Chapter Thirteen: The Outpost Ablaze

A ground floor that spanned several hundred square meters required a great many torches to be illuminated at night. Nearly half of these torches, however, had been seized by Ding Li for his arson, and the ordinary thugs were powerless to stop him. At best, they could only slow the flames' advance, but in the end, the entire first floor was devoured by fire.

From the outside, the two-story wooden building looked like a block of steel heated until it glowed—a dim, sinister red light flickered from within, accompanied by the crackling and hissing of burning timber. This sight left Sayyid Gad and those with him at a distance utterly astounded.

“It’s our turn now!” said a companion with small eyes beside Sayyid Gad, his eyes stretched wide as if afraid the scene before him would suddenly vanish. He almost instinctively opened his mouth to urge the others on.

“No! Brother Li said to wait for the sound of explosions!” Though Sayyid Gad’s blood boiled with excitement, he never forgot Ding Li’s instructions. At this moment, his admiration for Ding Li soared to new heights, surpassing all other faiths he’d ever held.

“So this is what Brother Li meant by a special forces soldier?” The fire blazed in his gaze, and the heart of youth burned fiercely within his chest. Filled with passionate energy, he could hardly believe what he was witnessing.

Gradually, Sayyid Gad, concealed behind a stack of crates, rose to his feet, casting his gaze openly toward the conflagration. He gripped the bottle of incendiary oil tighter and tighter, his eyes alight with impatient anticipation, eager to charge forward.

His companions did not fully understand what “special forces” meant, but Sayyid Gad had bragged about it earlier. Still, hearing was nothing compared to seeing for oneself. Following his lead, they too stood up, the same light shining in their eyes.

Inside the wooden building, the leaping flames had begun to attack the second-floor boards, tongues of fire lashing through the cracks, licking their way upward. The stairs were wrapped in searing heat. Except for Ding Li, everyone was in utter panic—the water stored in the rooms was woefully insufficient to battle such a raging inferno.

There was hardly any safe space left on the first floor. Lai Wu, furious and terrified, feared being buried alive by the flames. He directed his men to fight the fire, retreating with his most trusted followers toward the door. Through the flames, Lai Wu could still see Ding Li darting through the inferno like a monkey, resentment and unwillingness burning in his glare. Now, Lai Wu realized that capturing Ding Li tonight would be no easy feat.

Lai Wu was ready to flee, but Ding Li seemed to anticipate his intentions, refusing even to grant him a chance to escape. In a few bounding steps, Ding Li reached the foot of the stairs. Gripping a torch, he swung it fiercely at the two thugs still holding the stairs. As they flinched and drew back, he thrust the torch forward.

One guard instinctively grabbed for it, his hands seizing the oil-soaked cloth. Instantly, he tossed the torch to his companion and, in his panic, vaulted over the banister—falling straight into the sea of fire below, his screams echoing. The other, catching the torch, reacted no differently: without hesitation, he rolled himself down after.

“Lai Wu! Still trying to run?!” Ding Li shouted, bounding up several steps. He whirled to face Lai Wu, hands flashing from his belt with two ceramic bottles filled with incendiary oil.

“Crack! Crack!”

Without the slightest pause, Ding Li hurled both bottles toward the doorway, where they shattered amidst the flames. The clear sound of shattering was immediately followed by two explosive bursts of fire, ceramic shards scattering violently.

“Boom! Boom…”

Lai Wu himself was unscathed, protected at the center of his loyal followers. But his men fared far worse—three were thrown down by the force of the explosion, and several more were struck by shards of ceramic. One man’s neck was slashed open nearly an inch deep; blood spurted like a fountain. He barely struggled before collapsing, eyes wide, clutching his wound, and was soon consumed by the flames.

Another man was pierced in the eye by a shard. Overcome by pain, he swung his arms wildly, accidentally slapping Lai Wu hard across the face. Lai Wu, quick to react, promptly kicked him into the fire, where he blazed as he staggered about.

Though these injuries terrified Lai Wu, he felt it was all worth it since he himself was unharmed. Yet, as he gathered his wits, black dread overwhelmed him. At the only door, a patch of at least twenty square meters was ablaze with incendiary oil. There could be no doubt: the fire would soon reduce everything around it to ash.

