Chapter 1

Qin Feng sat cross-legged on the felt carpet, carefully wrapping the kudzu vine around the hilt of his sword, being particularly cautious. He pulled tightly after each wrap. This kudzu vine was a unique type of vine found in the Luo Ying Mountains. After boiling it in boiling water for several hours and then drying it, it became as soft as hemp rope, yet its strength surpassed that of steel. The numerous small protrusions on it gave it a textured feel, ensuring it wouldn't slip from his hand even if it was covered in blood on the battlefield.

Qin Feng's sword blade was three feet long, and the hilt was two feet long. It was the standard weapon of the Death Corps, equipped by everyone from the junior officers to the common soldiers. The entire sword was molded in one piece, weighing twelve and a half pounds. The blade was thin, and the back was thick, making it ideal for slashing. This sword had been with Qin Feng for six years, and the entire blade had a faint red hue, the result of countless bloodstains that had left their mark over time.

He wrapped the vine around the hilt, circle by circle, until he reached the end, then tied a secure knot. Qin Feng stood up, casually swung the sword a few times, and nodded in satisfaction. He then stuck the sword in the ground beside him and took his armor, wiping it carefully with a cloth. The armor plates were dark and oval-shaped, overlapping to form a complete set that weighed thirty-eight pounds. For a slender soldier, this would be a significant burden. However, for all the soldiers in the Death Corps, this was not a problem.

Qin Feng, a veteran who had been in the military since he was sixteen, had served for six years. He joined the Death Corps right after enlisting and rose from a junior officer to the position of camp commander, the highest rank for a camp officer in the Great Chu army.

To all the soldiers in the Death Corps, Qin Feng was a legend. No one had ever survived in the Death Corps for six years and remained unscathed. The Death Corps, as the name suggests, was a unit that charged at the front during attacks and retreated last during withdrawals. Their purpose was to sacrifice themselves to secure victory or survival for the main army.

The soldiers in the Death Corps were not exactly upstanding citizens. They typically came from two sources: one, death row inmates from the Great Chu who could avoid execution by joining the Death Corps and serving in the military. If they survived several major battles, they could have their crimes forgiven and start anew. However, very few managed to do so, and after one or two major battles, the Death Corps would be replaced with new recruits. The second source was troublemakers in the military, who were sent to the Death Corps by their superiors. Even if they were seasoned veterans, their chances of survival were extremely low.

There were exceptions, of course. Some lucky individuals could survive in the Death Corps for two years and be promoted to deputy commander. At this point, they would usually be transferred to other units, where they would not lack opportunities, as they had already become renowned warriors. Every army commander would want to have these battle-hardened soldiers under their command.

However, someone like Qin Feng, who had stayed in the Death Corps for six years, was unprecedented. During these six years, three deputy commanders, his subordinates, had been transferred to other units to serve as commanders.

To maintain control over the Death Corps, Qin Feng relied not on his eloquence or charisma but on his fists. As a camp commander, if his fists were not strong enough, he would only have one outcome: death. Every soldier in the Death Corps was a desperate man, and killing a commander was not a big deal to them, as their chances of survival were already slim. They had nothing to lose.

However, no one dared to challenge Qin Feng. Every new recruit to the Death Corps would challenge anyone but Qin Feng, and even if they were beaten to a pulp, they would not back down. But the moment Qin Feng appeared, they would cower like mice before a cat.

Qin Feng's name was not only well-known in the Death Corps but also throughout the entire western border army of Great Chu. He was a man who had dared to overturn the table in the commander's tent and still walked out unscathed, which was a remarkable feat.

Many speculated that this was the reason Qin Feng remained in the Death Corps like a nail. Unless the commander was transferred, which seemed unlikely, Qin Feng's ultimate fate would be to die in battle, ending his military career.

Qin Feng never paid attention to these speculations. As for his issues with the commander, only he and the commander knew the details.

After cleaning his armor, Qin Feng put it on piece by piece. With a rustle, he stood up, tightened his armor straps, and pushed aside the tent flap, walking out confidently.

Qin Feng always appeared before the soldiers with a stern, unsmiling face, a cold and unfeeling commander. He was extremely strict with his subordinates.

The soldiers in the Death Corps usually showed no military discipline. In the camp, they sat or lay around haphazardly, some cursing, some roasting chickens they had stolen, and many more engaging in fights. Fistfights were a daily occurrence in the Death Corps. Losing a fight was considered bad luck, and dying from a fight was considered a hard fate, but no one cared, including Qin Feng.

The only rule in the Death Corps was no gang fights. If two people had a grudge, they could fight one-on-one, but if they formed groups to fight, they would face sharp blades. Qin Feng usually killed everyone involved in such incidents. The Death Corps never lacked for recruits, and if some were lost, more would be sent to replace them.

As Qin Feng walked through the camp, those lying down closed their eyes, those roasting chickens stared fixedly at their food, even if it was about to burn, and those fighting froze in place, their punches and kicks suspended in mid-air.

Once Qin Feng's footsteps faded, the fighting resumed.

The Death Corps had 1,500 men, and after each battle, more than half would be lost. Even in peacetime, the camp lost two to three men daily.

Every day, bodies were carried out, and new recruits arrived with their belongings.

The Death Corps did not camp with the main army but was several miles away. No one in the main army wanted to camp with them, fearing they would cause trouble. Keeping them at a distance prevented their own soldiers from being influenced by these men.

After a round of inspection, Qin Feng returned to his tent. In the Death Corps, each tent housed eight men, but Qin Feng, as the camp commander, had his own large tent. As a camp commander, he did not have the right to a private tent, but no one wanted to share with him, so he had the tent to himself.

When he lifted the tent flap, he found someone already inside. Qin Feng was not surprised. He walked in, removed his armor, and sat opposite the man.

This man was the only one in the Death Corps who dared to face Qin Feng directly, not because of his superior martial skills but because he was the only doctor in the Death Corps.

The doctor had been in the Death Corps for three years, the longest-serving person after Qin Feng. He had survived not because of his combat skills but because he was a vital asset that every soldier in the Death Corps wanted to protect. In three years, he had earned the respect of everyone in the Death Corps. They all believed that as long as you had a breath left, this doctor could save you from the brink of death. Who wouldn't want to protect such a person? Who would think they would never face death? If this doctor was around, he might save your life. Thus, the doctor, who had never even touched a weapon, was the best-protected person in the Death Corps. New recruits were told that the doctor was the most important person to protect in battle.

Even Qin Feng, who could not claim to be completely safe in the Death Corps due to the possibility of a deranged soldier trying to kill him, knew that no one would dare to harm the doctor.

"Done with your work?" Qin Feng frowned at the man with bloodstains on his clothes. "Shu Feng, can't you change your clothes and wash the blood off your hands and face before coming to see me?"

Shu Feng, known as "Mad Shu," laughed and shook his head. "What's the point? You've seen more blood than I have."

"Because I've seen more, I hate it more."

"That's why you clean every piece of your armor after every battle? Tsk, if outsiders knew that the ruthless camp commander of the Death Corps actually despises blood, they wouldn't believe it."

Qin Feng grunted and sat opposite Shu Feng. "Shu Feng, you've been in the Death Corps for three years. Don't you want to leave? I'm telling you, we've received orders to move out. This battle with Western Qin is not a small skirmish. Even if everyone protects you, it might not be enough."

"I'm not leaving. Where else can I find such a good testing ground? No one cares if someone dies, and every day I see all sorts of strange injuries. I can't find such opportunities anywhere else. I'm not leaving."

"If you stay, you'll stay. But don't regret it when your time comes." Qin Feng said coldly.