CHAPTER 14 - Chapter 14 - The First Day on Duty

Inside the tent, a hulking young man rose, tossing his word cards aside with a grin. He eyed Xia Chen, fearless, his look brimming with defiance.

Zhao Yu, Brigade Commander of the Feathered Forest Guard, third son of the Marquis of Jinwu—Xia Chen's direct subordinate.

Xia Chen had reviewed his officers' profiles, delivered by the household yesterday, with Zhao Yu flagged prominently.

He knew why Zhao harbored such hostility—Xia Chen had snatched his spot.

Without Xia Chen's sudden appointment, Zhao Yu's lineage as a marquis's son would've guaranteed him the commander post.

He'd bragged to his men, promising a feast once the orders came.

Three days later, everything flipped—Xia Chen dropped in, stoking Zhao Yu's defiance. Since yesterday, he'd led his unit in skipping drills, carousing in camp instead.

A blatant power play to humble Xia Chen. He'd expected a few days' wait, not Xia Chen's second-day arrival.

Zhao Yu's glare blazed, that uniform meant for him now draped on this infamous cripple.

"Are you aware of the crime of leading card games in the barracks?"

Xia Chen ignored the glare, questioning directly.

He was a parachuter, true—but how much better was Zhao Yu, slotted straight into brigade command?

Everyone despised privilege, yet envied lacking it.

His came from ancestors' blood and lives—six centuries of Xia martyrs for the realm.

The Zhao clan simply couldn't match the Xias, so he'd outranked them, landing this role.

"No duties right now—we're just unwinding in our free time. Does Commander Xia object?"

Zhao Yu countered, his eyes dismissive.

"Use titles on duty!"

Xia Chen's gaze narrowed, locking onto Zhao Yu.

"And I'm asking you a question!"

His voice stayed calm, yet Zhao Yu felt an inexplicable pressure—akin to facing his father or court titans. His face flushed, humiliated at being cowed by this Xia wastrel's words.

"What, Commander, sir, first day and you're making an example of me?"

Ferocity glinted in Zhao Yu's eyes. His family had warned him to lie low, avoid trouble, but he bristled.

Both marquis heirs—Xia Chen a legitimate eldest, he third-born—yet Zhao Yu knew Xia Chen was ignored at home, the Marquis of Andong indifferent to his heir. Word had spread through the capital.

A famed crippled physique, shaming martial heirs.

Zhao Yu saw no inferiority. Defying counsel, he resolved to clash with Xia Chen.

"Hmph, I'll disgrace him publicly, shred his clout. Once this crack opens, others will follow—he'll never stand firm in the guard!"

Zhao Yu's plan was simple: crush Xia Chen's face into the dirt on day one.

Outside, soldiers crowded the tent's edge, eavesdropping. Since Xia Chen's arrival, they'd craved a spectacle.

The throng swelled—nearly every idle soul joined.

At the barracks' heart, two middle-aged men sipped tea.

"Should we step in?"

"Let's pretend we're blind and sip tea. Two marquis heirs scrapping—no need for us to play referee."

"But Xia Chen's a legitimate son of Zhendong—and the Imperial Son-in-Law. We're the Emperor's guard; if Zhao Yu keeps pushing, it'll be messy!"

A square-faced general sipped, voicing concern.

"No rush. His status is why we shouldn't meddle. First day—if he can't tame his men, some might be let down."

The head general—dressed as a scholar yet rugged—spoke gravely.

"General, you mean someone's watching Xia Chen? His Maj—"

The square-faced man jolted, nearly blurting it out. The head general's sharp glance silenced him.

"We're the Emperor's own. Martial heirs joining us is custom, but who enters, how—it's critical. Without His Majesty's nod, even Zhendong would struggle to plant someone!"

Li Wenzhong's gaze drifted, as if piercing the camp to the fray beyond.

Qin Mu, the square-faced general, nodded, grasping the hint.

…

"Defying a superior, inciting disorder, gambling in camp—do you know the penalty for these three crimes?"

Xia Chen's voice rang through the tent, carrying far, audible to all lurking outside.

Zhao Yu frowned. Xia Chen's steady calm grated him—like some lofty figure looking down.

"Thinks he's a big shot?"

Zhao Yu sneered inwardly, growing bolder. After all this talk, what could Xia Chen do?

"Commander, sir, you wouldn't punish me, would you? You?"

Zhao Yu guffawed. As he laughed, soldiers edged closer, backing him—a silent menace forming.

Xia Qian and the three guards unleashed their aura, no longer curbing their qi and blood.

"Three offenses compound—by military code, face 100 lashes first, then banishment from the barracks. Any who hinder me share his punishment!"

Xia Chen's tone held steady, unfazed by the shift, but as he spoke, his presence surged.

His blood thickened, heat flared, searing qi and blood conjuring a crimson sun behind him.

He drew his red blade from his back, slashing at Zhao Yu.

The strike sliced the void like a blazing sun. Zhao Yu's hair stood on end, a tearing dread signaling death.

"Block!"

He yanked out his army blade, true qi surging into it, desperate to parry.

He hadn't dreamed this capital-famed cripple would dare strike in broad daylight.

Why did this blow feel so terrifying?

Sparks flared from Zhao Yu's blade. At contact, his face paled. A titanic force slammed through, then—a grunt—his flush turned scarlet, and blood sprayed from his mouth.

He crashed backward, smashing through the tent, landing on a lurking soldier outside. Both tumbled across the open ground.

Silence gripped the camp. All froze in place.