Angel Legion Demon Hunting Camp

Angel Legion Demon Hunting Camp

It was the person who had stood ahead of him during the martial soul awakening!

His martial soul had been a bat, and he had worn the same kidney-deficient look.

But back then, he had merely looked weak and sickly. He had not given off the impression that he had been taking drugs for so long he was about to die.

Fang Ling remembered that sickly child. He had possessed innate half-level Soul Power, the same level as Yu Xiaogang.

If these two were the same person...

In just over a year, a person with only half-level Soul Power had actually become a Spirit Master before Fang Ling did?

And their martial soul awakenings had happened at roughly the same time. Yet he had grown from a child into a young man so quickly and even obtained a Hundred Year Spirit Ring?

There was only one possibility Fang Ling could think of—Fallen Spirit Masters!

Such tremendous improvement and rapid physical maturation could only be explained by a Fallen Spirit Master.

After all, bats could suck blood!

Those sharp fangs and that weak, sickly face vividly demonstrated it to Fang Ling.

Why he had been lying in the middle of the road and happened to run into him was easy enough to understand as well.

It was midsummer, and the afternoon was the hottest time of the day.

There were not no carriages traveling the road, but they were exceedingly rare.

Fallen Spirit Masters cultivated quickly, but naturally, each had their own problems.

This one must have been having an episode and had happened to run into him.

Fang Ling had originally planned to take a detour and run straight back to Notting City to report him to Spirit Hall.

He had not expected this young man to chase him into the woods just to kill him.

It seemed he had set his sights on Fang Ling!

Fang Ling sneered inwardly.

He had just happened to run into a rookie Fallen Spirit Master.

He had probably only recently absorbed a spirit ring and become a Spirit Master, and he was extremely unskilled in battle.

He was even worse than Wang Sheng, who only knew how to rely on brute strength and could take a beating.

Against Fang Ling, this fellow, standing at a full meter seventy, had actually dared to chase him into a forest filled with dense branches and complicated terrain.

Fang Ling had honed Lv1 Body Technique in the Academy's little woods. Being small and lean, he could move through them with relative ease.

What did this sickly young man have?

A body full of evil energy?

Sure enough, he got caught on the branches.

Fang Ling seized that opportunity and slashed back with his sickle!

The forest was thick enough that no one could see what was happening here.

He had long wanted to test how many Points a Spirit Master could provide.

Fallen Spirit Masters—everyone had the right to kill them!

Spirit Hall had established this law, and neither of the two great empires dared defy it.

Killing one would not only bring no future trouble, but also a reward.

The young man withdrew one Steel Claw, while his other claw shot toward Fang Ling's eye with astonishing speed.

With those long arms, if the strike landed, it might kill Fang Ling in one blow or gouge out one of his eyes.

It looked dangerous, but it was all within his expectations.

He had not practiced Scythe Technique for nothing.

Fang Ling lightly tilted the sickle in his right hand, hooking a bloody gash across the man's arm. At the same time, he braced it with the handle and knocked the attack aside.

The young man's attack struck nothing but air.

At some point, Fang Ling had already raised his left hand and aimed at a vulnerable spot.

"Hah!" His eyes flashed as he let out a thunderous shout.

The sickle in his right hand vanished and suddenly appeared in his left.

The sickle trembled like a spirit serpent in his grasp, and he swung it at the space between the sickly young man's legs.

He did not choose to cut through in one stroke.

Too much pain would drive the enemy into a frenzy.

If he ignored the blood and pain and launched a mad counterattack, Fang Ling would have no choice but to run.

So he used the back of the blade instead. It was thicker and would not cut it off.

As long as it landed, with his pair of arms of mythical strength, he would let this Fallen Spirit Master experience what it meant to have his chicken fly and his eggs shatter—what sustained damage truly was!

The sensitive nerves on it were enough to greatly alter his fighting posture.

"Crack~"

The blow was so powerful that the young man's pubic bone seemed to fracture, letting out a crisp crack.

"Ah—!"

He let out a short cry. His eyes bulged, and his face instantly flushed red like a monkey's butt.

