Chapter Four: The Earth-Shattering Bloodshed Sparked by Two Corpses

Yun Yufeng was in the midst of his impassioned narration when a sudden crash interrupted him. He turned his head in confusion, only to see the group behind him gaping in disbelief, jaws nearly dropping to the ground, their weapons clattering from their hands.

It was Skinny Monkey who recovered first. With a quick motion, he snapped his jaw back into place and stammered, “You... you’re sure it was stepping through the void? Are you certain you saw it right?”

Yun Yufeng gave him a look as if he were a fool, making Skinny Monkey scratch his head sheepishly. “Heh, got a bit carried away there,” he muttered in embarrassment.

Skinny Monkey glanced at the captain. “Captain, that has to be at least an eighth-rank magical beast. Good heavens, shouldn’t we... pick up the pace?”

Even the normally composed captain lost his cool at this, waving his hand decisively. “Big Ox, take the young brother with you and move, quickly!” Without another word, he led the way down the passage.

They hurried for nearly an hour, approaching their destination, when Yun Yufeng, riding on Big Ox’s back, suddenly spotted movement near the corpse of a magical beast. He immediately signaled for a halt. “There are people ahead—the magical beast’s body is right there.”

The group stopped at once, quietly circling around until they concealed themselves behind a colossal tree, its trunk spanning several dozen meters. Peering out, they saw two massive corpses lying undisturbed, while five or six mercenaries were busily carving them up, collecting valuable materials. It seemed the other party had only just arrived.

The captain made a hand sign, and his team moved silently to encircle the enemy. Yun Yufeng, however, stayed where he was, watching anxiously. He licked his lips, forcing his gaze away from the two magical beast carcasses as the captain lunged forward.

Blade drawn mid-leap, the captain swung his broadsword down hard at the nearest mercenary. The forest air grew stifling in an instant; the blade flushed red-hot, its tip spitting a foot-long tongue of searing flame. Caught off guard, the unremarkable mercenary was cleaved cleanly in two, his charred halves flung aside without a single drop of blood—the heat had vaporized it all.

“Little Third!” a furious shout rang out, snapping the other mercenaries from their work. They stared at the scorched remains, eyes blazing red with rage. There was no need for words—the law of the forest was merciless. With grim understanding, they each chose an opponent, and the clearing erupted in the chaotic clash of battle, the air shimmering with vibrant auras of battle energy.

The captain’s team had a slight advantage in numbers, especially after their surprise attack felled one opponent. If their strengths were even, the outcome would be clear-cut, but the enemy seemed to have a greater individual power, holding them to a stalemate.

Big Ox, with his hulking build and enormous spiked club, charged forward like a living battering ram, his body glowing faintly yellow, clothes billowing. Each step drummed against the earth like war drums as he stomped toward the fray. Raising his club high, he brought it crashing down upon a similarly imposing foe, who hefted a massive battle-axe in both hands.

With a roar, the armored mercenary blocked with his axe. The clash of metal rang deafeningly; the mercenary’s arms shuddered, legs buckling as he was driven into the ground up to his knees. The spiked club rebounded, swinging sideways into the mercenary’s chest with a dull thud.

The mercenary was sent flying, blood spraying from his mouth as he landed hard, his chest visibly caved in. He struggled to rise but failed, blood streaming from his lips—he was out of the fight.

A vine swiftly wound around his waist, dragging him to the magical beast’s side. A young man with ink-green hair chanted under his breath, sending a ball of green light into the mercenary’s sunken chest, then flicking a pill into his mouth.

The mercenary’s pallor faded, the bleeding ceased, his breathing steadied. Glancing listlessly at the still-raging battle, he saw the fight was far from over. Without tending further to his wounds, he drew a dagger and rejoined the fray.

The captain’s brow twitched as he watched the grievously wounded mercenary leap back into battle. He hadn’t expected the enemy to have a wood-element spirit mage among them—a game-changer indeed. He shouted, “Skinny Monkey, take out that spirit mage!”

At that moment, Skinny Monkey was barely holding back a mercenary alongside two teammates. Their foe, clad in armor and wielding a long blade emitting a flickering blue aura, was cutting a swath through their defenses. Skinny Monkey knew the importance of the enemy mage, gritted his teeth, and said, “You two hold on—I’ll take down that mage and come back to help.” With that, he broke from the melee, charging straight at the spirit mage.

The armored mercenary made no move to stop him, a faint, knowing smile tugging at his lips as he attacked with renewed ferocity, his blade’s blue light shredding every leaf in its path and forcing his opponents back.

