Chapter Fifteen: Zhong Shuman

In this nine-person team, the first was naturally the leader, the hot-tempered Brother Lei from earlier. The team panel only displayed names, levels, and sects, indicating that Brother Lei was a fourth-tier, level 90 member of the Overlord Blade Sect, with the title of Hall Master. It went without saying—this was a high-level player. Of course, how many tiers and levels you had couldn’t truly prove your strength; real ability was always shown in battle.

Still, Brother Lei’s name was quite something: Thunder Gale. Zhang He couldn’t help but sigh inwardly, “Why not call yourself ‘Immodium’ while you’re at it?”

Then there was Brother Ni, whose name was Muddypile—resonating with the rustic charm of the new socialist countryside. The team panel showed him as a third-tier, level 61.

Following him was a burly man, whose build rivaled Thunder Gale’s. He was a second-tier, level 55, wielding a massive twin-bladed mountain-cleaving axe, clearly an external arts powerhouse. His name was as manly as his appearance: Xiao Xiang the Mighty!

“Is this guy from Hunan?” Zhang He wondered, but he was mistaken, for the next name had even stronger regional flavor: “Tricycle Driver’s Brother from Aba County, Ganzi Prefecture, Sichuan Province, third-tier, level 62, Maoshan Sect, title: Maoshan Starfighter.”

What on earth, my friend? Are you here to flaunt your rugged Tibetan style? And Maoshan Sect—do you cast spells? Starfighter as a title? Have you watched too much Saint Seiya? So young and already worshipping Japanese culture—this isn’t good.

“Tashi delek, um yo hasa, greetings, benefactor!” Zhang He greeted awkwardly in broken Tibetan, trying to get along since he was low-level. This Tricycle Brother was probably another powerhouse; his weapon was a horsetail whisk—an unusual, non-mainstream choice, suggesting he had plenty of tricks up his sleeve.

Next came two women. From afar, they didn’t look like much, and up close, they looked even less impressive. Their figures were petite, but their features left much to be desired. Yet, their names were astonishing: “Fragrant Shadows Sway” and “Aspirin.”

One evoked a world of birds and flowers; the other, a virus’s nemesis. Such directness! Their wide blue robes and belts hung with dark pouches suggested they were masters of poison or hidden weapons, or perhaps the team’s resident healers. Their names matched their roles perfectly—second-tier, level 50 and second-tier, level 49.

The seventh member wasn’t from any sect either. Clad in luxurious robes, he looked quite dashing, wielding a folding fan like a playboy strolling through the pleasure quarters. His name was the epitome of flair: “Pretentious and Beaten, Yet Still Dashing,” fourth-tier, level 88.

“B—Brother B!” Zhang He swallowed nervously. “Your name is… very vivid, very descriptive.”

“Naturally. Good eye, brother,” Pretentious and Beaten replied smugly. But when he glanced at the team panel and saw Zhang He’s name, he nearly fainted: “Strength Conquers All!”

A name that roared like a storm, exuding heroic ambition and valor—a name fit for a legend.

Fragrant Shadows Sway sneered, “A white-tier, level 25 rookie, unranked, and you want to conquer everything? You’re more suited as cannon fodder!”

Faced with his teammates’ mockery, Zhang He only smiled and shrugged, not taking it to heart. His indifference didn’t mean he didn’t care—he just hadn’t earned the right to. For now, a smile was all he could offer.

When his gaze finally landed on the last member, Zhang He was momentarily stunned. He’d seen beautiful women before and wasn’t the type to go weak at the knees, but this final female player was truly unique.

She was tall—at least 1.7 meters, by his estimate—her upper body clad in a sharply contoured, gold-plated diamond-patterned cuirass, her lower body protected by straight, thorny greaves, and deerskin boots reaching her knees. A butterfly-shaped belt with twin fish-patterned daggers at her waist accentuated her heroic aura. Leopard-print pauldrons on her shoulders lent her not only a wild beauty but also a restrained, explosive power.

Yet she was also cold. Her black hair, draped behind her shoulders, was braided into two delicate plaits at her temples, each tied off with a willow-leaf throwing knife. A few locks slipped across her forehead, softening her oval face. Slightly arched brows, a high nose, vivid red lips, and eyes bright with intelligence combined to create a striking, icy allure. Her presence was captivating at first glance, but what followed was an unapproachable chill.

