Treasure Saber Fish Dragon! (Please Bookmark and Vote!)

Chen Yan followed behind the old Daoist from one end of the city wall to the other, a thread of suspicion lingering in his heart.

With the city gate in sight and Shanxi Town's boundaries nearly behind them, Chen Yan finally could not hold back any longer.

"Where are we going? Keep walking and we'll be leaving the town."

The old Daoist walking ahead shot Chen Yan a sidelong glance. "What? A strapping young lad like you is afraid this old man might harm you?"

Chen Yan rolled his eyes. He did not believe this Sloppy Old Daoist was some "ordinary" old man.

The man had seen through his martial cultivation at a glance and had even precisely calculated what had happened to him last night. Chen Yan had long suspected that this old Daoist was likely one of those legendary cultivators.

Chen Yan knew absolutely nothing about what methods Martial Dynasty cultivators possessed.

Still, when fighting spellcasters, the closer the distance, the greater the advantage.

With that in mind, Chen Yan quickened his pace and closed the distance between himself and the Sloppy Old Daoist.

Sensing Chen Yan draw closer, the old Daoist gave him a baffled look, then continued leading the way.

The two walked for another hour or so. By the time the sun sank behind the western hills and dusk approached, the old Daoist finally stopped before a small hillock.

The hillock appeared to be a graveyard. Burial mounds of every size covered it, weathered gravestones lay scattered every which way, and nameless weeds grew wildly through every crack.

Amid the deathly silence, a few crows occasionally cawed noisily from the treetops. A cold wind swept past, its eerie gusts rustling like the wails of ghosts.

"What are we doing at this Mass Grave?"

Though Chen Yan had never been to the Mass Grave, he knew such a place existed outside Shanxi Town. Disaster victims, refugees, and those who died violently far from home were generally buried here.

"What are we doing?"

The old Daoist looked at Chen Yan as though he were an idiot. As he spoke, he flicked his sleeve, and a shovel appeared out of thin air. He tossed it to Chen Yan and said, "Of course we're here to dig up graves. What else, bury people?"

Chen Yan caught the shovel on instinct. Veins began bulging on his forehead as a cold gleam flickered in his eyes. His gaze kept drifting between the old Daoist's neck and chest, as though considering where to strike.

The old Daoist shuddered involuntarily under Chen Yan's stare and hurriedly said, "All right, all right, it was just a joke. You young people really can't take a joke."

"Come over. What you need is inside."

The Sloppy Old Daoist muttered something under his breath, then took the lead up the Mass Grave. After weaving past the crooked gravestones, he stopped before a burial mound with no gravestone at all. It appeared to be an unmarked grave.

Pointing at the mound, the old Daoist said, "Dig."

"And you said we weren't digging graves." Chen Yan's expression remained blank.

"What do you mean, digging graves? I buried this mound myself. Does digging up your own grave count as grave robbing?"

"Why would you bury your own grave for no reason?" Chen Yan found it utterly incomprehensible.

"None of your business!" The old Daoist glared at him angrily, then snapped, "Are you digging or not? If not, this old Daoist is leaving."

"Digging!"

Without another word, Chen Yan grabbed the shovel and began hacking furiously at the burial mound.

Before long, the shovel struck something hard with a clang.

Chen Yan looked up at the old Daoist. After receiving his confirmation, he crouched down, brushed aside the dirt, and pulled out an iron case roughly four feet long and three inches wide.

"This is it?"

Handing the iron case to the Slovenly Daoist, Chen Yan asked curiously.

The old Daoist nodded, opened the case, and took out a sheathed saber.

He tossed it, sheath and all, to Chen Yan and said casually, "A hundred copper coins. I'm letting you have it cheap."

Chen Yan caught it in midair and drew the saber.

Clang!

A clear ring sounded. The blade was about four feet long, straight-bodied, thick-backed, and broad-faced. Vicious blue-faced fanged ghost patterns were carved on either side of the hilt, while the blade itself was snowy white and bright. Faintly, a strange beast with a dragon's head and a fish's body seemed ready to leap from it.

Most eye-catching was a seal Chen Yan did not recognize, located near the end of the blade where the saber met its hilt.

Though the blade was clean and gleaming, it could not conceal its surging aura of blood and baleful intent. It felt as if what he held was not a saber, but a ferocious beast waiting to choose someone to devour, sending a chill through his heart.

"A fine saber!"

Chen Yan's eyes lit up.

The old Daoist answered lazily, "Could an official Thousand-Forged Saber possibly be anything but good? Fewer than a hundred of these sabers exist in the entire Martial Dynasty, and every one is the finest of the fine. Though this saber isn't a Magic Tool, it surpasses one. Even Demonic Creatures and Ghosts can be wounded by it. I'm only charging you a hundred copper coins. You brat got a bargain."

Chen Yan was no fool who could not recognize good goods. Let alone one hundred copper coins, this saber might not be obtainable even for a hundred taels of silver—or a thousand taels of gold.

Forcing down the excitement in his heart, Chen Yan could not help asking, "Does this saber have a name?"

"The former owner is dead, so what name could it have? Call it a Ghost-Head Saber, a Beheading Saber, or even a Pig-Slaughtering Saber. It's up to you."

The Sloppy Old Daoist drank by himself and waved his hand dismissively.

Chen Yan was speechless. He shot the old Daoist a glare, then looked again at the treasured saber in his hand. Gently stroking its blade and feeling its chill, he said, "Then from today onward, it shall be called the Fish Dragon Saber!"

"Fish Dragon Saber?"

As the old Daoist tipped back his head and poured wine into his mouth, a trace of complicated emotion flashed through his eyes.

He mumbled something indistinctly, let out a full belch, and said with a wine-flushed face, "All right. You've had your wine, and you've got your saber. You should tell me about that evil presence now, shouldn't you?"

At those words, Chen Yan sheathed the saber, his expression turning serious as well.

Though he still did not know the Sloppy Old Daoist's true identity, Chen Yan had formed some guesses about his background. He was most likely a cultivator with official ties, or someone in a similar position.

No matter what, one thing was certain: this Slovenly Daoist had nothing to do with last night's Skin-Peeling Puppet.

With that in mind, Chen Yan recounted everything that had happened last night from beginning to end.

Naturally, he omitted the part about replacing his blood overnight.

"Skin-Peeling Puppet?"

After hearing Chen Yan's account, a sharp glint flashed through the old Daoist's aged eyes before vanishing. Then he frowned, deep in thought, and muttered to himself, "Could it be the Skin-Peeling Method?"

"But hasn't the Skin-Peeling Method already been lost? Could some demonic cultivator have stumbled upon it and secretly practiced it?"

Chen Yan was completely lost, but he committed the term "Skin-Peeling Method" to memory. At the same time, he became certain that this old Daoist truly was a cultivator—and the Sloppy Old Daoist did not seem inclined to hide it.

"Do you still have that human skin?"

"Yes. It's at my home."

"Good. Bring that human skin to the County Yamen tomorrow. This old Daoist will see if he can find any more clues."

"Tomorrow? Then what are we doing now?"

"What are we doing? Going back, of course. Don't tell me you want to spend the night here!"

"Uh..."

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