bothersome ones. They had assumed this remote area was outside the main hunting grounds of the Ten Greats, yet here they were, running right into them!

After a brief silence, the convoy echoed with a string of metallic and material friction sounds. Bright sabers and long swords were drawn from their sheaths. They exchanged glances, recognizing a single message in each other's eyes: This time, they had to fight to the death! The Black Wind never left witnesses! Surrendering now would only lead to slaughter—it was better to fight and see if there was any chance of survival.

The mercenaries swiftly maneuvered the carriages into a simple circular formation, adopting a defensive posture. Even the warhorses grew restless. Aibijia’s proud little face flushed, her deep blue eyes flashing with unusual excitement. She gripped her staff, named Blaze, inlaid with rubies, tightly. If they could defeat the 'Black Wind Bandit Group,' who among these mercenary warriors would dare to look down on her again!

The scouts soon reached the perimeter of the circle formation. Four mercenaries quickly moved to secure the carriages forming the ring. Two cold, swift arrows suddenly flew past their heads. Two dull thuds sounded on the backs of the mercenaries. Blood began to stream down from the still-vibrating arrows onto the ground.

All the mercenaries glared furiously at Qian Jin, the source of the shot. The string of the strong bow that had felled the hawk was still trembling slightly, like an excited whine after drinking blood. "Are you tired of living?" "The enemy?"

More than a dozen blades and swords were now pointed at Qian Jin, their hostile gazes seeming intent on driving iron spikes deep into the earth.

Qian Jin ignored their collective anger and slowly reached for his quiver, saying, "Take a closer look. Are the two figures on those horses truly your comrades?"