“Zhong Shuman, second-tier, level 40, no sect, title: Free Swordswoman!”

She was the lowest-ranked member of the team, yet no one dared mock her.

In terms of level, she wasn’t much higher than Zhang He, but her title was different. This was a system-bestowed honor for unattached players—if their chivalry and strength were sufficient, they could become a chivalrous hero, earning special tokens with each promotion, each granting various support and special effects. It was the system’s way of balancing the game for solo players.

The chivalry path progressed from Wandering Hero, to Free Swordsman, to Ranger, Minor Hero, Intermediate Hero, Great Hero, and finally, Famed Hero. Once you became a Famed Hero, even sect leaders and crime bosses had to show respect—cross a Famed Hero and you’d have the law on your back.

Zhong Shuman was an outlier. Even within this group, she remained silent, always keeping some distance from the others—it was unclear whether she was aloof or had been ostracized.

“Hello!” Zhang He greeted her out of formality, just to make himself known.

Unexpectedly, Zhong Shuman, who hadn’t spoken a word, broke her silence. Her voice was as sharp as a blade: “How much strength do you have?”

Zhang He paused, then answered honestly, “Thirty-three.”

He saw no point in lying—his strength didn’t need to be hidden by falsehoods. No sooner had he spoken than laughter erupted around him. Xiao Xiang the Mighty even cackled, “Damn, kid, with that little strength, you probably can’t even scratch anyone’s defenses! Hahaha…”

Zhang He just smiled, offering no retort or sign of annoyance.

Zhong Shuman didn’t laugh either. She simply asked, “What’s your weapon?”

Zhang He could only produce his iron sword.

She stared at him, “White-tier?”

Zhang He nodded with a smile. Among these high-tier veterans, he had nothing to hide. Even if you concealed your weapon’s rank, anyone with experience could tell at a glance.

Then Zhong Shuman did something no one expected—she pulled a gleaming, frost-edged longsword from her storage pouch. It looked similar to an ordinary longsword, but the tip was single-edged, almost like a hook. This was no ordinary weapon—it was a tool for bloodletting.

“Bluefrost Sword (Rare). Requirement: level 25, strength 30. Attack: 40 + 20. Bonus: +10 strength, 15% chance of a critical hit.”

Zhang He knew quality when he saw it. This Bluefrost Sword, while in the same tier as the Nightglow Sword dropped by Jian Wuyu, had far better attributes—an absolute top-tier weapon among its peers. With it, a single strike could deal over a hundred points of damage, a real threat to anyone below fourth-tier.

Puzzled, Zhang He looked up, only to hear Zhong Shuman say coldly, “Take it. It’s useless to me.”

“Thank you!” The words stuck in his throat. Once she’d initiated the trade, she turned away to stare at the flowing river, her face unreadable.

“You lucky bastard,” the Mighty one bellowed. “This girl’s a rose with thorns. She’s barely said five words since she came from Yizhou, but now she’s giving you a sword? Go for it, kid! If you can win her over, you’ll get all the best gear and secret manuals…”

He didn’t finish, for Zhong Shuman shot him a look so venomous it left him instantly speechless.

As Zhang He turned in surprise, Zhong Shuman had already resumed her aloof posture, arms folded, gazing into the vast night as if nothing had happened, as if no one else existed.

Used to business, Zhang He couldn’t fathom why this icy beauty would give him a top-tier weapon for no reason. Wasn’t it a loss for her?

Of course, the real reason was something Zhong Shuman might never disclose. Maybe it was because, when mocked by the others, he had only smiled instead of retaliating. Perhaps it wasn’t gentlemanly, but in her eyes, Zhang He was different from the lecherous men around her, whose gazes lingered only on a woman’s body. Zhang He had at least shown respect.

She neither knew nor cared how this rookie had joined their team. Giving him a fine sword was simply a way of hoping he’d survive the mission. Even if he died and missed out on the rewards, at least he’d gain something. After all, chivalry demanded a certain bearing. And if Zhang He survived, she’d gain an extra point of chivalry for gifting the sword.

“Sister Zhong, thank you!” Zhang He finally managed to say, but Zhong Shuman ignored him, lost in her thoughts as she stared into the night.

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