Chapter 1: First Arrival at the Camp of the Incompetents

“Ah!”
A blood-curdling scream tore through the tent, wrenching the nearby soldiers from the clutches of their newly claimed dreams.
Though it was broad daylight, the battered and weary soldiers found themselves powerless before the onslaught of exhaustion. Now, to have this rare respite shattered—who could blame them for their simmering rage?
Some were poised to curse and vent their frustration, but a glance toward the source of the disturbance made them swallow their complaints.
“What kind of battle is this supposed to be?” one finally grumbled, and with that, the rest lay back down, resigned to chase sleep once more.

Inside the tent, a young man shot upright from the hard camp bed, gasping for breath like a wounded beast.
The searing pain contorted his once-handsome features, and though he was clad in armor, nothing could shield him from the agony wracking his body.
As his scream echoed, seven men hurried in from outside, their faces etched with anxious concern as their gazes fixed on the youth.
The newcomers wore battered scale armor, smudged with fresh and dried blood, the clatter of metal marking their every step.
At their head was a burly man with a bristling beard and a face weathered by hardship, a jagged scar slashing from his temple to his cheek, lending him a fearsome air.
All seven knelt on one knee around the bed, the bearded leader included, forming a protective circle about the young man.
Once kneeling, the bearded man spoke: “My lord, you’re awake.”
His voice was not as rough as one might expect, but rather calm—gentle, even.
But the youth lying on the bed cared nothing for that.
My lord? Some sort of role play?
Only now, as he reeled from the throbbing in his head, did the youth—Wei Wuji—realize just how strange this place was.
…
He slapped his brow heavily, fighting back the pain to gather his thoughts.
Am I dreaming? Didn’t I just fall down the stairs? How in the world did I end up here?
Could it be that I hit my head and turned into an idiot, and now I’m in some mental institution?
But then he shook his head.
The men kneeling before him might appear humble and respectful, but the murderous aura they exuded was nothing any mental patient could imitate.

Unable to make sense of his predicament, Wei Wuji decided the simplest course was to ask.
Rubbing his throat, he shrank back a little and addressed the kneeling men, “Gentlemen, are we filming here…?”
To his surprise, the moment he spoke, the men—who had just begun to straighten their backs—immediately bowed deeper in deference.
The bearded leader, looking awkward, hastened to reply, “My lord, we are rough men unworthy of such an honorific.”
What the hell! So earnest—are they method acting?
You don’t meet many extras this committed nowadays, Wei Wuji mused.
Though, looking at the leader’s face, no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn’t make much headway in show business.
Since they were so deep in character, Wei Wuji decided to play along. “Since you’re all so dedicated, I won’t disturb you further.” Convinced this was a film set, he continued, “Let’s let the mountains stand and the rivers flow—until we meet again.” With that, he struggled to rise, the weight of his armor pressing down on him.
Seeing him attempt to get up, two of the men—one being the intimidating bearded fellow—immediately moved to support him, one on either side.
Wei Wuji’s heart began to race, especially with the scent of blood on them making his nerves thrum all the more violently.
What kind of extras did this crew hire? Playing generals doesn’t require actual butchers! A wave of contempt surged unbidden through his mind.
He tamped it down quickly; he couldn’t be sure these two wouldn’t draw their swords if they sensed his disdain.
But being propped up like this was no way to make a getaway, and escaping on his own seemed impossible with them flanking him.
“I can walk by myself; you two can go about your business,” he said with a forced smile, eager to send them away.
But his words were ignored; they continued to support him carefully.
“My lord, we dare not be negligent again. Yesterday, when you fell from your horse, you nearly frightened us to death. If anything happened to you, the sovereign would have our hides,” one of them said urgently.
“Yes, my lord. You’re only just awake; you mustn’t take any risks. We couldn’t bear such responsibility!” The others echoed his sentiments, tightening their attentive watch on him as if any moment he might collapse.
What is this nonsense? I just want to walk a bit! Does the script say I have to follow it to the letter? No way, Wei Wuji thought; he was never one for rules.
Summoning his courage, he declared, “I don’t care who you are or what status you hold—I quit! Find someone else to play your part. Goodbye!”
With that, he wrenched himself free—surprisingly, they hadn’t held him tightly, lest they hurt him further.
Wei Wuji didn’t care why; seizing the chance, he stumbled toward the tent’s entrance.
The men panicked, rushing after him, calling, “My lord! My lord—!”
“My lord, your wounds aren’t healed—you mustn’t—!”

“My lord, the wind outside is strong—be careful—!”
Damn it! Relentless, aren’t you? You think you’ll catch me? Wei Wuji picked up his pace.
“Hurry, stop him! If anything happens, none of us will get off lightly,” someone cried out, propriety forgotten.
The bearded man frowned but nodded. My lord, please, don’t cause trouble.
With orders given, they surged after him.
Wei Wuji, still sluggish and unsteady, was no match for these burly men; they caught him within two paces of the tent flap.
He was immediately surrounded again—like a lamb in the midst of wolves, though this lamb was a furious one.
“Let me go!” Wei Wuji shouted, face flushed, his fury unrestrained.
The officers inside wore pained expressions but continued to encircle him, lowering their voices with entreaties, “My lord, please calm yourself!”
“My lord, please return and rest. We must discuss the army’s next move!”
Wei Wuji was beside himself. What curse had he brought upon himself? This damned film crew—go to hell!
He lunged at one of the generals, grabbing his waist; the man shrank back, afraid to so much as jostle him.
But Wei Wuji had no good intentions—steadying himself, he snatched the sword from the general’s side and drew it.
“Nobody move! Step back, all of you!” Wei Wuji shoved the general away and hefted the heavy sword, glaring at the others.
Their faces paled—of all things, this was what they’d dreaded most.
“My lord, careful—!” someone cried anxiously.
“All of you, out of my way!” Wei Wuji bellowed, still red-faced.
When none moved, he swung the sword at the man blocking the entrance, who hastily stepped aside.
“My lord, the enemy’s whereabouts are unknown, the pursuers are close—you mustn’t—!” the bearded man tried to intervene.
But before he could finish, Wei Wuji had already reached the tent flap and thrown it open.
He turned, grinned at the assembled men, and called, “Farewell, friends. Next time you shoot a film, don’t take it so seriously!”