Skinny Monkey wielded a peculiar short sword—utterly dull, yet impossibly sharp. The spirit mage showed no panic, quietly chanting as he raised a staff. At his gesture, vines erupted from the ground, coiling tight around Skinny Monkey’s legs and lifting him skyward as if to make him an easy target.

But Skinny Monkey was no easy prey. With a swift slash, he severed the vines and lunged at the mage. The spirit mage retreated toward the magical beast’s corpse, staff aglow with green light. With another wave, dozens of vines lashed out for Skinny Monkey’s limbs and torso, while the mage continued his incantation. Barbed wooden spears materialized and, guided by his will, shot toward Skinny Monkey.

A muffled grunt escaped the swordsman as a spear pierced his thigh. He fell, vines yanking him into the air, his face contorted with despair as the next volley of spears ended his life.

The battle raged with a ferocity beyond imagination. Screams echoed through the clearing as, one by one, the fighters fell. Soon, only the captain, the mercenary leader, and the spirit mage remained. Bloodied and panting, they glared at each other, clothes soaked red.

The captain gazed at his fallen comrades, lying cold and still on the ground. Despite a life steeped in bloodshed and indifference, he felt a pang of sorrow—bonds forged in battle were rare and precious.

He recalled their shared struggles, his heart heavy with regret. Greed had led them here—the allure of a mountain of gold was too tempting to resist—but the price had been tragedy beyond imagining.

Tightening his grip on his weapon, he steeled himself. If it came to this, it was either their lives or his—if not for his fallen brothers, then for the times they had laughed and fought together.

Suddenly, the dark-red blade flared bright, slashing straight for the mercenary leader. The tip spat a torrent of flaming energy, and though the attack seemed simple, it was inescapable—the leader could not avoid the blow.

The mercenary leader was no novice. With a fierce shout, he swept his broadsword up to meet the attack, launching a powerful kick at the captain’s abdomen. The captain sidestepped, shifting his blade to target the leader’s neck with a flurry of swift, precise cuts.

Meanwhile, the spirit mage chanted softly, sending vines creeping toward the captain’s legs. At that instant, both fighters landed kicks to each other’s midsections, grunting with pain. The captain was suddenly hurled backward—just as the mage’s vines caught his right leg, yanking hard to pull him down. But the captain’s momentum carried him not down but toward the mage.

A triumphant smile flickered across the captain’s lips as he twisted and hurled his sword backward. The blade became a streak of red light, plunging hilt-deep into the spirit mage’s chest.

The mage staggered back, collapsing, the vines around the captain’s legs dissolving into pure elemental energy with the mage’s death. The captain landed hard, clutching his numbed abdomen. Facing two alone, he had deliberately taken a blow to eliminate the mage—otherwise, the enemy’s healing could have turned the tide.

Seeing the spirit mage slain, the mercenary leader roared in anguish. He drew a crystal vial from his belt, uncorked it, and gulped down the contents. Pain contorted his face; his eyes turned blood-red, veins bulged and throbbed across his body.

His aura soared, the broadsword in his hand developing fine cracks, its structure threatened by the surging energy. With an inhuman howl, he charged.

The captain forced himself upright, breathing deeply. His face grew grim as he faced the leader, whose strength now peaked at the threshold of the sixth rank. Both were nearly at that level, but the leader, having taken a desperate elixir, would soon be left drained and weakened—survival afterward was unlikely. The captain, still harboring hope, lacked that reckless abandon, and so was at a disadvantage in spirit.

The distance between them vanished in a blink. The leader’s blade, wreathed in battle energy, crashed down with unstoppable fury, far stronger than before.

“Flame Slash!” the captain roared. His sword vibrated, emitting a heat so intense the air itself wavered. A crescent arc of flame burst forth, streaking ahead of the blade at the enemy. The sword, its glow now dimmed, continued its original deadly path. Flame Slash—a high-level fire technique the captain had chanced upon in his adventures—could challenge stronger foes, but drained him greatly, enabling him to unleash the signature attack of a true sixth-rank warrior: battle energy unleashed beyond the blade.

The captain’s face went pale as most of his energy was spent. With a thunderous crash, the leader’s sword exploded, shards flying. To the captain’s shock, the leader released the hilt, his right hand flashing white as a hidden dagger, concealed within the hilt, pierced the captain’s heart. At the same moment, the captain’s sword struck the leader’s chest.

The mercenary leader coughed violently, blood gushing from a gaping wound in his chest. Gasping, he surveyed the field, now littered with corpses. The earlier thrill of discovery was gone, replaced by sorrow at the approach of death. His eyes brimmed with regret, lips moving in silent farewell, before his head fell and his life slipped away.

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