Fine beads of cold sweat immediately covered his forehead.

He unconsciously wanted to bend over and cover the spot that had been hit.

But remembering that he was still in battle, he forcibly halted the movement, leaving his body looking extremely stiff.

Fang Ling seized this opportunity and swiftly adjusted the direction of his toes.

His left prosthetic leg, now fitted with ironwood and sheathed in iron, kicked the arm the young man was waving wildly to keep Fang Ling from approaching.

The young man's arm was kicked into the branches and caught there.

The sickle appeared again, this time aimed at his vulnerable neck.

Fang Ling charged forward at high speed, spun sharply, and slashed upward at an angle. Blood sprayed wildly.

Then he planted his right foot against the young man's chest and retreated to a safe distance, waiting quietly.

The Pale-Faced Man youth weakly dropped to his knees, clutching his throat and making hoarse "heh, heh" sounds.

In the end, he cast Fang Ling one last unwilling glance before darkness filled his vision, plunging him into eternal silence.

Fang Ling did not look at him again.

The illusory gray Stats Panel in his eyes changed once more.

The Progress Bar surged forward, instantly filling up and producing one point.

Points: 0 → 1

Killing a Spirit Master had earned him a full point!

As expected, he still needed to kill Spirit Masters!

A flash of excitement gleamed in Fang Ling's eyes.

He immediately allocated that single point to the Soul Power category.

His Points returned to zero, while his Soul Power changed: 5 (37%) → 6 (37%).

Level six!

With just four more levels, Fang Ling could report to the academy and obtain a spirit ring.

Then he could choose to graduate early and head to a larger city to enroll in an Intermediate Spirit Master Academy.

The primary academy was merely a stepping stone.

Fang Ling's goal was crystal clear. There was no way he would stay here for six years like Tang San and Xiao Wu, only to then attend that shitty Shrek Academy.

His short-term goal was the Great Soul Arena.

By now, Fang Ling had already felt the limitations of practicing techniques alone.

This made him yearn even more for systematic training to make up for his shortcomings.

The path of a Spirit Master only grew harder the further one advanced.

Fang Ling wanted to pursue the path of close combat. He absolutely could not be impatient, nor could he slack off in the slightest.

The doubled results from practicing techniques were simply too beneficial for the path of close combat.

He did not need to worry about Soul Power; what he needed was more accumulation in terms of technique.

Then, borrowing Bibi Dong's influence, he would soar to greatness in Slaughter City!

"Rustle, rustle."

The sound of branches being pushed apart and leaves brushing against one another reached him.

It made Fang Ling, who had just been about to habitually loot the corpse, pause.

He took several steps back and stared toward the source of the sound, his eyes filled with vigilance as the sickle reappeared in his hand.

It was so hot at noon. Why would anyone come here?

The next moment, three handsome young men appeared before Fang Ling.

They wore fitted white uniforms trimmed in gold thread. On the left side of their chests were embroidered three pairs of pure white wings, with a gemstone set in the center of the wings, bearing the character for Spirit.

They were from Spirit Hall!

The three pairs of white wings represented the Six-Winged Seraph.

They had probably come to capture this Evil Spirit Master.

Fang Ling relaxed slightly.

The newcomers' gazes swept back and forth several times between the corpse kneeling on the ground with its butt in the air and Fang Ling.

The lead man scrutinized the scythe in his hand and the prosthetic on his left foot, his expression growing even more astonished as he gestured with his chin.

"Kid, did you kill this?"

"Of course!"

Clicking his tongue in amazement, the leader immediately summoned his martial soul.

A pair of pure white wings spread open, carrying a faint holy glow. At last, Fang Ling relaxed.

Seeing this, the man extended a hand and praised, "Good kid! Let's get acquainted."

"Spirit Hall Angel Legion Demon Hunt Camp, squad captain, Qian Yao."

"Member, Qian Chaolong."

"Member, Qian Feiguang."

"My name is Fang Ling. I'm still studying at Notting Academy." Fang Ling paused, then smiled and shook his hand.

To emphasize: no sucking up to Spirit Hall—he would walk his own path.