“Fifth Master! I’ll fight the fire! Move aside!” Behind him, a thug with a bucket of water, eager to prove himself, rushed forward heedless of the searing heat and his sweat-drenched body. As Lai Wu instinctively shifted aside, the man dumped the whole bucket out.

“No! Get away!” Lai Wu shrieked, raising a foot to kick the man, but he was too late. The water splashed—a bright, clear wave, like a furious dragon challenging its mortal enemy.

Yet fire and water are not always opposing forces. In this case, the burning oil, encountering water, only blazed more fiercely.

“Boom!”

With a muffled roar, the fire, fed by water, grew even wilder. Flames surged along the path of the water, spreading rapidly toward Lai Wu.

In this crisis, Lai Wu had no breath left for curses—he had to retreat. But the two-story wooden building had only one exit; if there was any other way out, it was the second-floor balcony. Watching Ding Li at the stair’s turn, Lai Wu—despite his reluctance—steeled himself, gritted his teeth, and waved his men ahead. “Go! Up to the second floor! Burn it all if we must! To hell with it—kill that dog Ding Li first!”

“Boom! Boom! Boom…”

No sooner had he spoken than another series of explosions rang out behind him. The wooden door, already battered by the fire, finally crumbled. With the detonations outside, the door dissolved into splinters amidst the flames.

Now, not only the room but the fenced courtyard outside was engulfed in fire. Bottles and jars rained down, splattering incendiary oil everywhere. The guards left in the yard were thrown into chaos, screaming as they scrambled about.

The main gate in the center of the fence was the first to be set alight by Sayyid Gad. For the thugs in the yard, escape meant scaling the fence, which rose more than ten feet high. Yet with only a few ladders and over a hundred desperate people, there was nowhere near enough to go around.

Faced with life or death, human selfishness became plain for all to see. Everyone wanted to be first to the ladder, first to escape the inferno. They fought and shoved, even toppling the ladder despite others already clutching its top, then brawled in tangled heaps. Latecomers would right the ladder and try again, only to have it toppled once more, the cycle of chaos unending.

There were, in fact, people trying to direct the escape, but no one had the authority to command the panicked mob. The more they tried to organize, the worse the chaos became. In the end, the leaders snatched a ladder and fled with their closest men, leaving thoughts of Lai Wu’s wrath for another day—survival came first.

Having reached the second floor, Ding Li encountered little resistance. As the fire surged upward, most of the guards stationed there had already fled, leaping from the balcony into the yard.

A dozen or so remained, perhaps out of loyalty to Lai Wu or fear of his vengeance. As soon as Ding Li appeared on the second floor, several of them rushed him with weapons raised.

With a powerful kick, Ding Li snapped a section of the wooden railing, seized a solid stick, and advanced on his assailants.

Against these ordinary thugs, Ding Li expended little effort. Though armed with nothing more than a wooden club, every blow landed as if struck with iron. His attacks were ruthless, each aimed for a vital spot—shattering legs and arms or striking heads so that blood streamed and men collapsed, senseless.

Their resistance barely delayed him at all. In moments, Ding Li reached the open balcony. Thick smoke stung his eyes and nose, bringing tears.

Three remaining guards, hands shaking as they gripped their weapons, pressed against the balcony rail, faces drained of all courage.

Ding Li squeezed his eyes, letting two tears fall to clear his vision and soothe his stinging eyes. But instead of striking again, he jerked his chin toward the ground below, his lips curling in a mocking smile. “Jump yourselves, or shall I help you?”

“No, no need!” the three shook their heads frantically, relief washing over them. They’d seen clearly the fate of those who resisted—they wanted no part of that. Leaping from the balcony was dangerous, but at least there was a sliver of hope.

Unmoved by Ding Li’s derision, the three flung aside their weapons, clambered over the railing, and scrambled down. One even shut his eyes, gauged the height, and leaped without hesitation, the other two quickly following.

“Idiots. Spineless cowards,” Ding Li muttered with a bemused shake of his head. He stepped forward, bent to look over the edge, but saw no sign of the three—the raging flames had long since swallowed them.

He tossed his stick aside and reached for his belt again, his sharp eyes fixed on the stairwell, a sly smile playing across his lips.