Dian Wei, the Fierce Warrior

The man who had saved Luan Yi gently stroked his bristly beard, like a cluster of steel needles, and proclaimed in a booming voice, “I am Dian Wei of Chenliu!” The thunderous sound startled Luan Yi. “Ah, Lord Dian!” He bowed deeply, his body bent in half, but then froze, abruptly straightening with a cry of astonishment, “What? You are Dian Wei, the renowned warrior?”

Since arriving in the late Eastern Han, Luan Yi had met his share of famous figures from the Three Kingdoms. Yet all of them had been scholars, the sort who, in modern computer games, boasted intelligence scores above ninety but never more than seventy-five in combat. It was the first time he’d encountered a famous general like Dian Wei, and he was struck with awe, sizing him up repeatedly.

Dian Wei stood over eight feet tall—by Han standards, that meant more than two meters. He was broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, his warrior's robe, stained with fresh black bear blood, barely concealing the bulging muscles beneath. He was as robust as the slain beast, as if he were its kin. His appearance was hardly refined: large eyes, a broad nose, a wide mouth, a wild beard, thin brows, small ears, and a face full of firm flesh—every feature seemed oddly mismatched. To put it plainly—he was ugly, exceedingly so.

At this point, Guo Jia, Dan Fu, Xi Zhicai, and the uncle-nephew pair Xun Yu and Xun You had recovered from their panic. They hastily scrambled down from the tree, helping the still-shaken Cai Zhao, and rushed toward Lua